The Mad Goblin

by Philip José Farmer

  “You told her about the events of the past few hours?”

  “Everything. She said she’d pass it on to Grandrith when she got a chance. He’s supposed to send her another message as soon as he’s ready to leave the plane on the coast of Gabon.” There, near the place where he had been born, Grandrith would proceed on foot through the belt of rain forest stretching over a good part of central Africa. He would live off the plants and the animals native to the land, killing them with arrows or his knife. He would avoid all human habitations; he would go like a shadow, like the demon of the forest as so many natives called him. Some used the name that an American writer had given him after accidentally finding out about him. On foot and almost naked, he would go faster than any human should through the silent closed-canopied, twilit rain forest where the only humans are the pygmies and where the pathetically few hairy and long-canined hominids, those beastmen of native legend, not long ago roamed.

  Grandrith’s wife, Clio, was staying in a slums district of London where she was operating a short-wave radio.

  Caliban’s cousin, Patricia Wilde, was also in London. She was on the trail of old Anana, the woman who headed the Nine. She believed that Anana lived at least part of the year in a town house in a wealthy residential district, and she was investigating a number of houses there. Caliban did not think she would have any luck, but at least it would keep her busy, and she did have a sharp nose for clues; she would have made an excellent private eye.

  The phone rang. Doc was across the room like a bronze shark and had picked up the receiver before the second ring. Pauncho, speaking mainly in the language of the Blue People, said, “I checked out their registration here, Doc, after greasing the desk clerk’s palm. Cobbs and the redhead have been registered here for a week. But the clerk says they aren’t round much. I just saw two guys that looked pretty mean to me, like they could take care of themselves and others, too, if they were paid enough. They’ve been registered here for a week. They’re Germans, Heinrich Zelner and Wilhelm Gafustimm. Zelner moves slow and careful, as if he’s hurting. They’re in room 215. You want—?”

  Caliban asked for a detailed description. Zelner could have been one of the men he saw when he had looked into the room where the invaders were. He might have been wounded during the fighting.

  “I’ll be right down,” he said. “Meet you outside their room.”

  He checked the pockets of his vest, which had dried out very quickly after he’d come out of the Toll River. He was short of anesthetic gas bombs, so he went into the bathroom and pulled a section of the wall aside. The short-wave radio and their supplies were stored here. Pauncho had cut out a piece of the wall and made a receptacle in less than fifteen minutes after they had moved in. His work on concealing the new door had been so skillful it would be doubtful that anyone would ever know about it until the inn was torn down.

  The grenades were actually little plastic balls which shattered easily on impact. Their surface held a little nipple which could be squeezed off and a slender tube could be inserted into the hole created. Doc also took several of the tubes. Cobbs and Villiers seemed to be sleeping. The woman was heart-achingly beautiful.

  “You stay here and keep an eye on them,” Caliban said to Barney.

  “Why does that Pan satyrus always have all the fun?” Barney said, more to himself than to his chief. But this time he was surprised. Doc did answer.

  “Pauncho’ll be jealous because you’ll be with the woman,” he said. “He’d like the job of guarding her.”

  “Some guard! But what good is that going to do me with that Cobbs fish...?”

  He stopped talking. Caliban had gone as silently and as swiftly as a wind-blown cloud across the face of the moon.

  On the floor below, Pauncho came down the hall with the rolling gait of a gorilla unaccustomed to walking only on its hind legs. He was grinning, and he held a stethoscope device in one huge hairy hand.

  “I listened in on them,” he said. “They didn’t talk much but I heard enough. They were up at the castle. They’re waiting for orders from someone.”

  “We’ll find out,” Caliban said. His voice was level, but inwardly he was disturbed. What group could be fighting the Nine? Or was it some group that knew nothing about the Nine but had it in for Iwaldi for some reason? They must really hate him to go in for such overkill tactics.

  Doc decided not to transmit the gas via a tube through the keyhole. He knocked on the door and then Pauncho listened with the sound-amplifier applied to the door. He grinned and whispered, “They didn’t say a word. But I’ll bet one signaled the other to cover him while he answers.”

