Bam! Blam!

The coach." Palma looked back. Black smoke was rolling through the forest from the place where they'd left the stage. "Why'd you folks fix it to blow up?"

The Scarlet Angel shook her head "But we didn't," she said. "The bomb must have been in there all along, set to go off at this exact moment."

"Oy," said Palma, realizing what that meant "Then someone wanted to get rid of me ... or the squire."

The redhead reached over and took his hand. "It was indeed fate which brought us together. Had I not stopped your coach and decided to take you with me, you'd be nothing but debris now."

"Oy," repeated Palma.

CHAPTER 9.

Dr. Brownlove circled the white table. "Before I continue this morning's lecture I would like to remind you gentlemen it's an honor to be chosen for the King's Commandos," he said. "Isn't that so, Mr.

Beesant?"

Up in the third tier of seats a young birdman with blue plumage suddenly sat upright. "What, sir?"

"I was saying, Mr. Beesant, that a King's Commando must be alert and ever watchful. You'd agree with that, pal?"

"Ah, indeed, truly, yes, Dr. Brownlove," replied the commando cadet.

"I'm glad you are in agreement with me." The s.h.a.ggy doctor made another full circle of the brightly illuminated white table. "Being alert and watchful, Mr. Beesant, you no doubt heard the last scream of pain our morning's subject emitted."

"Oh, yes, sir, I did, surely, Dr. Brownlove. Scream fair gave me the whim-whams."

"Will you tell the cla.s.s how that whim-wham-producing scream was elicited from our subject?"

"Um ... " Beesant scratched at the feathers atop his head. "It is somewhat difficult to see clearly from up here.... Um ... I think you coshed him in his nutmegs, sir."

"How's that again?" Dr. Brownlove cupped a hand to his ear. "Please, gentlemen, do not prompt alert and watchful Mr. Beesant."

A few of the hundred other commando cadets had whispered to the blue-plumed youth.

"I mean his codlings, sir. His knackers. You know, the chap's b.a.l.l.s."

"Close, Mr. Beesant. However ..." Brownlove stepped closer to the white table and drove two fingers into a spot just below Summer's ribs. "Could you see that clearly, Mr. Beesant? Not the knackers at all, was it? Yes, Mr. LeMond?"

"How come the chappy didn't howl in agony this time, sir?"

"Good question, pal." Brownlove bent over Summer. "The reason is simple. He's pa.s.sed out cold." The doctor turned his back on Summer and scanned the audience which circled him. "What's our next likely step? Suppose we'd been questioning this idiot and he conked out on us before we got all the info we wanted What then?"

"Sir, sir!"

"Here, sir, here!""I've the answer!"

Brownlove stroked his beard. "Mr. Abel seems most eager to answer. Perhaps his recent nap has improved his thinking processes. Answer if you please, Mr. Abel."

"I wasn't dozing, sir," protested the lizard lad. "I've been poised here, lapping up every word, every detail, every gem of-"

"We await an answer, Mr. Abel."

"Yes, the answer. Well, what I'd do is give him a touch of the shockstick right in the old jewelcase, sir."

"Where, Mr. Abel?"

"In the marblebag, sir. You know, in the fellow's b.a.l.l.s."

"Ah, yes. Excellent suggestion." From an array of instruments on a white stand next to the table on which Summer was strapped he selected a thin silver rod. This one should do the job."

Summer groaned. The soggy rat that had been inspecting his b.l.o.o.d.y right hand scurried into a murky corner of the small stone room. The reporter groaned once more, made a yawning, gasping inhalation. He'd been dropped in a puddle of sc.u.mmy water. After considerable effort he elbowed and rolled to a drier spot on the stone floor of his cell. They'd put his clothes back on him while he was unconscious, and parts of cloth were sticking to the raw and b.l.o.o.d.y spots on his body.

Summer sat up finally. He couldn't remember how many of his fingernails were gone. Not worth checking right now. He left his hands resting on his knees. "St. Charlie's," he said aloud.

The various locks on his cell door squeaked and rasped.

Summer stayed where he was. This time they could carry him wherever they wanted him.

A long-legged, willowy blond girl in a spotless off-white singlet and slacks entered. "Oh, you poor man, sitting right on the floor instead of on your nice wooden stool."

"I usually sprawl on the floor after being tortured And who the h.e.l.l are you?"

The door was closed behind the blond girl. "Is that one of the symptoms of your madness? Do you have the notion people have been torturing you?"

"Notion?" He held out his b.l.o.o.d.y hands toward her. "What do you think these are ... stigmata?"

"You probably hurt yourself while thrashing around on the floor. Are you subject to fits?"

"I'm going to be shortly. Who are you?"

"Why, don't you recognize me, you poor unfortunate wretch? I'm your princess."

"You mean the one I've been dreaming of since boyhood?"

