That Sweet Little Old Lady

by Randall Garrett

  V

  Malone opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Not even air.

  He wasn't breathing.

  He stared at Burris for a long moment, then took a breath and lookedagain at Her Majesty. "The spy?" he whispered.

  "That's right," she said.

  "But that's--" He had to fight for control. "That's the head of theFBI," he managed to say. "Do you mean to say he's a spy?"

  Burris was saying: "... I'm afraid this is a matter of importance, Dr.Dowson. We cannot tolerate delay. You have the court order. Obey it."

  "Very well, Mr. Burris," Dowson said with an obvious lack of grace."I'll release him to Mr. Malone immediately, since you insist."

  Malone stared, fascinated. Then he turned back to the little old lady."Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that Andrew J. Burris is atelepathic spy?"

  "Oh, dear me," Her Majesty said, obviously aghast. "My goodnessgracious. Is that Mr. Burris on the screen?"

  "It is," Malone assured her. A look out of the corner of his eye toldhim that neither Burris, in Washington, nor Dowson or any others in theroom, had heard any of the conversation. Malone lowered his whisper somemore, just in case. "That's the head of the FBI," he said.

  "Well, then," Her Majesty said, "Mr. Burris couldn't possibly be a spy,then, could he? Not if he's the head of the FBI. Of course not. Mr.Burris simply isn't a spy. He isn't the type. Forget all about Mr.Burris."

  "I can't," Malone said at random. "I work for him." He closed his eyes.The room, he had discovered, was spinning slightly. "Now," he said,"you're sure he's not a spy?"

  "Certainly I'm sure," she said, with her most regal tones. "Do you doubtthe word of your sovereign?"

  "Not exactly," Malone said. Truthfully, he wasn't at all sure. Not atall. But why tell that to the Queen?

  "Shame on you," she said. "You shouldn't even think such things. Afterall, I am the Queen, aren't I?" But there was a sweet, gentle smile onher face when she spoke; she did not seem to be really irritated.

  "Sure you are," Malone said. "But--"

  "Malone!" It was Burris' voice, from the phone. Malone spun around."Take Mr. Logan," Burris said, "and get going. There's been enough delayas it is."

  "Yes, sir," Malone said. "Right away, sir. Anything else?"

  "That's all," Burris said. "Good night." The screen blanked.

  There was a little silence.

  "All right, doctor," Boyd said. He looked every inch a king, and Maloneknew exactly what king. "Bring him out."

  Dr. Dowson heaved a great sigh. "Very well," he said heavily. "But Iwant it known that I resent this high-handed treatment, and I shallwrite a letter complaining of it." He pressed a button on an instrumentpanel in his desk. "Bring Mr. Logan in," he said.

  Malone wasn't in the least worried about the letter. Burris, he knew,would take care of anything like that. And, besides, he had other thingsto think about.

  The door to the next room had opened almost immediately, and two husky,white-clad men were bringing in a strait-jacketed figure whose arms werewrapped against his chest, while the jacket's extra-long sleeves weretied behind his back. He walked where the attendants led him, but hiseyes weren't looking at anything in the room. They stared at somethingfar away and invisible, an impalpable shifting nothingness somewhere inthe infinite distances beyond the world.

  For the first time, Malone felt the chill of panic. Here, he thought,was insanity of a very real and frightening kind. Queen ElizabethThompson was one thing--and she was almost funny, and likable, afterall. But William Logan was something else, and something that sent awave of cold shivering into the room.

  What made it worse was that Logan wasn't a man, but a boy, barelynineteen. Malone had known that, of course--but seeing it was somethingdifferent. The lanky, awkward figure wrapped in a hospital strait jacketwas horrible, and the smooth, unconcerned face was, somehow, worse.There was no threat in that face, no terror or anger or fear. It wasmerely--a blank.

  It was not a human face. Its complete lack of emotion or expressioncould have belonged to a sleeping child of ten--or to a member of adifferent race. Malone looked at the boy, and looked away.

  Was it possible that Logan knew what he was thinking?

  _Answer me_, he thought, directly at the still boy.

  There was no reply, none at all. Malone forced himself to look away. Butthe air in the room seemed to have become much colder.

  The attendants stood on either side of him, waiting. For one long secondno one moved, and then Dr. Dowson reached into his desk drawer andproduced a sheaf of papers.

  "If you'll sign these for the government," he said, "you may have Mr.Logan. There seems little else that I can do, Mr. Malone--in spite of myearnest pleas--"

  "I'm sorry," Malone said. After all, he _needed_ Logan, didn't he? Aftera look at the boy, he wasn't sure any more--but the Queen had said shewanted him, and the Queen's word was law. Or what passed for law,anyhow, at least for the moment.