  A deep voice spoke in Austrian German. “Who is it?”

  “Telegram, sir,” Doc said in the local dialect and with an adolescent squeak.

  “Slip it under the door.”

  “Sorry, sir, I can’t. It has to be signed for.”

  There was a click, and the door swung open a few inches. An eye looked out. Doc seized the knob and jerked the door open with such force that the man was left staring at his hand. He had been holding onto it and had not expected that anybody short of a gorilla could have pulled the knob loose from his grip.

  A second later what could have been the hypothetical gorilla charged into him, lifting him up and off his feet and doubling him over a hard shoulder. The man went whoof! Doc Caliban came in on Pauncho’s tail, struck the man on the jaw as he went by, and then stopped. The other man, a tall skinny fellow with a shock of yellow hair, had stepped out from the bathroom. He held a .38 automatic in one hand.

  Doc raised his hands. Pauncho dumped the unconscious man from his shoulder and also lifted his hands. A moment later, the skinny man looked surprised, and he started to open his mouth. Doc caught him as he sagged forward and eased him to the floor. By then, it was safe for him to begin breathing. He had broken two of the gas balls under his feet just as he stopped to raise his hands. It was an old trick that had been working for thirty-five years.

  When Zelner and Gafustimm awoke, they were in chairs and their feet and hands were taped and their mouths were gagged. Doc was about to inject Zelner with fluid from a big hypodermic needle.

  After he had shot both men in the arm, and they had gone back to sleep, he removed the gags. His questioning was swift and direct, because he did not know how much time he had. The inn was beginning to stir. Even though the ski season was long gone, there were a number of tourists who had come here to bathe in the mineral waters of Gramzdorf, which were reputed to have medicinal effects. It would be impossible to carry the two men up to Caliban’s room without being observed now. And the two obviously expected visitors or a message that had to be answered soon.

  The men replied to each question as all men did under the influence of calibanite. But they answered literally and only to the detail specifically required by the inquisitor. Both men told similar stories. They had been hired six years ago in Hamburg. They worked for an organization which they knew was larger than their immediate group. But that was all they knew of it. They had never heard of the Nine nor seen anyone answering to the description of the Nine. Their immediate superior on this job was a scar-faced Prussian known to them as Ruthenius von Zarndirl. He had led them into the castle last night but had disappeared during the fighting. When Zelner was wounded, Gafustimm had been ordered to go with him to the upper levels to rout any stragglers while the others went off in two groups after Iwaldi. They had found no one, had returned to the ground floor, waited a while, then come down to Gramzdorf. On the way, they had run into von Zarndirl, who had told them to wait at the inn for instructions.

  Doc removed the tapes and ordered them to go to bed. Like zombies, they shambled forward and climbed into their beds. After receiving a shot of a sleep-inducing drug, they began snoring loudly. Doc and Pauncho left the room, and Pauncho hung a do not disturb sign on the knob.

  They went back up the steps and down the hall to the door of their room. Pauncho rapped out the recognition c
ode on the door with his knuckles. There was no answer.

  Doc inserted the saac into the keyhole, twisted it as he held one end to an eye, and then quickly withdrew it.

  “Barney’s on the floor. Lots of blood,” he said.

  Pauncho grunted as if a big fist had slammed into his stomach. A second later, he was inside the room with Doc on his heels.

  Doc Caliban said, “Some of the blood is his but most of it is somebody else’s.”

  The bronze-skinned giant removed a case which looked exactly like a cigarette lighter from a pocket of his vest. He pressed down on the lever, and a humming emanated from it. He passed the device back and forth over Barney’s head at a distance of two inches. After a minute, Barney’s eyelids fluttered and then his eyes opened. Pauncho had brought a glass of water. Doc popped a pill into Barney’s mouth and Pauncho held his head up while Barney drank.

