not looking at Lafayette. He reminded
O'Leary of an oft-beaten dog with a guilty conscience.
"Glad to see you got clear, Yer
Lordship," Marv muttered.
"Clear of what?" O'Leary demanded.
"Too bad me and Omar din't stay inside like
you said —but climbing them stairs was too much. Like, not only is a guy
sticking his neck out, but I and old Omar was getting pretty winded, too. So,
when we heard the bugle go, natcherly we hadda report in on the double— just in
time to watch Frodolkin's boys drag old Trog outa his fancy chair, which I
think he'd pop a gusset if he could see you setting in it now, Sir Al."
"I'm Sir Lafayette, not 'Al', O'Leary
snapped. "What's happened here? Where's Trog?"
"Like I was tryna say, sir—they got him.
Prolly got him hung up by the heels right now, squeezing his secrets outa him.
Onney it'll take a while, 'cause he ain't got none—secrets, I mean."
"Who's this Frodolkin you mentioned—and
where?" O'Leary insisted. "I need to see the head man here, and if
Trog's been replaced by Frodolkin, then he's the one I have to see—and in a
hurry."
Marv scratched at his unkempt scalp with a
fingernail like a black-rimmed banjo pick. "Lessee," he muttered,
"he might be back at camp, celebrating the big victory and all—or maybe he's
out scouting his new territory, kinda sizing up what he got here. Beats
me."
"Listen, Marv," O'Leary said urgently,
rising and going closer to the ragged fellow, who was intent now on capturing a
flea. "Just before I showed up," O'Leary insisted, "didn't you
see a girl—a lovely young woman with dark hair, wearing a silver-lame gown and
a blue velvet cloak that's too big for her? It's my cloak, you see; I just put
it around her so she wouldn't get soaked in the rain. You must have seen her!
She was only a few seconds ahead of me."
"Not a chanst, Al. A dame to fit that
description ain't been seen in these parts since last Saint Filbert's Day
anyways. And if she was, she'd of been grabbed by the first guy seen her. We
ain't seen nobody. Forget it, pal. It's a nice delusion, but it just won't
stand up. Why not go on down to town and find yerself one o' them nice friendly
broads hangs around Ye Gut Bucket Bar and Grill?"
"Because Daphne's here, and I mean
to find her," Lafayette replied staunchly. "How many of Trog's men
can you round up in a hurry?"
"Depends what for," Marv replied
lazily. "If it's easy and pays good, a lotta the boys'll volunteer, just
outa sheer altruism. What you got in mind, Al?"
"For the last time," O'Leary snapped.
"I'm not Al!"
"You come outa the Dread Tower, din't
ya?" Marv countered.
"Of course, but—"
"You saying Allegorus don't hang around the
Tower?" Marv challenged.
"Well, no," Lafayette conceded.
"He dropped in while I was there, as a matter of fact."
"What I don't figger," Marv
confided, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a horny palm, "is hows come you
don't use some o' them snazzy tricks which you're justly famous for and all, to
locate this Daffy broad you're hung up on."
"I wish I could," Lafayette mourned. "But
ever since they focused the suppressor on me"—his thought continued after
his voice faded—"still, I did handle old Trog pretty well when he
was all set to give me the works. Maybe if I really concentrate—"
"Hey, Al, don't go working no spells while I'm
around, OK?" Marv broke into his reverie. "I'm skeered o' witchcraft
and like that. So just wait'll I take cover. Hark! What's that?"
O'Leary of an oft-beaten dog with a guilty conscience.
"Glad to see you got clear, Yer
Lordship," Marv muttered.
"Clear of what?" O'Leary demanded.
"Too bad me and Omar din't stay inside like
you said —but climbing them stairs was too much. Like, not only is a guy
sticking his neck out, but I and old Omar was getting pretty winded, too. So,
when we heard the bugle go, natcherly we hadda report in on the double— just in
time to watch Frodolkin's boys drag old Trog outa his fancy chair, which I
think he'd pop a gusset if he could see you setting in it now, Sir Al."
"I'm Sir Lafayette, not 'Al', O'Leary
snapped. "What's happened here? Where's Trog?"
"Like I was tryna say, sir—they got him.
Prolly got him hung up by the heels right now, squeezing his secrets outa him.
Onney it'll take a while, 'cause he ain't got none—secrets, I mean."
"Who's this Frodolkin you mentioned—and
where?" O'Leary insisted. "I need to see the head man here, and if
Trog's been replaced by Frodolkin, then he's the one I have to see—and in a
hurry."
Marv scratched at his unkempt scalp with a
fingernail like a black-rimmed banjo pick. "Lessee," he muttered,
"he might be back at camp, celebrating the big victory and all—or maybe he's
out scouting his new territory, kinda sizing up what he got here. Beats
me."
"Listen, Marv," O'Leary said urgently,
rising and going closer to the ragged fellow, who was intent now on capturing a
flea. "Just before I showed up," O'Leary insisted, "didn't you
see a girl—a lovely young woman with dark hair, wearing a silver-lame gown and
a blue velvet cloak that's too big for her? It's my cloak, you see; I just put
it around her so she wouldn't get soaked in the rain. You must have seen her!
She was only a few seconds ahead of me."
"Not a chanst, Al. A dame to fit that
description ain't been seen in these parts since last Saint Filbert's Day
anyways. And if she was, she'd of been grabbed by the first guy seen her. We
ain't seen nobody. Forget it, pal. It's a nice delusion, but it just won't
stand up. Why not go on down to town and find yerself one o' them nice friendly
broads hangs around Ye Gut Bucket Bar and Grill?"
"Because Daphne's here, and I mean
to find her," Lafayette replied staunchly. "How many of Trog's men
can you round up in a hurry?"
"Depends what for," Marv replied
lazily. "If it's easy and pays good, a lotta the boys'll volunteer, just
outa sheer altruism. What you got in mind, Al?"
"For the last time," O'Leary snapped.
"I'm not Al!"
"You come outa the Dread Tower, din't
ya?" Marv countered.
"Of course, but—"
"You saying Allegorus don't hang around the
Tower?" Marv challenged.
"Well, no," Lafayette conceded.
"He dropped in while I was there, as a matter of fact."
"What I don't figger," Marv
confided, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a horny palm, "is hows come you
don't use some o' them snazzy tricks which you're justly famous for and all, to
locate this Daffy broad you're hung up on."
"I wish I could," Lafayette mourned. "But
ever since they focused the suppressor on me"—his thought continued after
his voice faded—"still, I did handle old Trog pretty well when he
was all set to give me the works. Maybe if I really concentrate—"
"Hey, Al, don't go working no spells while I'm
around, OK?" Marv broke into his reverie. "I'm skeered o' witchcraft
and like that. So just wait'll I take cover. Hark! What's that?"
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