  Malone took the papers and looked them over. There was nothing specialabout them; they were merely standard release forms, absolving the staffand management of Desert Edge Sanitarium from every conceivableresponsibility under any conceivable circumstances, as far as WilliamLogan was concerned. Dr. Dowson gave Malone a look that said: "Verywell, Mr. Malone; I will play Pilate and wash my hands of thematter--but you needn't think I like it." It was a lot for one look tosay, but Dr. Dowson's dark and sunken eyes got the message across withno loss in transmission. As a matter of fact, there seemed to be morecoming--a much less printable message was apparently on the way throughthose glittering, sad and angry eyes.

  Malone avoided them nervously, and went over the papers again instead.At last he signed them and handed them back. "Thanks for yourco-operation, Dr. Dowson," he said briskly, feeling ten kinds of atraitor.

  "Not at all," Dowson said bitterly. "Mr. Logan is now in your custody. Imust trust you to take good care of him."

  "The best care we can," Malone said. It didn't seem sufficient. Headded: "The best possible care, doctor," and tried to look dependableand trustworthy, like a Boy Scout. He was aware that the effort failedmiserably.

  At his signal, the two plainclothes FBI men took over from theattendants. They marched Logan out to their car, and Malone led theprocession back to Boyd's automobile, a procession that consisted--inorder--of Sir Kenneth Malone, prospective Duke of Columbia, QueenElizabeth I, Lady Barbara, prospective Duchess of an unspecified county,and Sir Thomas Boyd, prospective Duke of Poughkeepsie. Malone hummed alittle of "Pomp and Circumstance" as they walked; somehow, he thought itwas called for.

  They piled into the car, Boyd at the wheel with Malone next to him, andthe two ladies in back, with Queen Elizabeth sitting directly behind SirThomas. Boyd started the engine and they turned and roared off.

  "Well," said Her Majesty with an air of great complacence, "that's that.That makes six of us."

  Malone looked around the car. He counted the people. There were four. Hesaid, puzzled: "Six?"

  "That's right, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "You have it exactly.Six."

  "You mean six telepaths?" Sir Thomas asked in a deferent tone of voice.

  "Certainly I do," Her Majesty replied. "We telepaths, you know, muststick together. That's the reason I got poor little Willie out of thatsanitarium of his, you know--and, of course, the others will be joiningus."

  "Don't you think it's time for your nap, dear?" Lady Barbara put insuddenly.

  "My _what_?" It was obvious that Queen Elizabeth was Not Amused.

  "Your nap, dear," Lady Barbara said.

  "Don't call me 'dear,'" Her Majesty snapped.

  "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Barbara murmured. "But really--"

  "My dear girl," Her Majesty said, "I am not a child. I am yoursovereign. Do try to have a little respect. Why, I remember whenShakespeare used to say to me--but that's no matter, not now."

  "About those telepaths--" Boyd began.

  "Telepaths," Her Majesty said. "Ah, yes. We must all
stick together. Inthe hospital, you know, we had a little joke--the patients for InsulinShock Therapy used to say: 'If we don't stick together, we'll all bestuck separately.' Do you see, Sir Thomas?"

  "But," Sir Kenneth Malone said, trying desperately to return to thepoint. "_Six?_" He had counted them up in his mind. Burris had mentionedone found in St. Elizabeths, and two more picked up later. With QueenElizabeth, and now William Logan, that made five.

  Unless the Queen was counting him in. There didn't seem any good reasonwhy not.

  "Oh, no," Her Majesty said with a little trill of laughter, "not you,Sir Kenneth. I meant Mr. Miles."

  Sir Thomas Boyd asked: "Mr. Miles?"

  "That's right," Her Majesty said. "His name is Barry Miles, and your FBImen found him an hour ago in New Orleans. They're bringing him to YuccaFlats to meet the rest of us; isn't that nice?"

  Lady Barbara cleared her throat.

  "It really isn't necessary for you to try to get my attention, dear,"the Queen said. "After all, I do know what you're thinking."

  Lady Barbara blinked. "I still want to suggest, respectfully, about thatnap--" she began.

  "My dear girl," the Queen said, with the faintest trace of impatience,"I do not feel the least bit tired, and this is such an exciting daythat I just don't want to miss any of it. Besides, I've already told youI don't want a nap. It isn't polite to be insistent to your Queen--nomatter how strongly you feel about a matter. I'm sure you'll learn tounderstand that, dear."

  Lady Barbara opened her mouth, shut it again, and opened it once more."My goodness," she said.

