Should I crack out of this pokey? That shouldn't be hard to do, but it had better be saved for a last resort. Once out I would have to stay undercover and there would be no chance of her contacting me. That was why I was gnawing my way through all my fingernails. The next move was up to Angelina; all I could do was wait. I only hoped that she would gather the right conclusions from all the violent evidence I had supplied.
After a week I was stir-crazy. The Royal Attorney never came back and there was no talk of a trial or sentencing. I had presented them with an annoying problem, and they must have been scratching their heads feebly over it and hoping I would go away. I almost did. Getting out of this backwoods jail would have been simplicity itself. But I was waiting for a message from my deadly love. I toyed with the possibilities of the things she might do. Perhaps arrange pressure through the court to have me freed? Or smuggle in a file and a note to see if I could break out on my own? This second possibility appealed to me most and I shredded my bread every time it arrived to see if anything had been baked into it. There was nothing.
On the eighth day Angelina made her play, in the most forthright manner of her own. It was night, but something unaccustomed woke me up. Listening produced no answers, so I slipped over to the barred opening in the door and saw a most attractive sight at the end of the hall. The night guard was sprawled on the floor and a burly masked figure dressed completely in black stood over him with a cosh in one meaty hand. Another stranger, dressed like the first, came up and they dragged the guard further along the hall towards me. One of them rummaged in his waist wallet and produced a scrap of red cloth that he put between the guard's limp fingers. Then they turned towards my cell and I moved back out of sight, climbing noiselessly into bed.
A key grated in the lock and the lights came on. I sat up blinking, giving a fine imitation of a man waking up.
"Who's there? What do you want?" I asked.
"Up quickly, and get dressed, Diebstall. You're getting out of here." This was the first thug I had seen, the blackjack still hanging from his hand. I sagged my jaw a bit, then leaped out of bed with my back to the wall.
"Assassins!" l hissed. "So that's vile King Villy's bright idea, is it? Going to put a rope around my neck and swear I hung myself? Well come on -- but don't think it will be easy!"
"Don't be an idiot!" the man whispered. "And shut the big mouth. We're here to get you out. We're friends." Two more men, dressed the same way, pushed in behind him, and I had a glimpse of a fourth one in the hall.
"Friends!" I shouted. "Murderers is more like it! You'll pay dearly for this crime."
The fourth man, still in the hall, whispered something and they charged me. I wanted a better glimpse of the boss. He was a small man -- if he was a man. His clothes were loose and bulky, and there was a stocking mask over his entire head. Angelina would be just about that tall. But before I could get a better look the thugs were on me. I kicked one in the stomach and ducked away. This was fighting barroom style and they had all the advantages. Without shoes or a weapon I didn't stand a chance, and they weren't afraid to use their coshes. I tried hard not to smile with victory as they worked me over.
Only reluctantly did I allow myself to be dragged to the place where I wanted to go.
Chapter 16
Because the pounding on the head had only made me groggy, one of them broke a sleep capsule under my nose and that was that for a while. So of course I had no idea of how far we had traveled or where on Freibur I was. They must have given me the antidote because the next thing I saw was a scrawny type with a hypodermic injector in his hand. He was peeling back my eyelid to look and I slapped his hand away.
"Going to torture me before you kill me, swine!" I said, remembering the role I had to play.
"Don't worry about that," a deep voice said behind me, "you are among friends. People who can understand your irritation with the present regime."
This voice wasn't much like Angelina's. Neither was the burly, sour-faced owner. The medic slid out and left us alone, and I wondered if the plan had slipped up somewhere. Iron-jaw with the beady eyes had a familiar look -- I recognized him as one of the Freiburian nobility. I had memorized the lot and looking at his ugly face I dredged up a mnemonic. A midget painted bright red.
"Rdenrundt -- The Count of Rdenrundt," I said, trying to remember what else I had read about him. "I might believe you were telling me the truth if you weren't his Highness's first cousin. I find it hard to consider that you would steal a man from the royal jail for your own purposes..."
