They followed the officer into the main entrance and through the vast echoey halls. The officer opened a door and they were in a courtroom. They walked Madison straight across it and stopped him in front of a door.
The officer frisked him, appropriated his identoplate and went through the door. He came back and held it open.
The two guards catapulted Madison into a room. It was a stone-walled chamber but it had a rich rug on the floor. A huge block of stone, like a desk, had another rich hanging thrown over it. An old man, dressed in black, was in a chair behind the desk staring out the window.
The man swivelled the chair around. He picked up Madison's identoplate and looked at it. He fixed Madison with a wintry eye.
"So you're a friend of Soltan Gris. Well, well. I am Lord Turn. You can speak freely here."
Madison took it that they must be alone but he heard a clank behind him. The officer was standing against the far wall, keeping an eye on him.
"I just wanted to make sure he was all right," said Madison, lamely. "I want to see him."
"Do you have a Royal order?"
"No," said Madison.
"Then how could you possibly expect to be able to see a prisoner here?"
"I am very dose to Lombar Hisst, Spokesman to His Majesty."
"Hmm," said Lord Turn. "Tell me... Madison? Do you know anything of the crimes of Gris?"
"Well, sir, I did not come here to testify. He may--"
"No, no. This is not a court you're standing in. You couldn't testify anyway unless a court was in session. Let me put this another way. Do you know Royal Officer Jettero Heller?"
"Well, yes, Your Honor--"
"Your Lordship," corrected the officer fifty feet away.
"... Your Lordship," said Madison. "I do know Jettero Heller."
"Do you know where he is?"
"Well, no, Your Hon-Your Lordship."
"Blast!" said Lord Turn.
"I know there's a general warrant out for him," said Madison, "and I would be happy to--"
"General warrant, piffle," said Lord Turn. "I am holding his prisoner here. And I am quite sure that Jettero has a very good reason to put this Soltan Gris in Royal custody. But I DO wish the lad had given me a note or something to say what Gris has DONE!"
The conversation had gone all sixes and sevens for Madison. He realized he could not now say that Gris was a criminal to end all criminals, as he had already said he was his friend, thinking they would let him have visitors. Maybe they could get him for contempt or lying to a judge. The cold chill of this stately place was gnawing into him.
"I'm looking everywhere for Heller myself!" he said in a desperate effort to appear helpful.
"And you haven't found him?"
"No, Your Lordship, but I have lines out."
Lord Turn looked at him and then barked a short, dry laugh. He punched a couple of buttons on his desk and a court clerk appeared first, being just next door.
Lord Turn said, "This is a man named Madison. I see what this is all about now. It's just another crude attempt by Lombar Hisst to bypass all normal procedures. For some reason, Hisst does not want to produce a Royal warrant or even a Royal pass. He's sent another man in here to see Gris." He turned to the guard officer. "Did you find any poison on this Madison here?"
"No, Your Lordship."
"Oh, heavens," said Madison, "I wasn't sent here by Hisst!"
"You just said you were," said Turn.
"I just wanted to make sure my friend Gris was all right!" wailed Madison.
A warder had come in in response to Turn's second buzz. He rattled his opening plates.
"Is the prisoner Gris all right?" said Lord Turn to him.
"Chipper as a songbird, Your Lordship. Just sitting there all day and half the night dictating his confession. He's on his third roll of vocoscriber paper. Singing like a songbird, too, Your Lordship."
"Well, maybe someday we'll know what this is all about," said Turn. "That's all, Warder. Now, Clerk, look at this identoplate. Stamp it on something. And leave an order at the gate that this Madison is to be let in if he ever finds where that dear boy Jettero has gotten to."
Mistaking this for kindness, Madison said, "Could I see Gris for just a moment?"
"And," said Lord Turn to his clerk, "issue another order for Gris not to be permitted to stand near windows. I think Hisst is trying to assassinate him." He turned to Madison. "Now, as for you, if I find out that you have found out where Jettero Heller is and have NOT told me, I will have you picked up on a judge's order and thrown into a detention cell until you tell me why you withheld the information." He turned to the guard officer. "Throw him out!"
