A Whiff Of Madness Part 4

"Nope, I'm on Peregrine to write up something on the Starbuck claimant," said Summer. Terrier has nothing to do with that. He happens to be a friend of my editor's, and I promised to look him up."

Grunting a little, Brownlove took his hands out of his pockets. He walked nearer, head c.o.c.ked, eyes narrowed. "I hate to be the first to break this to you, Jack, old pal, but you don't look so very hot yourself." He tugged thoughtfully at his beard. "Wow, you look like you got a spell of wackiness coming on. I'd hate to think goofiness is contagious."

"It isn't. Where can I find Dr. Ferrier?"

"Yeah, see, you're getting obsessive, developing what we brain experts call one of these here now fixed ideas. A shame, too, a nice young guy like you all of a sudden going absolutely gaga."

"I'm not going-"

"Boys! I'm afraid we got us another one!"

From a back room of the office stepped three large-size catmen. Each wore a gray smock with St. Charles Public Lunatic Home stenciled on the breast pocket Summer started backing for the door.

All three of them were on him before he made it.

CHAPTER 7.

The blazing torch inscribed a wobbly arc across the afternoon, and landed with a sparkling splat square in the middle of the shingled church roof.

"Yippee, that's going to burn real good."

"Not going to fizzle out like the other ones."

"Hurry up and get that brick walkway ripped up. We'll bust some more windows."

"I get first try at the window with all the angels."

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said Palma, "merely pa.s.sing through." He was mounted on a black stallion he'd rented several towns back. He attempted to guide the animal around the crowd of churchwreckers who were blocking the width of Louton's princ.i.p.al street "Wowee, here comes the preacher! Let's roll him in the muck!"

"Naw, let's roll him in s.h.i.t!"

"Both, both. Muck and s.h.i.t."

"Hey, yowee, let's shoot this stranger's horse."

"Gentlemen, this beast is the property of the Ace Stables in nearby-"

Bang!

The horse toppled over sideways, with Palma in the saddle. He kicked free of the stirrups, and rolled out from under before the dead stallion smacked the muddy street.

"Goody, did you see the look in his eye when the horse fell down?""Sort of surprised you, huh, Mr. Baldybean."

Palma brushed mud off himself, inspected the cameras hanging around his neck. He skirted the dead horse and walked up to the catman who'd shot it. "I have a terrific sense of humor," he said, smiling.

"I'm noted throughout the galaxies for being receptive to all types of whimsy."

"Good enough, skinhead, then stick around," urged a lizardman. "We're going to roll the preacher in s.h.i.t That's always whimsical."

Palma ignored him, concentrating on the catman. "However, some things are not funny."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Take, for instance, setting a church on fire. That is not funny," the bald photographer continued.

"Shooting my horse out from under me, to give you another example. That is not funny."

"Sure it-"

Palma suddenly jabbed a fist deep into the catman's middle. Before he could straighten up, Palma gave him two chops to the neck and then tripped him over. The catman splashed flat out in the mud and stayed there.

"That was funny," laughed the lizardman. "You got a keen sense of the absurd, cleanhead."

"Thank you." Palma bowed slightly at the crowd, stepped on the back of the sprawled catman and over to the sidewalk.

"I don't know if I think that's so funny," said a birdman. "Coldc.o.c.king Lloyd and stepping on him."

"Sure it was. That was hilarious."

"No, I got a mind to ..."

Palma kept walking away from them. He was due to meet an informant at one of Louton's inns in a half hour.

When he pa.s.sed the next alley a gob of green and orange feathers splashed out on him. Palma halted, peered.

" ... You b.u.mptious flapdoodler. I'll furl you up a gaffer's arsyvarsy! Then I'll-"

"You and who else, you doodledasher! I'll stow you in a phizgig's needlecase!"

"Ten smackers on Gentleman Jim," growled the catman nearest to Palma.

"Taken! Young Stribling can't be beat."

Craning his neck, Palma was able to see around the cl.u.s.ter of men in the alley and view what they were watching. It was a bird fight, between two disreputable foot-high talking parrots.

"You tunbellied beant.o.s.s.e.r," taunted Gentleman Jim through his blood-spattered beak.

"You're nothing but an elevated wh.o.r.etw.a.n.ger, my lad," rejoined Young Stribling, who was the one who'd lost the feathers.

Palma paused long enough to shoot half a roll of film. "Sporting Life may want to use one of these birds on their Athlete-of-the-Week page."

He met one of the waiters from the inn while he was still half a block from the place. The man, white ap.r.o.n flapping, came flying out of a second-floor window of the Eye & Finger Inn. Trailing bright bits of broken gla.s.s, he sailed through the air, to land with a jarring bounce directly in Palma's path.

"Darn, landed on the same side of my b.u.m as last time." The waiter, a hefty bald man, got up with a helping hand from Palma. "This is not my lucky day. Most times I can twist some in midflight so as to land on different parts of myself. Today, I don't know why, I'm off." He stopped ma.s.saging his backside, to stare at the photographer. "G.o.d bless me, you're as hairless as I am."

"I noticed."

"You best stay away from the Eye and Finger, sir," warned the bald waiter. "There's a great ill-tempered lout in there, hairy as a mountain grout, and he can't abide the sight of a bare scalp."

"I've got business with the innkeeper. Is he in there?"