  "That's the idea," Her Majesty said approvingly. "Think before youspeak--and then don't speak. It really isn't necessary, since I knowwhat you're thinking."

  Malone said grimly: "About this new telepath ... this Barry Miles. Didthey find him--"

  "In a nut-house?" Her Majesty said sweetly. "Why, of course, SirKenneth. You were quite right when you thought that telepaths wentinsane because they had a sense they couldn't effectively use, andbecause no one believed them. How would you feel, if nobody believed youcould see?"

  "Strange," Malone admitted.

  "There," Her Majesty said. "You see? Telepaths do go insane--it's sortof an occupational disease. Of course, not all of them are insane."

  "Not all of them?" Malone felt the faint stirrings of hope. Perhaps theywould turn up a telepath yet who was completely sane and rational.

  "There's me, of course," Her Majesty said.

  Lady Barbara gulped audibly. Boyd said nothing, but gripped the wheel ofthe car more tightly.

  And Malone thought to himself: _That's right. There's QueenElizabeth--who says she isn't crazy._

  And then he thought of one more sane telepath. But the knowledge did notmake him feel any better.

  It was, of course, the spy.

  How many more are going to turn up? Malone wondered.

  "Oh, that's about all of us," the Queen said. "There is one more, butshe's in a hospital in Honolulu, and your men won't find her untiltomorrow."

  Sir Thomas Boyd ... looking majestic.]

  Boyd turned. "Do you mean you can foretell the future, too?" he asked ina strained voice.

  Lady Barbara screamed: "Keep your eyes on the wheel and your hands onthe road!"

  "What?" Boyd said.

  There was a terrific blast of noise, and a truck went by in the oppositedirection. The driver, a big, ugly man with no hair on his head, leanedout to curse at the quartet, but his mouth remained open. He stared atthe four Elizabethans and said nothing at all as he whizzed by.

  "What was that?" Boyd asked faintly.

  "That," Malone snapped, "was a truck. And it was due entirely to themercy of God that we didn't hit it. Barbara's right. Keep your eyes onthe wheel and your hands on the road." He paused and thought that over.Then he said: "Does that mean anything at all?"

  "Lady Barbara was confused by the excitement," the Queen said calmly."It's all right now, dear."

  Lady Barbara blinked across the seat. "I was--afraid," she said.

  "It's all right," the Queen said. "I'll take care of you."

  "This," Malone announced to no one in particular, "is ridiculous."

  * * * * *

  Boyd swept the car around a curve and concentrated grimly on the road.After a second the Queen said: "Since you're still thinking about thequestion, I'll answer you."

  "What question?" Malone said, thoroughly baffled.

  "Sir Thomas asked me if I could foretell the future," the Queen saidequably. "Of course I can't. That's silly. Just because I'm immortal andI'm a telepath, don't go hog-wild."

  "Then how did you know the FBI agents were going to find the girl inHonolulu tomorrow?" Boyd said.

  "Because," the Queen said, "they're thinking about looking in thehospital tomorrow, and when they look they'll certainly find her."

  Boyd said: "Oh," and was silent.

  But Malone had a grim question. "Why didn't you tell me about theseother telepaths before?" he said. "You could have saved us a lot ofwork."

  "Oh, heavens to Betsy, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty exclaimed. "How couldI? After all, the proper precautions had to be taken first, didn't they?I told you all the others were crazy--_really_ crazy, I mean. And theyjust wouldn't be safe without the proper precautions."

  "Perhaps you ought to go back to the hospital, too," Barbara said, andadded: "Your Majesty," just in time.

  "But if I did, dear," Her Majesty said, "you'd lose your chance tobecome a Duchess, and that wouldn't be at all nice. Besides, I'm havingso much _fun_!" She trilled a laugh again. "Riding around like this isjust wonderful!" she said.

  _And you're important for national security_, Malone said to himself.

  "That's right, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said. "The country needs me, andI'm happy to serve. That is the job of a sovereign."

  "Fine," Malone said, hoping it was.

  "Well, then," said Her Majesty, "that settles that. We have a wholenight ahead of us, Sir Kenneth. What do you say we make a night _of_it?"

  "Knight who?" Malone said. He felt confused again. It seemed as if hewas always feeling confused lately.

  "Don't be silly, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "There are times andtimes."

  "Sure," Malone said at random. _And time and a half_, he thought._Possibly for overtime._ "What is Your Majesty thinking of?" he askedwith trepidation.

  "I want to take a tour of Las Vegas," Her Majesty said primly.

