by Don Wilcox
“It’s pretty gruesome, working with Nitti, isn’t it? I always knew he’d do something desperate if the king ever challenged his power. The king recently told me.”
Joe’s throat tightened. “You and the king are probably getting pretty well acquainted, aren’t you?”
She tossed her head, and her hair fell over her shoulder. “What do you mean by that question?”
“Would you like to see him back in his rightful place?”
“I’m not sure. It’s his throne. And in a way be isn’t a bad person. He has a good heart. Yes, I’m getting acquainted with him, and I like him. Frankly, I do.”
Joe turned and edged away uncomfortably. He looked toward the shadows of the trees that overhung the cliff, wondering whether the lavender vine was still there.
Then her hand was on his arm and she was looking up at him smiling. “I don’t know where you came from, but I’m terribly glad to see you again. I’ve been thinking about you.”
The words warmed him. “The lavender vine brought me. I think it must have brought me this way because I was wanting to see you again.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” Joe said sternly. “I’ve been thinking of escaping this world and getting myself over to the skystation. The vine might have taken me there. But I was thinking of you.” He caught her arms in his hands, drawing her a little closer. “You want to go back to the earth, too, I’m sure. I thought I’d take you with me.”
She was a keen looking person, he thought meeting his eyes that way, not fearing him, nor yielding to him against her will—just trying to know him; trying to gauge his strength and the sureness of his purpose.
“You don’t belong here,” he said. “I’ve found a purpose here,” she said slowly. “It’s as important to these people as any of our earth problems are to us. I’m beginning to feel as if I have a place here.”
“The lavender vine is out there somewhere,” he said, and then his voice was soft. “Let’s go together—you and I—now—”
“I’d like to—”
He drew her close and then he was kissing her, kissing her as if he had never known the sweetness of a woman before—as if this faraway world contained nothing for him but Marcia Melinda. And that was the way it was.
She was smiling a little as she drew away. “You didn’t let me finish my sentence.”
“You said you’d like to—”
“I’d like to—to think it over.”
“Why? Aren’t the facts plain enough? If they weren’t a minute ago they ought to be now.”
“Yes, I’m understanding you, Joe . . . But the king. We’d leave him in a dreadful lot of trouble.”
“I saved his hide yesterday, didn’t I? Now it’s up to him.”
“They’re not going to believe he’s the king. He’s been letting his beard grow, but unless he has his royal robes and someone to identify him, he’ll have trouble getting out of his slave station. And you know, he’s a runaway. At any time they may find him and kill him.”
Joe studied her coolly. Finally he said, “All right. Let me go change clothes with him right now. Then we’re free—”
“If we could help him just a little, he has the possibilities of being decent, believe me, if he only has a chance. Already he’s changing his opinions about slavery and executions . . . Yes, I mean it, Joe . . . You’re not doubting me?”
“I’ll go change clothes with him,” Joe said, somehow feeling icy in his fingertips. She was in love with the king, Joe thought. Maybe she didn’t know it, but how else could her actions be explained? “I’ll go and find him.”
But as soon as Joe stepped out of the protection of the cliff, the invisible fingers of the lavender vine caught him and lifted him up toward the clouds, and the next thing he knew he was many miles away, dropping down in the marsh beside Pudgy.
CHAPTER XVI
“Welcome! Welcome!” Pudgy shouted. “Come on in. The water’s fine for upset nerves.”
“That lavender vine is running my life,” Joe growled.
He picked himself up out of the clump of marsh grass and adjusted his kingly garments. It was easy enough for a creature that was half boy and half frog to splash around in those muddy waters, but it was not a place for a king to be dropped. He stepped from one grassy island to another until he reached a bank of dry earth.
Pudgy followed him, his bright green skin shining through the water’s surface as he swam alongside.
“You must have wanted to come here,” Pudgy said. “You must have wanted to walk out on a conversation or something, the way that vine brought you back in such a hurry.