"It's not important what you believe," he snapped angrily. He had a short fuse and it took him a moment to get his temper back under control. "Villelm may be my cousin -- that doesn't mean I think he is the perfect ruler for our planet. You talked a lot about your claims to higher rank and the fact that you had been cheated. Did you mean that? Or are you just another parlor windbag? Think well before you answer -- you may be committing yourself. There may be other people who feel as you do, that there is change in the wind."
Impulsive, enthusiastic, that was me. Loyal friend and deadly enemy and just solid guts when it came to a fight. Jumping forward I grabbed his hand and pumped it.
"If you are telling me the truth, then you have a man at your side who will go the whole course. If you are lying to me and this is some trick of the King's -- well then. Count, be ready to fight!"
"No need to fight," he said, extracting his hand with some difficulty from my clutch. "Not between us at least. We have a difficult course ahead of us, and we must learn to rely upon each other." He cracked his knuckles and looked glumly out the window. "I sincerely hope that I will be able to rely on you. Freibur is a far different world from the one our ancestors ruled. The League has sapped the fight from our people. There are none I can really rely on."
"There's nothing wrong with the bunch who took me out of my cell. They seemed to do the job well enough."
"Muscle!" he spat, and pressed a button on the arm of his chair. "Thugs with heads of solid stone. I can hire all of those I need. What I need are men who can lead -- help me to lead Freibur into its rightful future."
I didn't mention the man who led the muscle the previous night, the one who had stayed in the corridor. If Rdenrundt wasn't going to talk about Angelina, I certainly couldn't bring up the topic. Since be wanted brain not brawn, I decided to give him a little.
"Did you dream up the torn piece of uniform left in the guard's hand in the prison? That was a good touch."
His eyes narrowed a bit when he turned to look at me. "You're quite observant. Bent," he said.
"A matter of training," I told him, trying to be both unassuming and positive at the same time. "There was this piece of red cloth with a button in the guard's hand, like something he had grabbed in a struggle. Yet all of the men I saw were dressed only in black. Perhaps a bit of misdirection . . ."
"With each passing moment I'm getting happier that you have joined me," he said, and showed me all of his ragged teeth in an expression he must have thought was a grin. "The Old Duke's men wear red livery, as you undoubtedly know . . ."
"And the Old Duke is the strongest supporter of Villelm IX," I finished for him. "It wouldn't hurt in the slightest if he had a falling out with the King."
"Not the slightest," Rdenrundt echoed, and showed me all of his teeth again. I was beginning to dislike him intensely. If this was the front man Angelina had picked for her operation, then he was undoubtedly the best one for the job on the planet. But he was such a puffed-up crumb, with barely enough imagination to appreciate the ideas Angelina was feeding him. Yet I imagine he had the money and the title -- and the ambition -- which combination she had to have. Once more I wondered where she was.
Something came in through the door and I recoiled, thinking the war was on. It was only a robot, but it made such a hideous amount of hissing and clanking that I wondered what was wrong with it. The Count ordered the ghastly thing to wheel over the bar, as it turned away I saw what cou
ld have been a chimney projecting behind one shoulder. There was the distinct odor of coal smoke in the air.
"Does that robot burn coal -- "" I gurgled.
"It does," the Count said, pouring us out a pair of drinks. "It is a perfect example of what is wrong with the Freiburian economy under the gracious rule of Villelm the Incompetent. You don't see any robots like this in the capital!"
"I should hope not," I gasped, staring bug-eyed at the trickle of steam escaping from the thing, and the stains of rust and coal dust on its plates. "Of course I've been away a long time . . . things change . . ."
