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 the castle, two guards converged on a fourteen-year-old boy with black hair and green eyes who was trying to climb the fence.
“Hey, get down from there! All right, come on. Where’re your papers? What do you mean you don’t have any? Come on with us. Get the camera out, Jo. We’ll have to photograph him and send the picture to Chief Records Headquarters. They’ll tell us who you are, kid. Now hold still.”
Behind them, a sudden white-haired figure was out of the shadows and over the gate in a moment. The guards did not see her.
“Hold still now, kid, while I get your retina pattern.”
* * * *
Later on a bunch of rowdies, led by a giant, started to raise hell around the palace. They hadn’t even gotten the kid to the guard house yet, but somehow in the confusion the boy got away. One guard, who wore a size seventeen uniform was knocked unconscious, but no one else was hurt. They dispersed the rowdies, carried the guard to the infirmary, and left. The doctor saw him in the waiting room, then left him there momentarily to look for an accident report slip in the supply room at the other side of the building. (He could have sworn that a whole pad of them had been lying on the desk when he’d stepped out for a bit ten minutes ago.) When the doctor returned with the slip the soldier was still there—only he was stark naked.
* * * *
A minute later, an unfamiliar guard, wearing a size seventeen uniform, saluted the guard at the gate, and marched in.
* * * *
Two strange men behind the gate flung a cord with a weight on one end over a third story cornice. They missed once, then secured it the second time and left it hanging there.
A guard wearing a size seventeen uniform came down the hall of the west wing of the castle, stopped before a large double door on which was a silver crown, indicating the room of the Queen Mother; he took a complete set of keys to the private suites of the royal family from his cloak, and locked her Majesty firmly in her room. At the next door, he locked Prince Let securely in his. Then he went rapidly on.
Tel ran till he got to the corner, rounded it, and checked the street sign. It was correct. So he went to a doorway and sat down to wait.
* * * *
At the same time, Prince Let, getting ready for bed and wearing nothing but his undershirt, looked out the window and saw a girl with white hair hanging head down outside the shutter. He stood very still. The upside down face smiled at him. Then the hands converged at the window lock, did something, and the two glass panels came open. The girl rolled over once, turned quickly, and suddenly she was crouching on the window ledge.
Let snatched up his pajama bottoms first, and ran to the door second. When he couldn’t open it, he whirled around and pulled on his pajama pants.
Alter put her finger to her lips as she stepped down into his room. “Keep quiet,” she whispered. “And relax,” she added. “The Duchess of Petra sent me. More or less.” She had been instructed to use that name to calm the prince. It seemed to work a trifle.
“Look,” explained Alter, “you’re being kidnapped. It’s for your own good, believe me.” She watched the blond boy come away from the door.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m a friend of yours if you’ll let me be.”
“Where are you going to take me?”
“You’re going to go on a trip. But you’ll come back, eventually.”
“What