  The most serious wound was from a knife that had penetrated a half inch into Barney’s shoulder. Instead of sewing up the wound, Doc held the edges of the skin together and sprayed it from a can. The spray dried and solidified quickly, looking just like a piece of Barney’s skin. The other two wounds were treated similarly, and then Barney was given another pill. His color returned, and after a while he said he was hungry.

  Pauncho complained that his mother did not raise him to be a cook or a bellboy, either. Doc told him to go down to the inn’s kitchen and supervise the preparation of breakfast, and never mind if the chef thought he was acting peculiarly.

  By then Barney had told his story.

  A few minutes after Doc had gone down to the second floor, someone knocked on the door. Barney asked for identification. It identified its owner as Joachim Minter, chief of the local police.

  “What do you want?” Barney said.

  “We want to question Mr. Cobbs and Miss Villiers,” Minter replied. “We have received some information about them from the Ministry.” He did not say what ministry.

  “Open up, please!” the voice said sternly.

  Barney did not know what to do. To gain time he said that he would wake up the Englishmen and ask them what they wanted to do.

  He turned to walk into the bedroom, heard a click, turned again, saw the door open, and three men enter. All three were in police uniform. The chief, a tall man with a big nose and several knife scars along his cheek, said, “You will please stand aside. Mr. Banks.”

  Barney started to protest when one of the policemen struck him on the chin with his fist. But Barney rolled with the punch and countered with a fist in the solar plexus. Then he felt a shock in his shoulder and was dully aware that he had been stabbed.

  Barney brought his own switchblade knife out and stabbed the man who had stabbed him. The two grappled. Barney was aware that the pseudochief had gone into the bedroom, but he was too busy to determine what happened after that. He cut up both men but one hit him on the temple with his fist, and that was the last he remembered until he saw Doc above him.

  “You were lucky you didn’t get your throat cut,” Doc said. “I suppose they didn’t want the hounds called out after them. A corpse might get the authorities aroused.”

  “Then Cobbs and Barbara are gone?”

  “Gone,” Doc said. “You feel up to any violent activity yet?”

  “I’m shaky, but breakfast will fix that up,” Barney said. “Why?”

  “The men who took them away are doing one of three things. They’re holding them someplace in this inn or maybe in the village. Or they’re taking them up to the castle. Or they’re taking them out of the village to some other place. But I doubt that they’ll try to keep them prisoners in the village itself for very long. That’d be too difficult. But they would have to change clothes immediately, because the real police are too well known. So the pseudochief—sounds from your description like von Zarndirl—and his men may be inside the inn yet, changing clothes and arranging for a getaway.

  “If von Zarndirl is working for Iwaldi, then the two’ll be taken up to the castle. I don’t know what value Cobbs and Villiers have for Iwaldi. The fact that he didn’t kill them when he caught them in his castle and that he wants them alive now—if von Zarndirl is working for him—shows that they’ve been holding out on us.”

  “You should have used calibanite on Cobbs and Villiers,” Barney said.

  “If I get my hands on them again, I will.”

  The phone rang. Doc was across the room as if the ringing was a starter’s pistol in the hundred-yard dash. “Doc,” Pauncho’s bottom-of-the-barrel voice said. “I just saw three men driving out of the courtyard with Cobbs and Barbara in the back seat!”

  “Be right down!” Doc Caliban said. “Meet us at our car! Bring food; we’ll eat on the run!”

  Pauncho was standing by the car with a big cardboard box balanced on one huge hand. Doc lifted the hood of the Mercedes-Benz and looked for bombs. Then he slid under and inspected the bottom for explosives or signs of sabotage. Satisfied, he got out from under and into the driver’s seat. Barney got into the back seat and Pauncho sat down beside Doc.

  There was only one way out of Gramzdorf. Doc drove as swiftly as he could through the narrow streets, which were occupied by enough locals that he had to take it easy. He used his horn when they showed a reluctance to get out of the way. But Gramzdorf was small, and within five minutes they were on the asphalt road which wound up the mountain for many miles and then would begin a descent. Von Zarndirl’s car was not in sight yet, even though it had only about five minutes’ headstart. Doc was driving over the narrow road as if he were on the Indianapolis Speedway. Pauncho ate with a nonchalance that irked Barney, who did not care at all for the depths whizzing by a few inches from him.

