A. Smith: Royal Road

Duke Harald caught his breath after a moment. Unfastening the lockbox, he tossed it lightly in the back. The driver spoke then, quietly, not taking his eyes from the road.

“Count Godfrey thought it better not to come himself, your grace. In case of any sudden inquiry, he felt he should be personally available.”

“Of course!” Duke Harald nodded in agreement. “And your instructions were—?”

“To meet your grace, and bring you to the embassy by the fastest and yet most roundabout route.”

“And this cab?”

“Rented, your grace—after a fashion.” The driver smiled briefly. “Count Godfrey arranged it. The owner will wake up after a while—a little richer and a lot more puzzled.”

“Your name’s Borrow, is it not?” Duke Harald asked, studying the other’s dimly seen profile. “One of Godfrey’s secretaries?”

“Yes, your grace.”

Borrow! Of course, thought Duke Harald; this would be the son of the old clan leader—and the father of the child—whose capture by the aliens had been so recently and vividly recalled to him. Well! By this night’s work, that family tragedy was nearer to being avenged.

The walls of the embassy were a warmly lighted sanctuary. Duke Harald shivered slightly as he removed his damp and heavy battle cloak.

“And now,” said Count Godfrey, closing the door of his private room and busying himself with the everpresent coffee maker, “don’t you think it’s time to break down and let me know what’s happened? And what you’re planning to do next?”

Duke Harald told him; succinctly but graphically.

“The next step,” he concluded, “is for me to get back to Arkady. Before Duke Charles knows I’m coming; and before the Terrans think to close the local spaceways. You keep a courier-boat fueled and ready to go, I believe?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” said Duke Harald quietly, “tonight I’m going to steal it.”

“Steal it?” For a moment the old ambassador looked baffled. Then understanding came, and he smiled.

“Yes,” said Duke Harald. “Arkady needs this embassy on Terra. So far my actions have been, legally, those of a private citizen. And as long as we keep it that way; as long as you are careful not to lend me your ambassadorial sanction, then the Terrans can be as suspicious as they please. But in law they can’t, and probably in practice won’t, take any action to close up your shop. So you see—officially you cannot sign my ticket!”

“But what about a crew?”

“For a courier-boat? You forget I qualified in cruisers,” said Duke Harald. “So long as the boat is stocked—”

“It is.”

“Well, then.” Duke Harald shrugged. Putting down his coffee cup, he rose to his feet, stretched, and gathered up his battle cloak again. “It’s been a rocky night,” he said, yawning, “but I’ll not sleep sound until I’m out in space, high-driving it for Arkady. Now—where do you keep this space-boat, and I’ll be on my way.”

The old ambassador began a protest, but was interrupted. Not, however, by Duke Harald. The door chimed softly, and its warning light winked on and off repeatedly.

“That’s Borrow!” said Count Godfrey, suddenly nervous. Swiftly he turned the scanner on, studied his secretary’s pictured face, and touched the door switch. Duke Harald, chill apprehension heavy in his stomach, shrugged back his battle cloak and rested his hand upon his pistolets.

The secretary entered; closed the door behind him.

“Sir! And your grace!” he said tensely. He held a little square of paper in his hand. “A Master Elwyn, of the Esper Institute, is here, and asks a private talk with the ambassador.”

“Master Elwyn!” said Duke Harald, grim-faced.

“Yes, your grace. And,” Borrow stuttered slightly, “the servants tell me that the grounds appear to be surrounded.”

“Surrounded?”

“Yes, sir. By armed police.”

Seconds ticked away while the two Arkadian nobles stared at one another. Then Duke Harald laughed once; a bitter mirthless sound.

“Well,” he said to Count Godfrey, “it looks as though you won’t lose that space-boat after all!”

“But—what to do?”

“Invite Master Elwyn in, by all means,” said Duke Harald. He relaxed a little from his tight concentration. His fertile brain began to see that this need not be checkmate; that one last move remained to him.

“Invite him in,” he said again. “And admit nothing, deny everything—stall for time. But you know how to do it—you’re the diplomat around here.”

“And you?”

“Me? Oh, I’ll be out of sight upstairs. You have a sterilamp around the place?”

“Yes. But—”

“Have Borrow fetch it to me, or show me where it is. I’ll go to earth—temporarily!—in one of your spare bedrooms.”

“Then, you’re not going to break out?”

“Through a cordon of guards? And start a brawl which could bring war with Terra—if, that is, Duke Charles and the Council backed us up, which I very strongly doubt? No,” said Duke Harald harshly, “unless my appreciation of the situation has gone completely sour, I’ve got one move and only one move left to play. I’m going to take the drug!”

And, without pause for further explanation, Düke Harald disappeared in the direction of the upper floors. He trusted his old friend to grasp the obvious, to see the need for this particular action. There were, he thought, three clear advantages to be gained.

Destruction of the evidence was a main consideration. With the embassy thus guarded, he could not hope to smuggle out the drug in any usual container; and diplomatic immunity extended only to this building, and to the person of Count Godfrey. But—could they search his blood stream or his nervous system? With concrete evidence gone, between them he and Godfrey could befog the issue thoroughly. Psychomathematical deductions might be well enough on Terra. He doubted if they would stand up in interstellar law.

Again, possession of the esper skill might be a potent weapon. He could not know; could only hope. And in the end, to face the Terrans with a fait accompli should lead at worst to stalemate. At least, some bargain might be struck—Master Elwyn was surely not inflexible.

The guest room was comfortable; luxuriously furnished, even. But Duke Harald paid more heed to the thickness and opacity of the heavy drapes than to their carefully chosen colors. The carving on the oaken door was of less moment to him than its sturdy weight and sound-absorptive qualities. Satisfied that he was safe from outside scrutiny, he set about his simple preparations.

Not, however, without some twinges of anxiety. This was, after all, an unfamiliar drug. He knew too little of its action and its properties. He had not planned to take it here, thus hastily self-administered; but only back on Arkady, after careful analysis and animal assay, and with his personal physician standing by.

But this way! He repressed a shiver, as a discreet signal from the door heralded Borrow’s entrance with the sterilamp.

“Well, Borrow,” Duke Harald smiled thinly, “do you know what this is all about?”

“No, your grace. That is, I—” the secretary paused in some confusion.

“You’re not supposed to know, but you can guess? Well, no harm in it, provided you can keep the secret.”

Borrow nodded silently.

“And now,” Duke Harald added, “if this drug works the way it’s said to—just flash that lamp on my left arm, here—you can look forward to the first real counterstroke against the aliens in fifty years. There, that should be enough, I think. Now, take this hypo and… you know how to locate a vein?”