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“I don’t know anything about him now. Why?”
“I know your original motive. Mrs. Curzon told me. Do you know its value?”
“No.”
“In the thousands. It’s an extremely rare antique, many centuries old.”
“What is it?”
“A katar. An ancient Hindu dagger.”
“Hindu!”
“Yes. Once again you’ve been invaluable. You’ve identified the mystery renegade. He dropped the dagger when he was destroying your house.”
“The Rajah? No.”
“The Rajah. He’s the only Hindu member of the Group.”
“It’s out of the question. There must be another explanation. A jimp lost it.”
“A jimp carrying a dagger you only find in museums? The Rajah dropped it.”
“It was stolen from a museum.”
“Try the grip. The only Spangland hand this katar could fit would be a child’s. The Hindu aristocracy have always been v. small-boned. The Rajah is the renegade.”
“That beautiful, exquisite prince? Why? Why? Why?”
“It will give me great pleasure to ask him in person… if I survive to hear the answer. Now shouldn’t we start the Rajah-chase?”
“R. Nat, bring me Long Lance. I want us both war painted when we start tracking. That’ll throw them a curve.”
“Gottenu! You don’t intend to stalk Guess on foot through hundreds of miles of caverns?”
“What would you suggest?”
“The same thing I’ll use. Hovercraft.”
“They’re machines. They can report.”
“To the Extro? Not from a quarter mile under rock.”
“Then to Guess.”
“How? He needs the Extro as his switchboard, just as the Extro needs him. Apart, they’re nothing.”
“R as usual, Hilly. Hovercraft it is, with supplies. Did you find any cash on me when you snapped the snatch?”
“Not much. Twenty thousand or so. We’ll never know where you stashed Capo’s ill-gotten gains.”
“I know,” Natoma said.
“How much, Nat?”
“Enough to ransom Sequoya.”
“Y. I can see we’re going to have one hell of a discussion. However. Twenty will do nicely. Gung. Get Long Lance, Nat. So it’s me from Tchi and you from GM, Hilly. We’ll meet somewhere in the middle, and for Gottenu’s sake, don’t shoot. Remember, the only good Indian is a live Indian.”
The Hebe smiled. “Now you sound like the old Guig again. I like him better than Capo Rip.”
“I don’t. Gentle and kindly? S. Let’s move it.”
“Extro. Alert.”
“Alert.”
“Where is Hillel?”
“Where are you?”
“You know damned well. The capsule blabbed all the way to GM.”
“But it cut off. How?”
“We’re a thousand feet under solid rock where you can’t reach me. Where is Hillel?”
“In GM.”
“W?”
“N known.”
“The network must deflect him. He’s dangerous.”
“N poss when my switchboard is cut off.”
“You function in nanoseconds. Issue instructions now, while I’m available.”
“Issued. He is to be destroyed like Curzon.”
“N, N, N! I did not want Curzon destroyed, only deflected. The same holds for Hillel. Do not ever dare exceed orders again.”
“N? What can you do? I am invulnerable.”
“And arrogant. When I have time I’ll find the chink in your armor. Alert the network that I’m holding you all accountable.”
“It is alerted. It is listening to us. You must know.”
“And your new aide?”
“I have told you. He ca
I can only hear him.”
“Through me?”
“You are the switchboard.”
“His identity?”
“Still unknown.”
“Gung. Out.”
“Not yet. Q: What is adabag?”
“Ah.”
“Q. What is gaebac?”
“So.”
“Q. What is cefcad?”
“Where did you get that?”
“From you, Dr. Guess.”
“H?”
“The words run through your mind constantly.
What is adabag, gaebac, and cefcad? This may be urgent for us.”
“Let the network answer.”
“It has already reported N knowledge in any lingua. You must have heard.”
“Y. Out.”
“Stop. When you cut off from me we are all deaf and mute. This ca
“It will not as soon as I’ve finished my work. It will explode. Out.”
Long Lance and I were brilliant. The lurid war paint made us inconspicuous in Tchicago. We didn’t buy a hovercraft; Long Lance stole one, a turtle two-seater. The first thing we did was smash and gut the communications panel. We were now handling a mute bird. We located the downshaft to the salt mine under the wreckage of the Lyric Opera House and a square block of rubbish piled higher than the original bldg where I once saw a performance of La Boheme by Darryl F. Puccini.
We stocked staples and had to burn our way down through a quarter of a mile of trash to get to the mine proper. They’d been using the shaft as a dump for a century. It was almost like an archaeological dig; cans, plastics, glass, bones, skulls, rotted cloth, antique kitchen utensils, a cast-iron radiator, a gearbox, and even a hunk of a brass saxophone. B flat. I grabbed at and missed a rare Nixon nickel.
Long Lance goggled at the remains and I liked him for that. I liked him anyway. He was long, lean, assured, and coiled like a steel spring. Outside of Algonquin and Sign he spoke exactly three words: Si, No, and Capo. That was plenty. He must have made one hell of an accomplice for the late, great Capo Rip.
It was hot as blazes down in the mine and I was glad we were naked. I had a gyrocompass and we headed toward GM, Long Lance doing the handling. I’d taken it for granted that we’d need lights and stocked up on lamplands. Not so. The rock salt remnants in the boulevards were luminescent — radioactive probably — and emitted a green glow that gave us all the light we needed. Probably more roentgens than we needed, too. I wondered whether there was an estrogen which could treat radiation exposure. The big L was still on my mind.
It was a scene out of the Inferno; this great, glowing boulevard with a vaulted ceiling dripping green light, jagged corridors leading off left and right, and we had to explore every one until the hover couldn’t squeeze through. I figured that if the turtle couldn’t make it, the capsule couldn’t. That saved a little time. We ate and slept once. We ate and slept twice. We ate and slept thrice. Long Lance gave me a look and I returned it, but we went on through the silence and the glow.
I thought about the Rajah, still not believing the Hebe and the evidence of the katar. How could I? The Rajah had always overwhelmed me with his magnificence. The Rajah had been and still was the supreme ruler and supreme deity of a small mountain state named Mahabharata, now shortened to Bharat. It had a few lush valleys for farming, but the Rajah’s gross national product came from rich mineral resources. Every time technology or luxury invented a need for a new metal, there it was in Bharat. Example: When platinum was first unearthed in the Ural Mountains, it was later discovered that the women of Bharat had been wearing beads of rough platinum nuggets for generations.
The Rajah, when I first met him in the Grossbad Spa, was singularly exquisite; sooty black — unlike M’bantu, who is shiny — handsome aquiline features, great dark eyes, delicate bones. His voice was slightly singsong and lilted with humor. He was always beautifully dressed and beautifully ma
I was told that when he first visited Western Europe, back in the days of Napoleon, his conduct was appalling. As a supreme prince and god he could do no wrong in Bharat. On the Continent it was something else. For example, whenever the necessity arose he would relieve himself in public. No floor or potted plant was safe. He soon learned to behave himself and I sometimes wonder what hero had the temerity to teach him. Possibly Napoleon. More likely, his sister, Pauline Buonaparte, who entertained the Rajah as one of her lovers.