  “Karlskopf is twenty miles away,” Doc said. “They can take a private plane from there.”

  The sky was blue above them, and the spring sun would be above the mountain across the valley to their right within an hour. But to the west black clouds were advancing. Pauncho stopped stuffing his mouth long enough to turn on the car radio. A German announcer verified the threat of the clouds. A storm was blowing in from France.

  Barney moved over to the left side where he did not have to see the abysses springing up at him every time they took a curve. He said, “Pass some of that wiener-schnitzel or whatever it is back here.”

  “Very good stuff,” Pauncho said. He lifted a bottle of dark beer from the box, tore off the cap with his thick teeth, and drank deeply. “Ah! Nectar!” he burped.

  Barney said, “You’re disgusting! What about it, Doc? You want Pauncho to feed you while you’re driving?”

  Doc shook his head. He did not want to be distracted by anything. Besides, he had just seen the car they were chasing, another Mercedes-Benz far ahead. It was on a higher level and just going around a corner of the mountain. It was moving suicidally fast, too.

  The whole affair was puzzling. What group could be fighting the Nine? And why? Who were Cobbs and Villiers? Obviously, they were more than just archaeologists on a sabbatical.

  Doc drove as if the car had become, in a mystical manner, a living thing that was also part of him. Even Barney felt this emanation from Doc and relaxed, though he still did not move back to the right.

  Then their auto screamed around a curve and there, some fifty yards ahead, blocking the road, was von Zarndirl’s car.

  “Hey, Doc!” Pauncho said. “I saw Barbara going up the mountainside! Up in the woods there!”

  Caliban could not spare even a glance to look where Pauncho’s finger was pointing. He was using the brakes to halt the Mercedes-Benz before the ambushers could fire at close range. He succeeded in stopping the vehicle, though not without some fishtailing, and then backed it up with a roar. The expected gunfire did not materialize.

  “What’s going on?” Barney said.

  Doc gestured with a thumb behind him. He had been looking in the rearview mirror. Barney and Pauncho turned their heads and saw two men coming out of the brush behind them about fifty
yards away. One held a rifle; the other was looking down into a metal box he held before him.

  Doc started the car forward with a surge that burned rubber and threw the others back against their seats. Brakes and tires screaming, he stopped the car with its nose almost touching the side of von Zarndirl’s car. He threw open his door and fell out, was on his feet, and racing around to the other side of the car blocking their path. Von Zarndirl could be in the bushes just above waiting to catch them when they retreated from his aides, but he had to take that chance. He opened the righthand door in the front and looked inside. The keys were still in the ignition lock.

  Pauncho, looking in on the other side, said, “Hey, Doc! Why don’t we just drive this—?”

  A crack from up in the hills made him dive to the road. A bullet struck the pavement near him and screamed off. The report of the second shot came almost immediately after.

  Doc leaped up, ran to the front of the car, lifted the hood, and then dived back to the pavement by the side of the car. The hood was perforated twice and the windshield once. But Doc was up and looking down over the side of the car at the motor. He rolled away as three more bullets went through the raised hood and through the windshield. Then, fluid bronze, he was back again, had reached in and yanked loose a wire and dived away again.

  Pauncho and Barney were firing at the two men far down the road with their automatics. Seeing that the range was too far for accuracy and that the men were not even bothering to fire back, the two stopped shooting.

  “What are you doing, Doc?” Pauncho called.

  “I just disabled a bomb under the hood,” Caliban said. “They expected us to drive their car out of the way; we’d have been blown to kingdom come!”

  There was a trail up the mountainside. It was visible only in a few places, and in one of these Doc saw Villiers’ red hair and Cobbs’ black hair for a moment. His gaze kept going up the slope until it stopped on a whitish object. This could be the front of a house perhaps a thousand feet up.