Overtime. Part 46

'We're just using your plug,' said the voice. 'Sorry if we're disturbing you. Is that something coming through, Isoud?'

'Put that plug back on immediately.'

'Certainly, certainly,' replied the voice. 'Won't be two ticks.'

The President leapt to his feet, tripped over the leg of his desk, and fell over. 'Ouch,' he said.

'Careful.'

'How did you get in here?'

'Through that door over there,' replied the voice. 'It's probably got No Entry written on it, all the others do. I a.s.sure you it's nothing personal,' the voice added. 'It's just that yours was the first door we came to that didn't lead to somewhere in the Middle Ages.'

'I...'.

'Yup, it's the map all right,' said the voice, 'just the ticket. All right, then, Isoud, you can switch the thing off and let the gentleman have his electricity back. Sorry for any inconvenience,' the voice added.

A few seconds later, the lights went on, just in time for the President to catch a glimpse of the door marked Maintenance

Staff Only closing. The Visiphone screen crackled and lit up.

He dived for his chair and tried to look nonchalant.

'All right,' said the voice of the Chairman, 'you win.

'You what?'

'You win,' replied the Chairman bitterly. 'You have - how you say? - called our bluff. We withdraw our missiles from Sector Three.

'Oh,' said the President. 'Thank you.'

'Mr President.'

The screen went blank. Gasping slightly, the President found his handkerchief and wielded it vigorously. Obviously, the screen had been switched off before he'd made his declaration of war. Lucky.

He switched on the intercom. 'Frank,' he said, 'get me the briefing room. And,' he added, 'get me that G.o.d-d.a.m.n electrician.'

'This way.

Guy folded the map, put it away and pointed. Absolutely no doubt in his mind this time. The map had said Stage Door of Blondel's Concert on it in big bold letters. He turned the handle and pushed.

And fell forward.

A split second later, Isoud followed him, landing on the small of his back. He complained.

'Sorry,' Isoud said. 'Are you all ...

Guy raised his head and groaned. It wasn't just because Isoud had nearly broken his spine; it was more because he had a very strong feeling that he knew exactly where he was.

'Guy, are you all right?' Isoud repeated. Then, sensibly, she moved off his back and let him breathe.

Guy rolled over on to his side and groped for the map. Not that there was any light to read it by, of course. Something small and furry brushed past his hand.

'h.e.l.lo,' said a sleepy voice in the depths of the gloom, 'who's there?'

'Oh, h.e.l.lfire,' Guy moaned. He was right.

'h.e.l.lo?' said the voice again. 'Why, my dear fellow, you've come back again.

Guy moved his hand - slowly, so as not to startle the rat -and buried his face in it. A trap. The faxed map hadn't been sent from the Chastel de Nesle at all. It had come from Well, it didn't take a genius to work it out. From here.

'Guy?' Isoud said.

'Yes, all right,' Guy replied testily. 'Excuse me,' he said, projecting his voice into the darkness, 'but I wonder if you can tell me, is this the Chastel des Larmes Chaudes?'

'Certainly, my dear fellow,' replied the voice. 'Didn't they tell you at Reception when they brought you in?'

'I ...' Guy shook his head; for his own satisfaction more than anything else. He wanted to see if anything rattled about in it.

'Isoud,' he said, 'I'm afraid we've come the wrong way.'

Pursuivant woke up, opened his eyes, and wiggled his toes. They still weren't right. Typical. If he'd mentioned the duff bearing in the offside right joint once, he'd mentioned it a hundred times, but n.o.body listened. Next time he was brought in to the Service Bay, he'd d.a.m.n well insist.

'I don't know why I bother.'

It was the voice of the Head Technician, and now he came to think of it, Pursuivant could see his face glowering down at him. He shrugged his shoulders, only to find they weren't there. Probably off having the rubbers changed.

'I mean,' the Head Technician was saying, 'why don't I just scoop the whole lot out and fill in the hole with wet newspaper or something? Then, next time you get them all bashed out, it won't take me an hour and a half with the small scalpel to put them back together again.'

'Bad, was it?' Pursuivant asked.

The Head Technician pulled a face. 'For two pins,' he said, 'I'd have binned the lot and put in a brand new unit. Only then I'd have the b.l.o.o.d.y Quartermaster down on me like a ton of bricks. First thing in the morning, I'm going to ask my brother-in-law if there's any jobs going down the canning factory.

He waved to the orderlies, who switched on the conveyor, transporting Pursuivant to the Armery section.

'What the h.e.l.l did you do to it this time?' the Armerer demanded. 'Roll about on it? Try and use it to lever open a safe? These are precision instruments, you know.'

'Sorry,' Pursuivant said. 'Can I have a new one?'

'No,' replied the Armerer. 'Instead, you can have arthritis. I've fitted it,' he added with a malicious grin, 'personally.'

'Hey, doc, that isn't -'

'n.o.body said it had to be,' replied the Armerer, swinging his ratchet spanner like a football rattle. 'Next.' Three quarters of an hour later, Pursuivant was standing outside Mountjoy's office, waiting to be told he could come in.

'Let's just go through this one step at a time,' Mountjoy said. 'You and your colleagues captured the renegade Goodlet backstage and tied him up. Then you left him.'