  Lady Barbara shook her head. "I'm afraid that's not possible, YourMajesty," she said.

  "And why not, pray?" Her Majesty said. "No. I can see what you'rethinking. It's not safe to let me go wandering around in a strange city,and particularly if that city is Las Vegas. Well, dear, I can assure youthat it's perfectly safe."

  "We've got work to do," Boyd contributed.

  Malone said nothing. He stared bleakly at the hood ornament on the car.

  "I have made my wishes known," the Queen said.

  Lady Barbara said: "But--"

  Boyd, however, knew when to give in. "Yes, Your Majesty," he said.

  She smiled graciously at him, and answered Lady Barbara only by a slightlift of her regal eyebrow.

  Malone had been thinking about something else. When he was sure he had afirm grip on himself he turned. "Your Majesty, tell me something," hesaid. "You can read my mind, right?"

  "Well, of course, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said. "I thought I'd provedthat to you. And, as for what you're about to ask--"

  "No," Malone said. "Please. Let me ask the questions before you answerthem. It's less confusing that way. I'll cheerfully admit that itshouldn't be--but it is. Please?"

  "Certainly, Sir Kenneth, if you wish," the Queen said. She folded herhands in her lap and waited quietly.

  * * * * *

  "O.K.," Malone said. "Now, if you can read my mind, then you must knowthat I don't _really_ believe that you are Queen Elizabeth of England.The First, I me
an."

  "Mr. Malone," Barbara Wilson said suddenly. "I--"

  "It's all right, child," the Queen said. "He doesn't disturb me. And Ido wish you'd call him Sir Kenneth. That's his title, you know."

  "Now that's what I mean," Malone said. "Why do you want us to _act_ asif we believe you, when you know we don't?"

  "Because that's the way people do act," the Queen said calmly. "Very fewpeople really believe that their so-called superiors _are_ superior.Almost none of them do, in fact."

  "Now wait a minute," Boyd began.

  "No, no, it's quite true," the Queen said, "and, unpleasant as it maybe, we must learn to face the truth. That's the path of sanity." LadyBarbara made a strangled noise but Her Majesty continued, unruffled."Nearly everybody suffers from the silly delusion that he's possiblyequal to, but very probably superior to, everybody else ... mygoodness, where would we be if that were true?"

  Malone felt that a comment was called for, and he made one. "Who knows?"he said.

  "All the things people do toward their superiors," the Queen said, "aredone for social reasons. For instance, Sir Kenneth: you don't realizefully how you feel about Mr. Burris."

  "He's a nice guy," Malone said. "I work for him. He's a good Director ofthe FBI."

  "Of course," the Queen said. "But you believe you could do the job justas well, or perhaps a little better."

  "I do not," Malone said angrily.

  Her Majesty reserved a dignified silence.

  After a while Malone said: "And what if I do?"

  "Why, nothing," Her Majesty said. "You don't think Mr. Burris is anysmarter or better than you are--but you treat him as if you did. All Iam insisting on is the same treatment."

  "But if we don't believe--" Boyd began.

  "Bless you," Her Majesty said, "I can't help the way you _think_, but,as Queen, I do have some control over the way you _act_."

  Malone thought it over. "You have a point there," he said at last.

  Barbara said: "But--"

  "Yes, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said, "I do." She seemed to be ignoringLady Barbara. Perhaps, Malone thought, she was still angry over the napaffair. "It's not that," the Queen said.

  "Not what?" Boyd said, thoroughly confused.

  "Not the naps," the Queen said.

  "What naps?" Boyd said.

  Malone said: "I was thinking--"

  "Good," Boyd said. "Keep it up. I'm driving. Everything's going to hellaround me, but I'm driving."

  A red light appeared ahead. Boyd jammed on the brakes with somewhat morethan the necessary force, and Malone was thrown forward with a grunt.Behind him there were two ladylike squeals.

  Malone struggled upright. "Barbara?" he called. "Are you all right--"Then he remembered the Queen.

  "It's all right," Her Majesty said. "I can understand your concern forLady Barbara." She smiled at Malone as he turned.

  Malone gaped at her. Of course she knew what he thought about Barbara;she'd been reading his mind. And, apparently, she was on his side. Thatwas good, even though it made him slightly nervous to think about.

  "Now," the Queen said suddenly, "what about tonight?"

  "Tonight?"

  "Yes, of course," the Queen said. She smiled, and put up a hand to patat her white hair under the Elizabethan skullcap. "I think I should liketo go to the Palace," she said. "After all, isn't that where a Queenshould be?"

  Boyd said, in a kind of explosion: "London? England?"

