The First Science Fiction MEGAPACK®. Fredric Brown
where it was pressed against his waist, and a moment later his feet were brushing back and forth over the tar paper. He let go and rubbed his hands together. “Why didn’t you tell me what I was gonna do?”
“Because then you wouldn’t have done it. Now that you know you can, the rest will be easier. You’ve got three stunts now in less than five minutes. The knee mount, back knee circle, and the forward dismount. And that was the best I’ve ever seen anybody do for a first try.”
“Thanks,” said Tel. He looked back up at the horizontal bar. “You know, it feels real funny, doing that stuff. I mean you don’t really do it. You do things and then it happens to you.”
“That’s right,” Alter said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that Maybe that’s why a good acrobat has to be a person who can sort of relax and just let things happen. You have to trust both your mind and your body.”
“Oh,” said Tel. “I was looking for you when I came up here. I wanted to give you something.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, brushing a shock of white hair from her forehead.
“I hope it didn’t get broken.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of something sinewy; he had strung the shells on lengths of leather thong. There were three loops of leather, each longer than the one before, and the shells were spread apart and held in place by tiny knots. “Geryn gave me the thong, and I put it together this afternoon. It’s a necklace, see?”
She turned while he tied the ends behind her neck. Then she turned back to him, touching the green brilliance of one frail cornucopia, passing to the muted orange of another along the brown leather band. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much, Tel.”
“You want some fruit?” he said, picking up the globe and beginning to peel the rest of it.
“All right,” she said. He broke it open, gave her half, and they went to the edge of the roof and leaned on the balustrade, looking to the street below, then over the roofs of the other houses of the Devil’s Pot and up to the darkening towers.
“You know,” Tel said. “I’ve got a problem.”
“No identification papers, no place to go. I should say you do.”
“Not like that,” he said. “But that’s part of it, I guess. I guess it’s a large part of it. But not all.”
“Then what is it?”
“I’ve got to figure out what I want. Here I am, in a new place, with no way to get anything for myself; I’ve got to figure a goal.”
“Look,” said Alter, assuming the superiority of age and urban training, “I’m a year older than you, and I don’t know where I’m going yet. But when I was your age, it occurred to me it would probably all take care of itself. All I had to do was ride it out. So that’s what I’ve been doing, and I haven’t been too unhappy. Maybe it’s the difference between living here or on the seashore. But here you’ve got to spend a lot of time looking for the next meal. At least people like you and me have to. If you pay attention to that, you’ll find yourself heading in the right direction soon enough. Whatever you’re going to be, you’re going to be, if you just give yourself half a chance.”
“Like a big acrobatic stunt, huh?” asked Tel. “You just do the right things and then it happens to you.”
“Like that,” said Alter. “I guess so.”
“Maybe,” said Tel. The kharba fruit was cool, sweet like honey, orange, and pineapple.
A minute later someone was calling them. They turned from the balustrade and saw Geryn’s white head poking from the trap door. “Come down,” he demanded. “I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s time.”
They followed him back to the first floor. Tel saw that the scarred giant was still sitting at the table, his hands folded into quiet hammers before him.
“Now, everyone,” Geryn called as he sat down at the table. Somewhat reluctantly people left the bar. Geryn dropped a sheaf of papers on the table. “Come around, everyone.” The top sheet was covered with fine writing and careful architectural drawing. “Now this is the plan.” So were the other sheets, when Geryn turned them over. “First, I’ll divide you into groups.”
He looked at the giant across the table. “Arkor, you take the first group.” He picked out six more men and three women. He turned to the white-haired girl now. “Alter, you’ll be with the special group.” He named six more people. Tel was among them. A third group was formed which Geryn himself was to lead. Arkor’s group was for strong-arm work. Geryn’s was for guard duty and to keep the way clear while the prince was being conveyed back to the inn. “The people in the special group already know what to do.”
“Sir,” said Tel, “you haven’t told me, yet.”
Geryn looked at him. “You have to get caught.”
“Sir?”
“You go past the guards, and make enough noise so that they catch you. Then, when they’re occupied with you, we’ll break in. Because you have no papers, they won’t be able to trace you.”
“Am I supposed to stay caught?”
“Of course not. You’ll get away when we distract them.”
“Oh,” said Tel. Geryn went back to the papers.
As the plan was reviewed, Tel saw two things. First the completeness of the research, information, and attention to detail—habits of individual guards: one who left at the first sound of the change signal; another who waited a moment to exchange greetings with his replacement, a friend from his military academy days. Second, he saw its complexity. There were so many ins and outs, gears that had to mesh, movements to be timed within seconds, that Tel wondered if everything could possibly go right.
While he was wondering, they were suddenly already on their way, each one with a bit of the plan fixed firmly in his mind, no one with too clear a picture of the entire device. The groups were to split into subgroups of two or three, then reconvene at appointed spots around the castle. Tel and Alter found themselves walking through the city with the giant. Occasional street lights wheeled their shadows over the cracked pavement.
“You’re from the forest, aren’t you?” Tel finally asked the giant.
He nodded.
“Why did you come here?” Tel asked, trying to make conversation as they walked.
“I wanted to see the city,” he said, raising his hand to his scars with a small chuckle. After that, he said nothing.
* * * *
Prime Minister Chargill took his evening constitutional along the usually deserted Avenue of the Oyster at about this time every night. Prime Minister Chargill always carried on him a complete set of keys to the private suites of the royal family. This evening, however, a drunk in rags reeled out of a side street and collided with the old man. A moment later, making profuse apologies, he backed away, ducking his head, his hands behind his back. When the drunk returned to the side street, his weaving gait ceased, his hand came from behind his back, and in it was a complete set of keys to the private suites of the royal family.
* * * *
The guard who was in charge of checking the alarm system loved flowers. He could—(and had been)—observed going to the florist’s at least once a week on his time off. So when the old woman with a tray of scarlet anemones came by and offered them for his perusal, it is not surprising that he lowered his head over the tray and filled his lungs with that strange, pungent smell somewhere between orange rind and the sea wind. Forty-seven seconds later, he yawned. Fourteen seconds after that, he was sitting on the ground, his head hung forward, snoring. Through the gate two figures could be seen at the alarm box…had anyone been there to look.
* * * *
At another entrance to