"One-Eye, you mean? Aye, he's ducked down behind the free lunch counter. This great hirsute lout is also threatening to clout anyone who's partially bald. One-Eye's hair has been getting a little thin lately so-"

"Thanks for the advice, even though I'm going to ignore it." Leaving the man standing there,Palma proceeded up to the thick oaken doors of the inn. The painted sign of the Eye & Finger showed a calloused forefinger being thrust into a moderately bloodshot eye, apparently commemorating the incident in which the innkeeper earned his nickname.

The first customer Palma encountered inside the place was sitting uneasily at a table and feeling the top of his head. "You wouldn't say I was bald, would you? I mean to say, there's quite a bit of fuzz all over here and around the ears; just feel, you'll find considerable growth.... Good gad! Turn around, my friend, and flee! There's no way you can pa.s.s for hairy."

"I appreciate your timely warning. However-"

"Hair and b.a.l.l.s!" roared a voice from above. Them as has one has the other! Them as don't, don't!"

Palma wended his way among the tables, which were all round and oaken. About half of the patrons of this level of the inn were in various stages of ducking and departing.

A pretty serving girl with a very interesting bosom stood at the foot of the stairway leading upward. She was holding a copper serving tray as a shield.

"That appears to be a fairly substantial tray, miss."

"Oh ... oh ... yes ... it's very substantial," answered the girl.

"No hair, no nuts!" boomed the baldness-hating customer above. "Show me a baldy, I'll show you a sissy!"

"Allow me to borrow your tray for a moment, miss." Palma slid it out of her grasp and hefted it "Oh ... oh ... I feel defenseless."

"No need; Palma is here to champion your-"

"By the saints!" exclaimed the girl, noticing the top of his head for the first time. "It's no hair you have!"

"Not a bit, no."

"Then that s.h.a.ggy brute up there will do with you what he's done with three waiters, five customers, and a visiting male nurse. That is to say he'll-"

"Nothing to fear." Tray under his arm, Palma mounted the wooden stairs to the second-floor dining room.

All the tables were overturned. Green bottles, gold-tinted bottles, sky-blue bottles were smashed to bits on the plank flooring. Bowls of gravy, a stuffed pig, loaves of black bread, and several tossed green salads had been scattered hither and yon. A bald-headed old man lay unconscious with his pale face resting on a fat round cheese.

The hairy man had his back to Palma. He was throttling a hairless patron, shaking him violently as he did. His shoulder-length hair flapped at his s.h.a.ggy bare back. "Hairy is good, baldy is bad," he was chanting.

Palma approached him carefully, avoiding several scattered bunches of purple grapes and a pool of white wine that originated at the overturned gallon jug on the hairy man's table.

Clong!

"Glory be! What manner of-"

Clong!

The second whack over the head caused the hairy man to let go of his victim, stagger and slump to his knees.

Clong! Clong!

The hairy man fell forward into a tureen.

Resting the borrowed tray against a tipped table, Palma walked to the row of broken windows to survey the street below. "Fore," he called out He rolled the hairy man, who felt to weigh about two hundred and fifty pounds, over to the newly made opening and pushed him out.

"Oh, sir, it's a hero you are!" The serving girl had ventured up to watch the conflict "Never in all my days have I seen such courage, such bravery, in the face of frightening odds."

Palma wiped perspiration from his bald head with a table napkin. "What time do you get off?""Beg pardon, sir?"

"When do you get off work here?"

The girl frowned "I don't at all, sir, seeing as how I'm an indentured servant of Mr. One-Eye Dodgson. I'm obliged to remain on the premises virtually around the clock."

"I'll talk to One-Eye about that. Then perhaps you'll allow me to escort you someplace for a quiet dinner."

"Oh, that would be most pleasant, sir. Though I doubt one can find a quiet dining place in Louton. The best we can hope for is one less raucous than this."

"That will suffice."

The innkeeper asked, "Have I told you how I lost my eye, Palma?"

"Yes." They were in the office of the Eye & Finger, a dim, windowless, dark-wood room. Palma sat in a tufted chair facing One-Eye Dodgson, who was hunched behind a carved desk The proudest day of my life it was," One-Eye went on. "I don't know if I can convey to you in words the thrill of having one's eye gouged out for one's beloved country. It was three, no, four wars back and I-"

"Tully Keep," said Palma. "You're supposed to be setting up a meet My contacts have already paid you for the job."

"Job's done, too, sir," said the innkeeper. "You're to meet an agent of Keep's in the village of Ravenshoe three days hence. Ravenshoe's a hundred long miles from here, and the only way you can reach it, in these war-torn times, is via stagecoach. It's the same in all wars, the delays and inconveniences. Take the day I gave my eye to the greater glory of my native territory. The day dawned fair, with only a breath of-"

"Who's Keep's agent? Where do I meet him?"

"He'll find you once you arrive in Ravenshoe and take a room at the Boot and Knee Inn," said One-Eye, "Place is owned and operated by that braggart c.o.c.k-foster, who thinks getting kicked in the kneecap on the battlefield is the same as having one's eye-"

"You've got a girl working here, a blond."

The innkeeper's sole eye narrowed. "She's a sweet and innocent flower, Palma. A delicate blossom struggling to bloom amid-"

"Save the horticultural allusions, I only want to take her to dinner," said Palma. "I'd appreciate your giving her some time off this evening."

Talma, the child is learning a trade; every minute away from this establishment means a loss of precious opportunity for-"

"I'll tell her she can take the night off, commencing at six." Palma stood up.

Finally One-Eye nodded consent. "Remember she's a fragile bloom."

"I'll remember," Palma a.s.sured him.