Chapter 4
Madison picked himself up off the pavement, wishing the guards had not taken the order so literally.
Flick kept out of sight until he was sure the gate was closed and then he ran out and, accompanying the limping Madison, tried to brush him off.
"I told you not to go near that place," said Flick.
Madison didn't like this decline of image. "I shouldn't have gone for the guard's saber. I should have aimed for his windpipe."
"Comets! Well, at least they threw you out instead of in. Even His Majesty is careful how he orders that lot around."
As Madison climbed into the airbus he noticed the sun was almost set. He had Flick go up a few thousand feet. He thought hard for a few moments and then suddenly a plan came to him.
He straightened up his clothes, put on a reassuring face and called Teenie.
She answered instantly. "That's better!" she said. "I'm sure," and there was a threatening edge in her voice, "that you have good news. Did you see the (bleepard)?"
"Oh, yes," said Madison. "And Teenie-I mean, Your Majesty-you would be absolutely boiled over. I spoke of you and he gave the most insulting laugh I have ever heard."
"WHAT?"
"And he leaned back, idly eating grapes-he's getting fat as a pig-and he said, 'Madison, when you see her, give her my best: up her (bleep)!'"
"Oh, the (bleepard)."
"Yes, I thought so, too. They've got him writing his memoirs and he showed me some of them, what he thought were funny passages about you. He absolutely rolled on the floor with laughter over his own jokes! Oh, I could have killed him, but the warders were right there and they'd taken away my knife. Such a crass exhibition of unfeeling callousness, I have never before witnessed in my life."
She had gone white as a sheet.
"He's bragging," continued Madison, "of how he led you on just for the pleasure of casting you aside."
She was grinding her teeth. She suddenly snapped, "That settles it!"
Madison went into sudden alarm. He had overshot his mark. He had not intended for her to do anything. His plan was very simple: he would simply begin to try Gris in the press and push it to such a public pitch that the Emperor would have no choice but to issue a Royal order for a trial. Then, under that guise, he would get Gris to start testifying all sorts of accusations against Heller and he could make these into headlines that would shake the universe.
It was a very good plan. Just plain straight PR, Earth style, done all the time. But it required preparation and work and time. It didn't need any sudden interventions.
Teenie had not gone on speaking. Madison said, "What settles what?"
"They're not even going to try him, are they?"
"Well, they will if I work on it hard enough."
"Yah? Well, Madison, you be out here at dawn tomorrow. I see back of you on this viewer-phone, you've got a new car. Fuel it up. We're going to take a trip."
Before he could say a word, she had hung up. It left him in quite a quandary.
That was the trouble with amateurs. They got ideas. And ideas from an amateur PR were mostly useless and ideas from Teenie might be very deadly.
He very well recalled the chaos Gris caused. Everything had been running along well until Gris tried to muscle in on the PR business. Amateur
s just didn't understand the smooth nuances of it.
Madison scanned over his plan again. It was quite standard and flawless. Create a public storm around Gris, using the media, and then get the trial itself to create a public storm around Heller. And even if His Majesty, for some reason, illness or otherwise, didn't stamp an order for the trial, public pressure would make it vital that Lord Turn change his mind. It would work.
What in Heaven's name was Teenie planning? It could well wreck everything! He had only intended to keep her interested! Not throw her into a stampede of senseless activity!
Oh, he mustn't let this gorgeous victory elude him just when it was beckoning.
He thought of the sad plight of Heller, shivering unknown in some lonely hideout, waiting for Madison to rescue him for posterity. What a waste of material!
Knowing how to handle Gris and Heller in PR terms was easy. Handling an almost-woman like Teenie might be quite something else! What a potential obstruction!
"Eighteen point," he said, "quote Madison on Edge of Cliff."
"What?" said Flick.
"Go home," said Madison. "We need rest. Tomorrow is going to be an awful day."
