The Case of the Misplaced Hero

by Camille LaGuire

got it," said the old man.

  "I know it's hard to understand, but just trust me. Wear the ring, and jump into the water, and it will take you home."

  "I've got that," said Thorny. "What I don't got is ... what about you? If I jump in without you, you'll be left behind!"

  "Don't worry about me--"

  "I'll worry about you if I like!"

  "Professor, I'm supposed to be here. I'm from here. I'm a misplaced hero, remember? This is my place. And it's my duty to get you home. So don't argue."

  "But...." The old man scowled at the ring, and hesitated.

  "Thorny, you've got to escape now, while you can. You got no money, no place to go, no papers, you don't know the language. If you get stuck here, they're going to shoot you for being a spy."

  Thorny still stared at the ring for a moment, but then suddenly he slipped it on.

  "All right," he said. "All right, but you come along if you can. For all we know, I'll end up in some other world altogether. I don't want to be alone there, and sober too."

  "Good!" said Alex. "So here's what we're going to do...."

  Episode 38

  Sword to Sword

  Alex stepped out of the alley and made his way along the road. The shadows were long and he stuck to their darkness until he was as far as possible from the alley, then he stepped forward and drew the sword.

  It made a sharp metallic ring as he drew it, and Pookiterin turned immediately, his own sword raised and at the ready. It was a wicked-looking thing -- ornate and heavy, and slightly shorter than the sabre Alex carried, but with both a sharp point and an edge. He didn't know where Pookiterin got it.

  "Who are you?" called Pookiterin. Alex stepped more fully out into the light. Who was he? Zorro? The Avenger? The Scarlet Pimpernel? Alex had no idea. He had no real identity. Then a line of poetry hit him -- probably Thorny's influence.

  "I'm Nobody," he announced and tilted his head. "Who are you? Are you nobody too?"

  Pookiterin looked him over, and recognized his own uniform. And then he sneered, and glanced up and down the road as if looking for others, or maybe traffic. Seeing none, he turned his back on Alex and stalked across the road, to the opening in the fence which led down to the river.

  "That's no way to treat an armed opponent!" called Alex.

  "You're nobody," said Pookiterin, without looking at him. His eyes were studying the shadows where Thorny was lurking. Alex had to distract him before he spotted the professor.

  "Well, I did take your uniform," Alex said. Alex circled around as he spoke, hoping to force the colonel to look away from where Thorny was creeping along in the shadows.

  "And I've got your sword," he continued, taunting on while Pookiterin said nothing. "Well, the girl actually took it from you, but I've got it now.... And you don't care? Is there something wrong with this sword?"

  Pookiterin clearly wasn't into swashbuckling banter, nor did he see Alex as a threat. Maybe Alex was too far away. He circled back into Pookiterin's line of sight, and then lunged at him, picking up speed as he went.

  But just then, as Alex thought he was going to have to run the man through to get his attention, Pookiterin saw Thorny.

  The colonel lurched forward, his attention like a laser on the old man in the shadows. The moved took Alex by surprise, but he managed a backhand slap at the colonel's rear end.

  The man wheeled around, his sword swinging down and around in a move which Alex merely dodged rather than engage.

  And it was then that Alex registered that Pookiterin had been running with the sword raised high, like he was going to bring it down on Thorny's head. Not like he was going to capture him or take him hostage.

  "You're trying to kill him?" said Alex.

  Pookiterin answered with another thrust, this time coming up from below as if to gut Alex. Alex beat the blade aside and then, his blade being low itself, he jabbed at the man's knee.

  Pookiterin leapt back and parried in one fluid motion that said the man had experience with a sword.

  But then he turned and raced again toward Thorny, who ducked behind a rain barrel. Pookiterin's blade chopped into the barrel like an ax, and stuck there just long enough for Thorny to roll away out of reach.

  Thorny was unarmed, harmless. And this guy was trying to kill him.

  Alex would have run him through, if the man hadn't also thrown himself to the ground, rolling and pulling his sword free in one motion that pulled the empty barrel over and rolled it into Alex.

  Alex shoved the barrel back at Pookiterin. The colonel was now cornered in the opening of the alley. Alex called to Thorny.

  "Run. Hit the river now!"

  Thorny scrambled off.

  Pookiterin kicked the barrel back at Alex, and Alex shoved it back again.