"They don't change fast enough! And don't act galactic-wise with me, Diebstall. I've been to Misteldross and seen how the rubes live. You have no robots at all -- much less a contraption like this. " He kicked at the thing in sullen anger and it staggered back a bit, valves clicking open as steam pumped into the leg pistons to straighten it up. "Two hundred years come next Grundlovsday we will have been in the League, milked dry and pacified by them -- and for what? To provide luxuries for the King in Freiburbad. While out here we get a miserable consignment of a few robot brains and some control circuitry. We have to build the rest of the inefficient monsters ourselves. And out in the real sticks where you come from they think robot is a misspelling of a boat that goes with oars!"
He drained his glass and I made no attempt to explain to him the economics of galactic commerce, planetary prestige, or the multifold levels of intercommunication. This lost planet had been cut off from the mainstream of galactic culture for maybe a thousand years, until contact had been reestablished after the Breakdown. They were being eased back into the culture gradually, without any violent repercussions that might upset the process. Sure, a billion robots could be dumped here tomorrow. What good would that do the economy? It was certainly much better to bring in the control units and let the locals build the things for themselves. If they didn't like the final product they could improve the design instead of complaining.
The Count of course didn't see it this way. Angelina had done a nice job at playing upon his prejudices and desires. He was still glaring at the robot when he leaned forward and suddenly tapped a dial on the thing's side.
"Look at that!" he shouted. "Down to eighty pounds pressure! Next thing you know the thing will be falling on its face and burning the place down. Stoke, you idiot -- stoke!!"
A couple of relays closed inside the contraption and the robot clanked and put the tray of glasses down. I took a very long drag on my drink and enjoyed the scene. Trundling over to the fireplace -- at a slower pace now I'll admit -- it opened a door in its stomach and flame belched out. Using the coal scoop in the pail it shoveled in a good portion of anthracite and banged the firedoor shut again. Rich black smoke boiled from its chimney. At least it was housebroken and didn't shake out its grate here.
"Outside, dammit, outside!" the Count shouted, coughing at the same time. The smoke was a little thick. I poured another drink and decided right then that I was going to like Rdenrundt.
I would have liked it a lot better if I could have found Angelina. This whole affair bore every sign of her light touch, yet she was nowhere in sight. I was shown to a room and met some of the officers on the Count's staff. One of them, Kurt, a youth of noble lineage but no money, showed me around the grounds. The place was a cross between a feudal keep and a small town, with a high wall cutting it off from the city proper. There appeared to be no obvious signs of the Count's plans, outside of the number of armed retainers who lounged about and practiced uninterestedly in the shooting ranges. It all looked too peaceful to be true -- yet I had been brought here. That was no accident. I tried a little delicate questioning and Kurt was frank with his answers. Like a lot of the far-country gentry be bore a grudge against the central authorities, although he would of course never have gotten around to doing anything about it on his own. Somehow he had been recruited and was ready to go along with the plans, all of which were very vague to him. I doubt if he had ever seen a corpse. That he was telling me the truth about everything was obvious when I caught him in his first lie.
We had passed some women and bent a knee, and Kurt had volunteered the advice that they were the wives of two of the other officers.
"And you're married too?" I asked.
"No. Never had the time, I guess. Now I suppose it's too late, at least for awhile. When this whole business is over and life is a little more peaceful there'll be plenty of time to settle down."
"How right," I agreed. "What about the Count? Is he married? I've been away so many years that it's hard to keep track of that kind of thing. Wives, children and such." Without being obvious I was watching him when I asked this, and he gave a little start.
"Well . . . yes, you might say. I mean the Count was married, but there was an accident, he's not married now . . ." His voice tapered away and he drew my attention to something else, happy to leave the topic.
Now if there is one thing that always marks Angelina's trail it is a corpse or two. It took no great amount of inspiration to connect her with the "accidental" death of the Count's wife. If the death had been natural Kurt would not have been afraid to talk about it. He didn't mention the topic again and I made no attempt to pump him. I had my lead. Angelina may not have been in sight -- but her spoor was around me on all sides. It was just a matter of time now. As soon as I was able to, I would shake Kurt and hunt up the bullyboys who had spirited me out of the jail. Buy them a few drinks to assure them that there were no hard feelings about the beating they had given me. Then pump them adroitly about the man who had led them.
