The memory of Princess Madelia made him even more terrified, if that was possible. He looked desperately around the room and noticed a silver handmirror sitting next to the bed on the nightstand.
As Ursula turned to her left and glanced at the door, Fielder lunged convulsively at the nightstand. His motion was slow, or at least his perception of it was sped up. It seemed as if he had all the time in the world as he lunged for the mirror, grasped it and then aimed his throw at her face. Even if the natural flinch reaction could be overridden, Ursula's vanity would make her protect her most valuable asset!
He seemed to take forever to fall off the bed, roll, pivot and plant his right fist in her solar plexus while his left hand grabbed the derringer, wrenching it out of her grasp. He even had time to admire the scenery and appreciate what happened to all that adorable anatomy as his fist sunk in. Time suddenly returned to normal as he stood feeling the breeze from the open window curling around his exposed buttocks and other parts.
A hand pounded at the door. "Milady! Milady! Are you all right?" Fielder wondered what kind of unmitigated idiot would knock on a door of someone he was supposedly bodyguarding, instead of just bursting in. Then he remembered some of the sessions that he had enjoyed with her in the past and decided that it might just be common sense. It was just as well, since it gave him time to... exit, stage left!
Fielder raced to his clothes and put his hand on his pistol, looking over at Ursula. She deserved it, but in her own sweet poisonous way, she wasn't really mad at him, it was just business. Besides, he thought, cold-blooded murder of a helpless woman might be a trifle hard to explain to a magistrate...
He grabbed his pants, intending to put them on, when the bodyguard started to break down the door, and from the voices outside the door, it appeared that Ursula's goon now had some reinforcements. No time to get dressed! He snatched up the pile of clothes and weapons and headed toward the window, naked. As he passed Ursula, who was still trying valiantly to catch her breath, he quipped, "Don't bother looking in the mirror, Ursula! You won't like what you see!" It was a poor attempt at humor, but it felt good to be dishing it out for a change.
He dove out the window before he could translate her reply. Something tucker? Oh, well, not that important anyway, he snickered as he swarmed down the fire escape cheerfully, still naked as a jaybird, holding onto his bundle of clothing with a death grip.
The first thing he noticed was that the rain had finally stopped. Then his worldview took a sudden shift as he realized he had just dropped into a busy alley filled with clotheslines, housewives, and pedestrians, most of whom were aghast at the sight of a nude man, carrying his clothes, coming down a fire escape!
"Pardon me," he said, nodding graciously to an elderly lady passing by, as he dropped his clothes to the ground and pulled his pants from the pile.
"Get that bastard!" gasped a female voice from above him, followed by a very authoritative BANG! and the SPAAANG! of a ricocheting bullet.
Safety over clothes, Fielder decided as he swept up his possessions and tried to set a record for the nude hundred-yard dash down the alley, bursting through clotheslines in every direction. Behind him he could hear Ursula and her henchmen scrambling down the fire escape.
"Doesn't that woman know when the fun's over?" Fielder gasped to himself as he ran for the first corner he could find.
Fielder, naked (if you didn't count being festooned with bits of brightly colored clothing and dainty undergarments draped about him like holiday bunting), left the alley and ran gasping through an even more crowded street, followed shortly by Ursula and her minions.
"That's right sweetie," cackled an elderly granny as Ursula and her "girls" bounced past. "You go git 'im. There's lots o' good times left in that one, it's plain ta see."
"I'll get him all right!" gasped Ursula.
Fielder poured on a burst of speed, thinking that if he got out of this he should consider spending more time working out with the marines. Running through the streets was obviously not his forte! Especially naked!
After a few blocks, quite a few alleys and one cul-de-sac that nearly gave him heart failure, Fielder managed to avoid the hue and cry and get his clothes (and weapons) on and (mostly) properly arranged. It was amazing how much better, clothes (and a properly prepared .45) could make you feel about your place in the world.
I wonder if Ursula will ever forgive me for messing up her little business arrangement with Madelia? he ruminated as he rounded a corner and hailed a passing cab.
"The Laughing Dog Tavern, sir. Quickly, if you please, I find I have extreme need of a drink or ten!"
