THE MAGIC LABYRINTH

Suddenly, Burton groaned. Alice said. "What's the matter, dear?"

"Nothing," he said. "Just a twinge."

Since there were other nurses around, he couldn't tell her that it had just occurred to him that Strubewell had stayed aboard. Why? Why hadn't he gone with the other agents?

And Podebrad! Podebrad, the Czech engineer, the chief suspect. His name wasn't on the list.

One more question to add to the dozens he would ask an agent someday. Perhaps he should not wait until someday. Why not go to John now and tell him the truth? John would have Strubewell and Podebrad into the brig and put them to the question with a speed unhampered by legalities and red tape.

No. It couldn't be done now. John wouldn't have the time to do this. He'd have to wait until after the battle. Besides, the two would just commit suicide.

Or would they?

Now that there were no resurrections, would an agent kill himself?

He might, Burton thought. Just because the Valleydwellers weren't resurrected was no proof that agents weren't. They could rise again somewhere else, in the vast underground chambers or in the tower.

Burton didn't believe this. If the agents were resurrected elsewhere, they wouldn't have hesitated to board the suicide express. They wouldn't now be traveling via paddlewheeler to get to the tower.

If he and Strubewell and Podebrad survived the battle, he was going to catch them unawares, knock them out before they could transmit the mental code which would release the poison in the little black balls in their forebrains, and then hypnotize them as they came out of unconsciousness.

That was satisfying to visualize. But in the meantime, why had the twelve taken off and the two stayed?

Had Strubewell and Podebrad remained on the boat so they could sabotage it if it looked as if John were going to catch the twelve?

That seemed the only explanation. In which case, Burton must go to John to expose them.

But would John believe him? Wouldn't he think that the blow on Burton's head had deranged him?

He might, but he'd have to be convinced when Burton brought in Alice, Kazz, Loghu, Frigate, Nur, Mix, London, and Umslopogaas as witnesses.

By then, however, Strubewell and Podebrad might find out about what was going on and flee. Worse, they might blow up the boat or whatever they were pla

Burton wiggled his finger at Alice. When she came, he told her softly to take a message to Nur el-Musafir. Nur was to station one or more of their group with Podebrad in the boiler room and Strubewell in the pilothouse. If either did something suspicious, something which could threaten the boat, he was to be clubbed on the head at once. If that wasn't possible, he was to be shot or stabbed. Alice's eyes widened. "Why?"

"I'll explain later!" he said fiercely. "Go while there's still time!"

Nur would figure out what the orders meant. And he'd see that they were somehow carried out. It wasn't going to be easy to get someone into the boiler room and the pilothouse. At the moment, everybody had his or her station. To leave it for any reason without authorization was a serious crime. Nur would have to think fast and cleverly to send somebody to watch the two.

And then Burton said, "I've got it!"

He picked up the sick-bay phone and called the pilothouse. The phone operator there was going to call Strubewell, but Burton insisted that he speak to the king instead. John was very a

"Sire," Burton said, "I've been thinking. How do we know that the deserters haven't planted a bomb on the boat? Then, if it looks as if we're going to catch them, they transmit a coded message to the receiver, and the explosives are set off."

After a short silence, John said, his voice a trifle high, "Do you think that's a possibility?"

"If I can think of it, then why shouldn't the deserters?"

"I'll start a search at once. If you're up to it, you join it."

John hung up. A minute later, Strubewell's voice bellowed over the loudspeakers. He gave orders that every inch of the vessel was to be examined for bombs. The officers were to organize parties at once. Strubewell laid out who was responsible for which area and told them to get going.

Burton smiled. It hadn't been necessary to reveal anything to John, and Podebrad and Strubewell would find themselves directing a search for the very bombs they may have hidden.

26

BURTON STARTED OUT THE DOOR. SINCE HE HADN-T BEEN ORdered to any area, he considered himself a free agent. He'd go to the boiler or A deck and inspect the engine room and the ammunition rooms.

Just as he started down the steps to B deck, he heard pistol shots and shouting. They seemed to come from below, so he hurried down, wincing with pain every time his foot hit a step. When he got to A deck he saw a crowd halfway down the boat by the railing. He walked to it, made his way through the people, and looked down at the object of attention.

It was an oiler named James McKe

A huge Iroquoian, Dojiji, stepped forward, stooped, and wrenched the tomahawk loose.

"He shot at me and missed," he said.

King John should have issued orders by word of mouth, not by the loudspeaker system. Then McKe

King John came down to look at the bomb. The clock was attached by wires to the fuse and the shapeless mass of plastic. Its hand indicated 10.20 minutes to go.

"There's enough to blow a hole in the hull bigger than the starboard side itself," a bomb expert said cheerfully. "Shall I remove it, Sire?"

"Yes. At once," King John said coolly. "One thing, though. This doesn't have a receiver radio, too, does it?"

"No, Your Majesty."

John had frowned. He said, "Very strange. I just don't understand this. Why should the deserters leave one of their number behind to set the time clock when they could far easier have blown it with a wireless frequency? McKe

Burton was with the group of officers accompanying John. He said nothing. Why bother to enlighten him, if indeed what he had to offer was enlightening?

McKe

What Burton didn't understand was why Clemens had told McKe