Angelina made her move first. One of the coal-burning robots came hissing and clanking around with a message. The Count would like to see me. I slicked my hair, tucked in my shirt and reported for duty.
I was pleased to see that the Count was a steady and solitary daytime drinker. In addition, there was very little tobacco in his cigarette; the sweet smoke filled the room. All this meant he was due for early dissolution, and I would not be numbered among his mourners. None of this showed in my expression or attitude of course. I was all flashing eye and hell-cracking attention.
"Is it action, sir? Is that why you sent for me?" I asked.
"Sit down, sit down," he mumbled, waving me towards a chair. "Relax. Want a cigarette?" He pushed the box towards me and I eyed the thin brown cylinders with distaste.
"Not today, sir. I'm laying off smoking for awhile. Sharpening up the old eye. Keeping the old trigger finger limber and ready for action."
The Count's mind was occupied elsewhere and I doubt if he heard a word I said. He chewed abstractedly at the inside of his cheek while he looked me up and down. A decision finally struggled up through his half-clotted brain.
"What do you know about the Radebrechen family?" he asked, which is about as exotic a question as I have ever had thrown at me.
Absolutely nothing," I answered truthfully. "Should I?"
"No . . . no . . ." he answered vaguely, and went back to chewing his cheek. I was getting high just from breathing the air in the room and I wondered how be was feeling.
"Come with me," he said, pushing over his chair and almost falling on top of it. We plodded through a number of halls deeper into the building, until we came to a door, no different from the ones we had passed, except this one had a guard in front of it -- a rough looking brawny type with his arms casually crossed. Just casual enough to let his fingers hang over his pistol grip. He didn't budge when we came up.
"It's all right," the Duke of Rdenrundt said, with what I swear was a peevish tone. "He's with me."
"Gotta search him anyway," the guard said. "Orders." More and more interesting. Who issued orders the Count couldn't change -- in his own castle? As if I didn't know. And I recognized the guard's voice, he was one of the men who had taken me from my prison cell. He searched me quickly and efficiently, then stepped aside. The Count opened the door and I followed him in, trying not to tread on his heels.
One thing abo
ut reality -- it is always so much superior to theory. I had every reason to believe that Angelina would be here, yet it was still a healthy shock to see her sitting at the table. A kind of electric charge in my spine tingled right up to the roots of my hair. This was a moment I had waited for for a very long time. It took a positive effort to relax and appear indifferent. At least as indifferent as any healthy young male is in front of an attractive package of femininity.
Of course this girl didn't resemble Angelina very much. Yet I still had no doubt. The face was changed as was the color of the hair. And though the face was a new one it still held the same sweet, angelic quality as the old. Her figure was much the way I remembered it, with perhaps a few slight improvements. Hers was a surface transformation, with no attempt at being as complete as the one I had had done to me.
"This is s Grav Bent Diebstall," the count said, fixing his hot and smoky little eyes on her. "The man you wanted to see, Engela." So she was still an angel, though under a different name. That was a bad habit she should watch, only I wasn't going to tell her. A lot of people have been caught by taking an alias too similar to their old one.
"Why thank you, Cassitor," she said. Cassitor indeed! I'd look unhappy too if I had to go through life with a handle like Cassitor Rdenrundt. "It was very nice of you to bring Grav Bent here, " she added in the same light and empty voice.
Cassi must have been expecting a warmer welcome because he stood first on one foot and then another and mumbled something which neither of us heard. But Angelina-Engela's welcome stayed at the same temperature, or perhaps dropped a degree or two as she shuffled some papers on the table in front of her. Even through his fog the Count caught on and went out mumbling something else under his breath that I was pretty sure was one of the shorter and more unwholesome words in the local dialect. We were alone.
The Stainless Steel Rat Page 12