The driver shrugged suspiciously and flicked his whip over the horses. You got all kinds of toffs in this city. Even disheveled, wild-eyed Navy officers with lipstick on their faces. I jist hope ta hell the bastard tips well! he thought darkly.
* * *
She is frequently kind,
and she's suddenly cruel.
She can do as she pleases,
she's nobody's fool!
But she can't be convicted,
she's earned her degree.
And the most she will do,
is throw shadows at you,
But she's always a woman to me!
* * *
Fielder sauntered casually into the Laughing Dog. At least on the surface he was sauntering, but (like a duck moving serenely above the water and paddling like hell underneath) he was actually operating in the red zone of awareness, extremely alert and massively paranoid of anyone and everything in the area. The Fang's first officer was old friends with fear and paranoia, those poor sisters of sweet madness, who knocked loudly upon his door at moments like this.
After a few minutes thinking in the cab, (not something he wanted to waste liberty time on, but highly conducive to survival when a lovely mercenary tries to shorten your life), he knew that if Maddy had hired Ursula, then it was very likely that she had hired others on Show Low to make life interesting (or shorter, or both) for the Fangs on shore leave. Definitely not a good situation, don'tcherknowoldboy. Not to mention, it ruined the first good liberty they had had in ages!
So, in addition to operating in the advanced stages of paranoia and fear, Fielder was also beginning to develop one hell of a mad-on! Or as many a wise man had noted over the years, getting between: a) a sailor just in from sea who wanted wine, women, and song and, b) the aforementioned wine, women and song... was really not a good idea! It tended to have painful consequences for the interruptee.
While Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder, lately known as Lt. Daniel Fielder of her Majesty, Queen of Westerness' Navy, might not be a brave soul, fearless and spoiling for a fight, he was quite capable and competent when he had to fight, and nobody ever said being scared was detrimental in a fight. Panic: bad. Fear: good! Fear kept you from doing stupid things, panic made you stupid.
And right now, for some reason, Fielder was feeling very frightened, very put upon, and very paranoid. And very, very frustrated.
Damned woman could have at least have finished with our business before she got onto the mercenary routine, he thought resentfully as he walked into the tavern.
Fielder was relieved to see that Melville and Hayl were still at their table, as well as his monkey. As he came up to them, he was fixed by the stares of five pairs of eyes. Well, four actually. Upon seeing his arrival, Fielder's monkey turned around and presented its back to him.
"Captain Melville, you have no idea how happy I am that you're still here," Fielder said as he flopped into the closest seat that had its back to the wall.
"Daniel!" replied Melville cheerfully. "I must admit I hadn't expected to see you for a while longer. The, uh, lady you departed with seemed to have extensive plans for you."
"Plans? You could say that. But I really didn't want to stick around for them. I need a drink first! I really, really need a drink!"
Hayl looked at him and pushed over a pitcher. "Try this, sir. They make a great micro-brewed root beer!"
; Melville grinned. "I think Lt. Fielder might want something a bit stronger, Mr. Hayl." He pushed a bottle toward Fielder. "Brandy? And then perhaps your story?"
Hayl's and Melville's monkeys both appeared to find the situation humorous. Fielder's monkey, on the other hand, was sitting on the middie's shoulder and seemed fascinated by the wall behind the table.
Fielder poured a glass of brandy down his throat and looked up in surprise. "Damn, Captain, why didn't you tell me this was the good stuff! It's a sin to let me go gulping this down like that!" He shook his head and poured another glass from the bottle.
He looked over at the monkey. "Okay, my friend, you were right and I was wrong. Turn around and look at me, if you please. Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder doesn't apologize very often so you really ought to turn around and get the best view of it."
His monkey said, "Eep?" inquisitively and extended its head up and back so that its mouth was on the bottom with its two button eyes staring at him.
Fielder sighed. "Alas, I should have taken you with me. I really, really wished you were with me, especially when she pointed that derringer at me. You win, I apologize, okay?"
The monkey blinked at him slowly, then looked at its monkey compatriots. It looked back at Fielder consideringly, then scampered back over toward its customary position on his shoulder. Fielder sighed with relief and reached up to scratch the little creature gently, and then yanked his hand back suddenly. "Ow! I said I was sorry, you little monster! That hurt! No biting! Ow! No hitting either! You made your point! I surrender!"