"No, no, I'm Princess Joline. King Waldo's only daughter. Surely you're enough in touch with reality to recog-"

"Why are you here?"

"I visit St Charlie's every other day to work among the unfortunate wrecks," explained the princess. "You're, by the way, quite good looking for a lunatic."

"Princess, you've got to get to your father's Minister of Propaganda. Tell him Jack Summer of Muckrake is being held-"

"Is that who you think you are? Ah, would that you truly were, since I have long admired the courageous work of Jack Summer, the incisive-"

"I am Jack Summer." He managed to rise to his feet. "They've taken all my stuff, otherwise I could show you my ID packet."

"Now, it's best not to excite yourself." She held out a steadying hand, which kept him from toppling over into her.

"You said you read Muckrake?"

"Of course I do. My father, the king, allows me to subscribe, at the teleport rate even, though he feels-"

"Back issues. Have any?"

"I keep a stack of them under my royal bed. A maid of mine chides me for-"

"Go home, thumb through them, find the contributors page. You'll see my-"

"All things going oaky-doaky in here, your highness?" A large lizardman had opened the doorand was scowling into the cell.

"Yes, Osbert. I'm on the point of leaving."

Summer said, "Will you-"

"I have to move on to the next lunatic; my bodyguard's growing impatient," said Princess Joline.

She helped him lean against the wall so he wouldn't fall over when she took her hand away, "I won't forget your case, you have my word."

CHAPTER 10.

The sound of thunder came rolling across the plain; a hot wind shook the high yellow gra.s.s.

Tike!"

"Ah, forgive me," apologized the Scarlet Angel. "Thunder and lightning are among the few things I fear in this world. Whenever I hear the ominous boom of thunder I grab hold of someone for protection."

The lovely red-haired girl was leaning far out of her saddle, clutching Palma.

Tour motive doesn't bother me," said the photographer in a strained voice. "What unsettles me is that you've grabbed me in an intimate spot."

The Scarlet Angel relaxed her grip. "Again I must beg your forgiveness, dear Palma," she said.

"Little did I realize I'd clutched your bushwhacker in my fright"

Palma exhaled, saying, "Took me by surprise is all. Not that I... Yow!"

The thunder rumbled closer.

The girl tightened her hold on him. "Dear me, have I made another a.s.sault on your quimstake?"

Palma nodded.

"I a.s.sure you I am not, despite my reputation as I h.e.l.lion and highwayperson, the sort who makes a habit of laying hold of a gentleman's tickletoby."

"I'm not exactly a gentleman."

"Even so, it was thoughtless of me to allow my own fright to cause discomfort to your wagstaff."

Rain, hot and sticky, commenced pouring down out of the yellow-gray afternoon sky.

"Let's urge some speed out of these nags," said Jonathan Hawkes, who rode at the head of the party. "Rain plays b.l.o.o.d.y havoc with my spare parts."

The Scarlet Angel let go of Palma completely, spurring her mount "Come along, we must protect your sweet hairless head from the ravages of this storm."

The rain roared down as they galloped, sizzling lightning-scribbled zigzags across sheets of it After a few wet and windy minutes they were across the plain and into a woodland area. They soon reached a clearing in which stood a small forlorn wood-and-plaster inn. The flapping sign over the oaken door gave the place's name as the Knuckle & Chin Inn.

"Ah, the Knuckle and Chin," observed Silcote. "I've heard of the place, though I believed the war had shut its doors."

"There was considerable fighting through here some weeks since," said Squinteye Jim, "causing the good boniface to flee with his cash and kin. He's not soon likely to return, which is why we're residing herein. Now, let us quickly stable these steeds."

They were met in the main dining room of the Knuckle & Chin by a bent old man barely five feet high. "You didn't warn me we'd be having guests," he said to Squinteye Jim. "You know I like to fix soup and salad when-"

"Enough blab," said Hawkes. "These two lads are to be locked in the servants' room and fed on stale bread and water."

The old man rubbed his hands anxiously on his ap.r.o.n. "I'm clean out of stale bread, Jonathan.

The best I can do is day-old scones or-"

"I care not a fig what you feed them," boomed the cyborg highwayman, "so long as they are locked away out of my sight.""Figs," murmured the old man. "We have a whole sack of figs. Mayhap I could whip up a puddi-"

Away with both of them!"

The Scarlet Angel, nostrils flaring wide, placed herself directly in front of Hawkes. There'll be no locking up and no stale bread while-"

"How about two-day-old m.u.f.fins?" asked the old man.

"By glory!" cried Hawkes, shaking his metal fist at the girl. "I spared these two wretches, Angel, but I'll be-"

"They'll have one of the guest rooms," she told him evenly. "They'll dine with us or-"

"Speaking of food," said Squinteye Jim, "what's for lunch, Fireball?"

The old man unbent slightly, chuckling. "I've got grout stew simmering in the kitchen, Squint.