“Don’t try to tell me it does only what I wish it to do,” Joe said sourly. “I’ve got a hunch that dozens of persons are wishing a dozen different conflicting things at once. How can any magical power serve everybody?” Pudgy blinked his big green eyes and chortled to himself. Then Joe caught the angle.
“Oh, I get it. I came back because that’s what you wanted. It was your wish. You probably said to yourself, Please, Lavender Vine, let Joe Peterson drop smack in the middle of this mud puddle. Was that it?”
“Ugh,” Pudgy said.
“Guilty or not guilty?”
“You see,” said Pudgy, “the vine does some nice favors for nice people.”
“And it does some mischief, just to keep freaks like me amused.”
“Guilty or not—”
“Guilty! I needed a playmate.”
“You might pick on someone beside the king. I am the king, you know—temporarily.”
Joe had removed his boots to drain the water out of them and he dangled his feet in the pool. Pudgy whistled at him and motioned him to take his feet out of the water.
“You won’t be a king long if you spend your time in the water. I’d just as well let you in on the secret. Eight after you’ve been riding around in the atmosphere of the lavender vine, you’re susceptible.”
“Susceptible? To what?” Joe jerked his feet out of the water and dried them on the lining of his mud-splashed royal robe.
“Susceptible to change. You’re in danger of changing into something that fits your thoughts or actions.
That’s how the change came over me. I thought it was a lot of fun, playing frog that time after the vine dropped me in here. I was just a small boy then. I kept splashing around, and I never guessed that I was beginning to change. Then I felt the webs forming between my toes, and when I got out on the bank, about where you’re sitting, I saw that my skin was turning green and shiny. So that’s how it happened.”
“Ye gods!” Joe got into his boots and began to hike away, glancing back at the marsh with a feeling of horror.
Pudgy followed him. “Don’t worry, you won’t turn frog like I did. You haven’t been playing frog.”
“No, I should hope not.”
“No, you’re safe from webbed feet and green skin. You’ve been playing king.”
Joe stopped in his tracks. The words struck home like a dart through the brain. Playing king? Yes, he had been. In fact, he had been swept away, within the past hour, by a strong desire to make the most of his crown.
“That can happen to anyone,” the frog boy was rattling on. “As long as you’re still soaked with the vine, you can easily bend into the thing you happen to be wanting.”
Joe began to stride up the highway rapidly.
“What’s the matter?” Pudgy called after him. “Did I say the wrong thing?”
“I don’t want to be anybody but Joe Peterson,” Joe retorted.
He thought he heard a froggish chuckle. He hurried on. But all the way up the long slope he kept hearing it at intervals—the faint chortling of a mischievous frog-like boy.
He caught a ride with one of the court cars of Sashes, returning from their day of scouring the countryside. He explained that he had gone for a walk unattended. No one questioned his explanation. He was the king. They escorted him up the steps to the plaza, past the row of nine torch lanterns, and around the
palace to a private entrance. It had been a disturbing afternoon. He was glad to get back into the seclusion of his private study.
Behind the locked doors, he began to think of Marcia. She had spoken of finding a place for herself in this world—a purpose, well, maybe he’d make a place for himself too.
He selected one of the crowns from the shelf of the king’s dressing room, walked to the mirror and tried it on. It was an informal crown of cloth, with a silken lining that rested softly over his narrow mane of hair. The ornaments were of precious stones, and their glitter in the mirror threw flashes of colored light around the room.
He stood gazing at himself, imagining the conference table with the palace officials and the officers from the several provinces sitting around, waiting for him to speak.
He heard a shuffling noise, and he whirled to see—Pudgy again!
“Three more crowns on the shelf, your majesty, if you want to try them on for size.”
“Pudgy, you damned mischief! How’d you catch up with me so quick?”
“There’s a ledge outside your window, and on it you will see—ahem!—nothing. But it’s there, slave. And that’s why I’m here. Now if you’d like something in a solid gold crown—”
“S-s-sh! Don’t say it.”