  "Forget it," said Alex. "I won't let you have him."

  "I will kill him," said Pookiterin, his voice suddenly flat and quiet with determination. "I will cut him to ribbons."

  "Why?" asked Alex as they continued to shove the barrel back and forth. Pookiterin made it to his feet.

  "Others have let my superiors down," said Pookiterin. "But I will not. I will do what no one else can do, and I will be commended for it."

  "You're doing this for a gold star?"

  "Yes, for a general's star."

  And then, suddenly, Pookiterin attacked.

  He slashed at Alex's face, and only missed taking out both eyes because he misjudged the length of the shorter, heavier blade.

  Alex rocked back and couldn't even get back en garde before Pookiterin leaped up to the top of the barrel and used his momentum to roll himself forward.

  As he leaped nimbly to the ground, Alex revised his opinion of the man's competence. He might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer... but he knew how to use the sharpest knife.

  And just now, as Alex barely parried a flurry of slashing strokes, he wasn't at all sure if challenging the man to a duel had been such a hot idea.

  Episode 39

  Rozinshura vs. The Plot

  Rozinshura hardly paid attention as High Commissar Vshtin greeted him effusively.

  "Kosha! My kinchura!" the commissar cried, and he took Rozinshura by the shoulders and gave him a kiss on each cheek.

  They were not kinchura -- that is, not close -- though they had been kinchin, back in the First Revolution. Rozinshura had been an awe-struck boy, fetching water and carrying messages for the band of men who led the revolution. Vshtin had not been so much older, a young professor who out-shone the old men with his cold but clear ideas about how to use bureaucracy to make anarchism work.

  But now it seemed the cold intellectual had learned to be a politician, smiling and flattering local officials... or perhaps he was just nervous of those around him, and seeking an ally.

  Rozinshura might have been flattered in other circumstances, but just now, he could only think of one thing:

  There were three dozen security men on the platform, crowding around, and listening to everything they said to each other. Who knew if they could be trusted? Perhaps some of them, but if there were a coup planned, perhaps none.

  Vshtin had his own bodyguards, wary men dressed just like him in cloth caps and canvas coats. They could probably be trusted, but there were only four of them.

  Rozinshura needed to change the odds. He needed an escape, a fortified room, a bunker, something to separate them from the others.

  Rozinshura needed a car.

  A car had only so much room; with Rozinshura, Vshtin, a bodyguard, and Tralkulo driving, there would be hardly any room for enemies. The odds would be even enough for a short time so Rozinshura could speak.

  And a car could flee, if that turned out to be best.

  So Rozinshura smiled and dissembled like a flattered official and then said quickly:

  "You will want to see the Ambassador, of course. He is injured, you know, but doing well." Then he shouted for Tralkulo to get the car and turned
back apologetically to Vshtin. "My leg. I am very slow on foot."

  "Perhaps you should stay behind, then," said one of the security officers with a sneer.

  "No, no, Colonel Sochir," said the High Commissar. "This man stopped a runaway caisson with that leg. Have respect."

  Rozinshura looked closely at Sochir. His name was one of those on the list, set aside a little by itself, as though it were important. The man studied Rozinshura just as shrewdly, and then gave a little nod of respect, and began to gather his men to provide security for the short trip to the inn. And Rozinshura heard him tell one man to drive. Sochir planned to take control of the car when it arrived.

  It took longer than expected for Tralkulo to get the car. Rozinshura filled the time by starting his report to Vshtin. He listened for the rattle of the old engine, in hopes of beating Sochir to the car. But then, just as he heard it, he also happened to see something else.

  Down the road, two figures stepped out of the shadows and made their way along the road. It looked like Pookiterin and the old drunk. Or almost like them. Rozinshura squinted closer, and in a moment everyone was looking at the two figures who quickly disappeared down a side road toward the river.

  "Was that Pookiterin?" said Sochir, suddenly distracted from his plans.

  "I think so," said Rozinshura. But then another figure appeared, in a drab brown uniform. But he walked with excessive pride -- upright, strutting -- and there was no mistaking him. "No, I think that's Pookiterin."

  Sochir jumped down the steps to get a closer look. Rozinshura took advantage of the distraction to launch himself down the stairs and greet Tralkulo as she jumped out of the car