Melville and Hayl were both trying unsuccessfully to stifle their laughter as Fielder's monkey bit the thumb on his left hand followed by a sound left-right boxing of his ears, then leaned in close to his head and hugged him.
"Damn," muttered Fielder as he drank another sip from his glass, "my luck seems to be shot in dealing with anybody and everybody today. You win, no leaving you behind next time, no matter what some pretty strumpet says!"
Melville chuckled. "Well, Daniel, now that you have made friends again, what was that about a derringer? I thought she was more interested in other sports when you two left."
"So did I, Captain. So did I. Turned out that she was a lot more mercenary than I remembered. Come to think of it, she always was a bit monetarily focused, it's just with that scenery..." He drifted off, and was recalled suddenly to his story by a tiny fist tapping his ear meaningfully. "Okay, okay, don't do that! Jeez! Anyway, Captain, do you recall a certain former girlfriend of mine, Princess Madelia, from whom we made a hasty departure on Osgil?"
Melville and Hayl suddenly grew serious. Hayl's eyes flashed around the room searching for the lovely Sylvan princess. Lovely, but distinctly homicidal where Captian Melville and Lt. Fielder were concerned. Hayl had been there when the captain, Fielder, and Broadax had shot their way out of Maddie's ambush, and it was not a pleasant memory.
"Aye, I remember her," Melville replied soberly. Madelia—or "Maddy"—was also the overprotective aunt of his own beloved Princess Glaive. "Why?"
"Well," continued Fielder, "it seems Ursula was hired by Maddy to acquire certain mementos, or 'souvenirs' from me. I, on the other hand, wanted to keep them attached to my body." He smiled sardonically. "They may not be much, but I really like all the parts that I was born with! So I was forced to make a hasty and somewhat undignified departure."
"Huh?" Hayl interjected. "What do you mean, she wanted a souvenir?"
"Later, lad, later," replied Fielder. "For now, just let it ride that Maddy was not happy with me, so she hired Ursula. And her getting those souvenirs would have been a terminal transaction for me. In more ways than one!" He shuddered and sipped his brandy.
"Daniel, enough about the souvenirs!" Melville said as he crossed his legs uncomfortably. He thought for a second and then continued. "No telling how far Madelia is willing to go for revenge on us or our crew. I'll take Hayl and fetch Elphinstone, Petreckski, and Asquith. They were doing some shopping nearby.
"You, Daniel, I am going to treat like your namesake, and send into the lion's den. Mr. Hans and Lt. Broadax departed some time ago to take a room here. You fetch them and head back toward the Pier, rounding up any Fangs you see on the way. I think our liberty here has come to an end."
Fielder paled. "Broadax and Hans? Captain, I honestly don't think that's a good idea. Broadax and I really don't get along all that well, and I, uh..." He paused for a second, swallowed and plowed on. "Sir, just the thought is enough to put me off... I mean, uh, midshipmen are customarily used as messengers..." He trailed off, looking beseechingly at his captain.
"Daniel, you two really do need to get along better," Melville chided. "Besides, given the threat, I don't want Hayl off alone, and you have a much more highly developed sense of paranoia as well as a better chance of survival if Lt. Broadax doesn't want to be interrupted. After all, you've got longer legs! You should be able to outrun a Dwarrowdelf. And it isn't like she could shoot you, now is it?" Melville grinned unrepentantly at him. "Shoot at you, maybe, but not shoot you!"
Fielder moaned, then swiped the bottle of brandy. "Ohhh, I never realized quite how evil you could be. This may ruin all future thoughts of dalliances with nubile young ladies forever..." His voice trailed off as he wandered toward the front desk of the lobby.
Melville looked over at Hayl, who had his face buried in his arms on the table, his shoulders shaking. "It's safe, Mr. Hayl, you can look up now. Mr. Fielder won't notice your laughter. Speaking of which, you do realize it isn't necessarily very nice to laugh at your superior officer?" Melville was fighting to keep control of his own face as he said this.
"I know, Captain, I know, but his face when you told him to go collect them was just so, just so..." and he collapsed in another fit of giggles, accompanied by the two monkeys.