At that very second, but more than twenty-two light-years away, the object of Madison's concern, Jettero Heller, was not shivering in any dark cave. He was riding down Fifth Avenue, New York City, Earth, deafened by the roar of the ticker-tape parade that was celebrating the investiture of new top officials for New York, but which was being led by Babe after her assumption of the title Capa di Tutti Capi and whom people were now starting to call "Queen Babe." Heller, resplendent in U.S. Army full dress, on the seat beside her, was smiling into the newsreel and TV cameras, totally oblivious of the storm that threatened his whole future on Voltar and his good name and the future existence of Earth as well. The Countess Krak, on the other side, wasn't smiling. She had a premonition that was giving her nightmares.
Chapter 5
Madison, as ordered-what else could he do?-was before the entrance of Teenie's palace at the crack of dawn. His fingernails were not in very good shape: he had been chewing them all night.
A guard captain came out, saw Madison and promptly went back in. When he came out a second time, he was buckling an electric saber around his silver tunic and he was followed by two sergeants with electric battle-axes. They took positions beside the airbus door, waiting for Queen Teenie to emerge.
Madison was in no mental state for any kind of a wait. The morning had already started badly enough. Flick, at the townhouse, when he got into the car, was seen to have an eye that was rapidly turning black. His footwoman had gotten in, disdainfully aloof, and then during flight had elaborately ignored Flick.
From various veiled remarks, Madison had gathered that Flick had been incautiously raving about Hightee Heller and both his bedroom girl and his footwoman had cleaned up on him.
Women! thought Madison. They were always trouble.
And here came more trouble: Teenie, in a suit that was a shimmering jet black, came out the door, drawing on a pair of long, red gloves. She was wearing her crown pulled forward on her forehead and her ponytail was swishing out behind like the tail of an angry cat.
She didn't comment on the car. She simply got in and took the best seat.
The guard captain got in and then both sergeants.
"Where in hell do you think you're going?" Teenie said to the guard captain.
"We're not going to trust you with that man," the guard captain said, pointing at Madison.
"You got good sense," said Teenie. "He's a PR and they don't deliver, never."
At that moment the major-domo, very portly, came running down the stairs, clutching rolls of scrolls and trying at the same time to get into his ceremonial robe. He sprang into the airbus.
It did not leave much room for Madison and he had to sit on a ledge across from Teenie.
"Where are we going?" said Madison.
The major-domo ignored him and, leaning forward, passed a slip of paper to Flick. The driver looked at it, glanced back to see if the doors were closed and then took off.
Thinking that they were going into Government City or some such place, Madison was very alarmed when, having emerged from the gate and gone through the nausea that always resulted from the violent time shift, Flick headed the airbus west of south.
As they built altitude, the desert wind devils dwindling in size, Madison tried to lean forward and see the map on Flick's screen. It looked blank!
The alarm on Madison's face must have been very pronounced. Teenie scowled at him and said, "Take it easy, buster. You've got a long ride. Three hours at the very least."
Madison reached for a music panel and turned it on, hoping that it would soothe the savage womanly breast. Then maybe she would tell him what this was all about.
Teenie reached over right after him and turned it off. "I don't want anything spoiling my concentration. I got a whole military campaign to plan."
"Military?" he gagged.
"Of course! You have gone palsy-walsy with Gris and I just gave up on you. Stronger measures are indicated, buster. And don't try to pry out of me the battle plan. For all I know, you're just acting as a spy for Hisst. Militarying and spying go hand in hand."
She had been talking to him in English and Madison continued in the same language. "I'm no spy, Teenie. I'm on your side."
"That remains to be seen," said Teenie. They rode for a while and then Teenie seemed to have completed her plans, for she popped a piece of bubble gum in her mouth as though to celebrate and a small smile began to play around her oversized and now busy lips.
"I should know where we're going," said Madison. "After all, I've got a right to know where I may have to walk back from."
"You wouldn't ever walk back from the place we're bound," said Teenie. "Not unless you brought a pair of Jesus shoes. It's an island, two thousand miles southwest, surrounded by the sea."