  "Oh, dear me--" the Queen began, and Barbara said:

  "I'm afraid that I simply can't allow anything like that. Overseas--"

  "I didn't mean overseas, dear," Her Majesty said. "Sir Kenneth, pleaseexplain to these people."

  The Palace, Malone knew, was more properly known as the Golden Palace.It was right in Las Vegas--convenient to all sources of money. As amatter of fact, it was one of the biggest gambling houses along the LasVegas strip, a veritable chaos of wheels, cards, dice, chips and othersuch devices. Malone explained all this to the others, wonderingmeanwhile why Miss Thompson wanted to go there.

  "_Not_ Miss Thompson, _please_, Sir Kenneth," Her Majesty said.

  "Not Miss Thompson what?" Boyd said. "What's going on anyhow?"

  "She's reading my mind," Malone said.

  "Well, then," Boyd snapped, "tell her to keep it to herself." The carstarted up again with a roar and Malone and the others were thrownaround again, this time toward the back. There was a chorus of groansand squeals, and they were on their way once more.

  * * * * *

  "To reply to your question, Sir Kenneth," the Queen said.

  Lady Barbara said, with some composure: "What question ... YourMajesty?"

  The Queen nodded regally at her. "Sir Kenneth was wondering why I wishedto go to the Golden Palace," she said. "And my reply is this: it is noneof your business why I want to go there. After all, is my word law, orisn't it?"

  There didn't seem to be a good enough answer to that, Malone thoughtsadly. He kept quiet and was relieved to note that the others did thesame. However, after a second he thought of something else.

  "Your Majesty," he began carefully, "we've got to go to Yucca Flatstomorrow. Remember?"

  "Certainly," the Queen said. "My memory is quite good, thank you. Butthat is tomorrow morning. We have the rest of the night left. It's onlya little after nine, you know."

  "Heavens," Barbara said. "Is it that late?"

  "It's even later," Boyd said sourly. "It's much later than you think."

  "And it's getting later all the time," Malone added. "Pretty soon thesun will go out and all life on earth will end. Won't that be nice andpeaceful?"

  "I'm looking forward to it," Boyd said.

  "I'm not," Barbara said. "But I've got to get some sleep tonight, if I'mgoing to be any good at all tomorrow."

  _You're pretty good right now_, Malone thought, but he didn't say aword. He felt the Queen's eye on him but didn't turn around. After all,she was on his side--wasn't she?

  At any rate, she didn't say anything.

  "Perhaps it would be best," Barbara said, "if you and I ... Your Majesty... just went home and rested up. Some other time, then, when there'snothing vital to do, we could--"

  "No," the Queen said. "We couldn't. Really, Lady Barbara, how often willI have to remind you of the duties you owe your sovereign--not the leastof which is obedience, as dear old Ben used to say."

  "Ben?" Malone said, and immediately wished he hadn't.

  "Jonson, dear boy," the Queen said. "Really a remarkable man--and such agood friend to poor Will. Why, did you ever hear the story of how heactually paid Will's rent in London once upon a time? That was whileWill and that Anne of his were having one of their arguments, of course.I didn't tell you that story, did I?"

  "No," Malone said truthfully, but his voice was full of foreboding. "IfI might remind Your Majesty of the subject," he added tentatively, "Ishould like to say--"

  "Remind me of the subject!" the Queen said, obviously delighted. "What alovely pun! And how much better because purely unconscious! My, my, SirKenneth, I never suspected you of a pointed sense of humor--could you bea descendant of Sir Richard Greene, I wonder?"

  "I doubt it," Malone said. "My ancestors were all poor but Irish." Hepaused. "Or, if you prefer, Irish but poor." Another pause, and then headded: "If that means anything at all. Which I doubt."

  "In any case," the Queen said, her eyes twinkling, "you were about toenter a new objection to our little visit to the Palace, were you not?"

  Malone admitted as much. "I really think that--"

  Her eyes grew suddenly cold. "If I hear any more objections, SirKenneth, I shall not only rescind your knighthood and--when I regain myrightful kingdom--deny you your dukedom, but I shall refuse toco-operate any further in the business of Project Isle."

  Malone turned cold. His face, he knew without glancing in the mirror,was white and pale. He thought of what Burris would do to him if hedidn't follow through on his assigned job.
<
br />   Even if he wasn't as good as Burris thought he was, he really likedbeing an FBI agent. He didn't want to be fired.

  And Burris had said: "_Give her anything she wants._"

  He gulped and tried to make his face look normal. "All right," he said."Fine. We'll go to the Palace."

  He tried to ignore the pall of apprehension that fell over the car.