“It’s got you going, hasn’t it? Come on, tell me. Where’s the real king? Didn’t you get to see him today? Or have they already cornered him and shot his heart out with a ray gun?”
Joe felt guilty. He put the crown back on the shelf.
“If they shoot him,” Pudgy pursued, hopping up on the polished table, “You’ll get to be king and the girl will be queen. And you could make me prime minister. Aha! I’d be just the fellow. Take ’em out and execute ’em, boys, I need diversion!”
“Stop it, Pudgy. You’ve no grasp of the situation.”
“Didn’t you get to see the girl? I thought you were wishing—”
“I saw her and she’s the most rebellious citizen in the kingdom. She’s working up a revolution. It’s enough to make us kings quake in our boots.”
“There you are,” said Pudgy with a knowing laugh. “The first lesson in being king: you’re in constant fear. Fear of revolution. Fear of assassination. Your best friend may murder you in your sleep . . . Shall I bring in the gold crown?”
But at that moment an attendant called to say that Nitti wanted to see the king at once. Pudgy shrugged, hopped to the window and disappeared.
CHAPTER XVII
It was a dinner to be remembered. Everything in the line of luxurious food that Joe had ever dreamed of was served. And the drinks—Karridonzan concoctions that made the servants look on jealously from the doorways while Nitti himself filled the goblets—Joe never had known there could be such delights!
Then the pressure was descending upon him. Nitti. The dinner, the elegance of service, the brilliance of it all—and Nitti’s clever words.
“You have the chance to be such a king as Karridonza has never known before, slave. What you have seen here tonight is only a small sample of the luxuries that will be yours if you decide to play the game.”
Joe was thinking of it. But seriously. Luxuries. Power. Importance. The pleasure of meting out justice. A beautiful palace in which to live. Unlimited service. And a queen? He shook his head, a little dizzy with it all. No, the person he’d want for queen would be out working with the common people, stirring up discontent against the imperfections of the king.
“What’s the cost?” Joe asked, in the matter of fact manner of a customer asking for his check at a supper club.
Nitti edged closer to him. “Just let me run the show my own way, that’s all.”
The words were straightforward enough, Joe thought, but he didn’t like the gesture. Nitti had placed the point of the carving knife on Joe’s wrist, and he added a little pressure with each word. Joe cleared his throat uncomfortably, and when Nitti failed to observe what was wanted, Joe removed the blade with his other hand.
“O, pardon me,” said Nitti.
“I’m slightly allergic to knife blades,” Joe said.
“You’ll find them indispensable for dealing with your subjects,” said Nitti. “The hour of decision is at hand. Within a very short time we shall have ended the life of a certain runaway slave, if you know whom I mean. So there’ll be a lifetime job for you—his one living double.”
Joe took a deep breath. He rose, walked around his chair, paused to look at himself in the mirror, and thought, for some strange reason, of the ugliness of Karridonzan manes as compared to American haircuts. He sat down and planted a fist on the table.
“You’re doomed, Nitti. I’d be a fool to tie myself to the apron strings of a doomed man.”
“Who said I was doomed?”
“Who?” Joe tried to think. Had the frog boy said it? Or was it the words of Marcia Melinda that were echoing. “I believe it was the frog boy.”
“The frog boy?” Nitti made a wry face. “You aren’t serious. What does that half-witted child know about it?”
“I think he gets around,” said Joe. “He’s nothing but a court nuisance. Spends his time in the swamps.”
“Where’d he come from?”
“He was the son of a troublesome old philosopher who used to keep books for us—a fellow who got too headstrong and had to be dispatched. He was over-scrupulous about the court’s records of accumulated gold—taxes and such. Things have gone much smoother since we got rid of him. The son had learned something about the lavender vine, and began riding it back and forth, and the thing left its curse on him. He is only useful as a whipping boy.”
Joe nodded and was going to let it go at that. But his words had disturbed Nitti.
“Just what did he say?”