"Aye, lad!" said Melville with mock solemnity. "Brother Theo will never forgive the fact that he wasn't here to see it!"
After checking at the front desk, Fielder went up the hallway to the door of room thirty-two. He faced the door and shuddered as he heard a gravelly giggle, followed by a deep voice mumbling something. He stood to the side of the door and knocked. After a moment, he swallowed hard and knocked again.
A minute later, there was no response. Fielder took a deep breath and gave a solid kick to the door and then jumped to the side.
The door shuddered and one of the oak planks in the top of the door fell part way into the hallway, propelled by a thrown boot.
"What ever 'tis, we done wan' any. Get gone, ye pockin' moron!" came the dulcet tones of Broadax's voice.
"Urgent message," shouted Fielder as he crouched on the hallway floor looking up at the protruding boot. How in the hell do you throw a boot that hard? he thought.
"It's Lt. Fielder," he called out. "I was sent by the cap...urrk!" He trailed off as the door slammed open, a hard foot kicked his feet back, and an equally hard hand grabbed him by the throat. The curve of the very sharp ax blade resting next to his eye completely monopolized his attention. Of course, it might have been a bit less fascinating if it hadn't been right next to Mama Fielder's favorite boy's face!
"Captain sent me. Recall. Enemies," he gasped out, squeezing his eyes shut after a quick glance at a nightmare figure: fuming, red-faced, and naked except for a helmet, one boot, and a wide expanse of kinky black body hair. How can any one female have so much hair? he gibbered to himself as he tried to shove a red hot iron through his mind's eye.
Please lord, don't let this be my last vision before I die, he prayed fervently—something he last recalled doing when a certain young lady actually proved to be a young wife with a very unamused husband.
The steel band left his neck, and Fielder fell to his knees. He wasn't about to open his eyes or to stand up yet. He really wanted to keep what sanity he had left, thankyouverymuch.
"Wot's happenin', then?" he heard Broadax ask. There was the sound of a slap followed by Broadax saying, "Quit it sweetie. Sounds like threr may be a good figh
t brewin'. An' I really needs ta kill someone. It's been too damned long. Jist about anyone'll do." The she added with a wink and a leer in her voice, "An' ye know what dat does fer me!"
Please, lord, just a little deafness? Just a little? Fielder prayed.
Various jingling and jangling sounds intermixed with the occasional thumps sounded through the room as the two officers dressed while Fielder told his tale.
"Wouldja git muh boot, hon? T'anks. Okay, Lootenant, oncet I gits a ceegar goin' fer me an' my monkey, I'll be ready ta ride!"
Then, curiously she added, "Ye okay? I din't hurt ye, did I? Ye kin git up, if ye want's ta."
Fielder looked up at the two, mostly dressed officers, both looking at him curiously. "Ah, I was just trying to give you some privacy, that's all," he said as he mustered his dignity and stood.
"Privacy, hell," Hans said. "We's Shipmates, skin's jist skin."
Fielder gaped for a second, thinking, What are you saying, you idiot, I value my sanity! Then he closed his mouth and said diplomatically, "Well, that may be true for you and I, but Lt. Broadax is a well brought up young lady." Then he waited to be struck down by lightning from heaven.
"Huh," Broadax stared. "Mebbee yew ain't such a dirtbag as I thought. Come on, boys. The local marines gave me a li'l toy t' try out."
Fielder looked down at what appeared to be a small cannon in her hand, with the barrels (four, five?) all fanning out to cover a sixty-degree horizontal arc, as she held it out straight.
"What is that thing?" he said in fascination.
Hans answered as Broadax gazed at her miniature monstrosity with fondness. "Well, contrary ta popular opinion, a Dwarrowdelf can shoot accurately, they jist gots ta spend some time thinkin' 'bout it. An' thinkin' an' fightin' don't always seem ta go together real good. So the local boys made these li'l 10-gauge shotgun barrels, clumped five of 'em togedder, sorta fanned out so's the pattern spreads out flat. It's got a single trigger an' a pistol grip. She's loaded with a double-ought gift package an' kicks like a holy terror, but my li'l angel loves it." Hans looked down at the Dwarrowdelf affectionately.
The Guns of Two-Space Page 37