"Are you running away or something?" said Madison.
"Boy, did you ever get up into a fog. Too early for you, I guess. I own the place!"
"You own an island?"
"Sure, mac. It's the place Queen Hora died."
"Was she exiled?" said Madison.
"Oh, hell no, Madison. She just got tired of smuggling her officers into Palace City and, as she was getting old, she simply moved to her island. It's part of the Treaty of Flisten."
"Teenie, you're losing me."
"Well, you ought to be like me and do your homework. I been sweating it out with the major-domo here and I got it all straight. I bet you thought I was a fake queen."
"Oh, no," lied Madison. "The thought never crossed my mind!"
"Oh, yes, you did. I can tell. So let me put you straight, buster. I'm the real article. No fakery about it, completely different from your profession. You see, Queen Hora was what they call a Hostage Queen. You got to know a lot about treaties and things. And I'm getting to be pretty expert now.
"About thirty thousand years ago, Voltar conquered the planet Flisten. The only reason the planet surrendered finally was Voltar promising that the Royal Family of Flisten would be preserved. This was all right with Voltar because it gave them an axe to hold over Flisten's head and the Royal Family was moved to Palace City as hostages. It's a pretty common Voltar maneuver: there's four or five such hostage families in Palace City.
"Anyway, the Flisten Royal line finally dwindled out because Queen Hora, in spite of all her time in bed, never had any children. And when she died on Relax Island--"
"So that's the name of the place we're going to," said Madison.
"Don't interrupt," said Teenie. "I'm trying to complete your education. So when Queen Hora died on Relax Island about fifty years ago, it put the Exterior Division on the spot. You see, the maintenance of the Flisten Royal Palace-my palace-and the Flisten island- my island-was paid for out of Flisten taxes. The treaty was executed by the Exterior Division even though the planet is now under the Inter
ior Division. The Flisten Royal Family stayed under the Exterior Division--"
"You're getting me all mixed up."
"You don't need any help. Get the wax out of your ears and listen. So when Queen Hora died, it put the Exterior Division on the spot, like I been trying to tell you if you'd just stop fidgeting. Old Endow and the other officials count on the Flisten taxes for graft. And they been trying to justify to the Flisten taxpayers how come they still paid the Royal tax. And when I showed up, Endow put me in the slot. The old treaty is still valid, the Exterior Division still get their rake-off and everybody is happy as clams. Of course, I can't never go there, because that's part of the treaty, but I'm the real Queen of Flisten, sure enough. It's even awfully legal: about ten years ago His Majesty, Cling the Lofty, issued an order to Endow to head off a Flisten tax revolt by appointing a Hostage Queen of Flisten. But old Endow couldn't find anyone that wasn't from the Confederacy and who could be trusted to keep their mouths shut about the graft. So when Too-Too showed up and Endow was ecstatic over him, the old (bleepard) suddenly remembered the order and with one stroke of the pen, between strokes on Too-Too, he executed the blank patent Cling had signed. So there. I'm no fake. I'm a real queen!"
"Well, I'm very happy to hear it," said Madison. "But when I get finished with my work here, you can go back to Earth."
"Hah!" said Teenie. "I don't think you've heard a single thing I said about hostage queens. If Voltar takes it into its head to invade Earth, the Apparatus will knock off any royalty around there or anybody calling themselves queens or kings and Endow will appoint me the Hostage Queen of Earth. I won't ever be able to go back there but Endow will get his whack at the taxes--"
"Teenie, this is madness!"
"There you go," said Teenie, suddenly speaking in a Park Avenue accent, "I try to educate you in Palace City politics and you insult me. And you're just a commoner, not Royalty like me." She blew and exploded a bubble for emphatic emphasis.
They had reached the coast and were now departing, at six hundred miles an hour, across what seemed a green and endless sea. No wonder the map Flick was using looked so blank. It was mainly water.
Mission Earth 09 - Villainy Victorious Page 21