Joe shrugged. “If he’s only halfwitted, what’s the difference?”
“What did he say? Why am I—in his foolish mind—doomed?”
Joe tried to recall. Some wisps of the afternoon’s conversation came back to him. “He said you were doomed because you don’t control the vine.”
Nitti’s fingers twitched, and Joe thought he went tense.
“Go on.”
All at once Joe’s newly found powers were working. He was a king and a diplomat and a statesman, and he had opinions that people wanted to hear. Yes, he would tell it to Nitti, straight.
“You’re headed for destruction on two counts, Nitticello. One. Your past cruelties are about to boomerang. The slaves are going to rebel unless you change things at once.”
“I’ve heard that one before.”
“Two. The people are restless over the chance actions of the lavender vine. It may be serving the court’s wishes, but it’s terrorizing the people. Unless you can convince them that you have it under control, your house of cards is going to fall.”
“So. . . Nitti wasn’t even seeing Joe. He was looking off at the darkened sky beyond the plaza, and his fingers were knotted white. He ground his teeth and narrowed his eyes and mumbled something to himself. Then facing Joe, he bit his words with decision. “All right. I’ll show you. I’ll control that vine. Once I’ve got it, I’ll put down all the troubles. I’ll clean the slate. I’ll—”
Joe broke in with a follow-through bluff, and even as he spoke he half realized that he was going too far. But if he could make Nitti believe he already possessed a power that Nitti didn’t have—
“I already have the vine at my command.” Joe said. “It’s outside my window this very minute.”
“You! Why you young upstart! You’re a foreigner. You can’t possibly mean—you’re lying! You’re lying!”
“Do you want to see it?” Joe was keeping a calm front, through the hard thumping of his pulses.
They went to his window, and Joe pointed and said, “Watch it, and I’ll make it perform.”
Nitti bent to the window. “I don’t see a damned thing.”
“Turn around and you will,” Joe said, reaching for the ray pistol on the bed table. “Up with those hands. H
old them high.”
“Why, you sun-struck idiot! You damned sun-struck idiot!” Nitti’s hands went up. His eyes were blazing a murderous fire that might have been a match for any ray gun, Joe thought. But Joe had him, and he knew it, and all his wail was bluff. “I’ll kill you for this. I’ll—”
“Save it. March this way.” Joe gestured.
“Damn me if I won’t make a torch out of you, and bum every fiber out of your—”
“Shut up! Into that comer. Back. Another step. Put your hands against the wall—”
Joe broke off with a gulp. An epaulette disappeared from his own shoulder, and a blast of air brushed the side of his arm. A strip of his sleeve disintegrated before his eyes. A silver stream of ray fire from the opposite side of the room was cutting an outline down the side of his body.
The mirror showed him—Stobber! Stobber held a white metal pistol as steady as starlight. One quaver of his hand would have melted a lung out of Joe’s chest. Or cut his hip away. Or sliced into his brain.
In front of Joe, within three feet of Nitti, who stood facing the wall, the ray was drawing a path, shaped in lines of Joe’s figures, in the plaster and stone of the partition.
“Relax, Nitti,” Stobber called. “Try facing this way. It’s all mine. Drop your gun on the table, slave.”
Joe obeyed.
“That’s fine,” Nitti said, turning. “I counted on you. I gave this man a chance. It pays to know whether we can trust our new king. This makes twice that he’s gone off half-cocked.”
The ray blaze had disappeared. Joe turned to face the husky orange-sashed chief of the guards. As usual, the mane over his head was dyed with stripes of green and orange. For once Stobber wasn’t wearing his adornments of emeralds. He hadn’t wanted any flashes of light to give him away. As the two men talked Joe gathered that he been under the strict watch of Stobber all evening. The two men were playing hand-in-glove, all right. The kingdom was in the palm of their partnership hand. All they needed was a fake king to keep up a front for them.
And all Joe needed just now was for Stobber to drop his guard for one split second.