Sprague de Camp's New Anthology
- Автор: Де Камп Лайон Спрэг
- Год: 1953
- Язык: английский
- Год: Panther
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Sprague de Camp's New Anthology». Краткое содержание книги:
"Let me remind you that this is the real thing, my friend."
"Well, then, your King Harold needed a good director. Maybe the costume-movie has a future after all, if this is what the real thing looks like. But I'll say one thing: the censors wouldn't let us show guys' guts and gore spilled all over the place the way this does. Oh-oh, there's your King Harold all haggled up!"
"He is dead. Now," said Bruun, "we come to the birth of Harold Haroldson ..."
It occurred to Godwin that now was the time to secrete the chocolate-bar in the parachron. But he could not do it, even if he could get away with it. Though he was not a scientist, the thought of destroying a valuable scientific discovery, the life work of this nice old bird Bruun, was repugnant to him. He would even rather marry Karen.
The reel came to its end. Bruun threw the switch that let daylight into the room again, saying: "We have all the rest, showing the birth of Harold Haroldson's eldest son, Stigand Haroldson, and his eldest son, Godwin Stigandson, and so on. We can establish that the senior branch is the Godwin family of York, and follow them down to the nineteenth century, when birth-records became general and genealogists preserved the pedigree of your family. Shall we have lunch now?"
Godwin was surprised at the speed with which time had flown. After lunch, the Bruuns excused themselves, and Godwin asked Malling:
"What do we do now?"
"Whatever you like, so long as I get you to the palace by seventeen hundred. You must be there in time for the betrothal banquet to-night."
"The what?"
"Has nobody told you? The king is giving a big party, your engagement to Princess Karen to announce. All the bigwigs will be there."
"Well, how about visiting that oyster-bug or whatever you called it?"
"The Oster-Bygd? Sure, we got time enough." Malling gave directions to the taxi-driver, who drove them out of Julianehaab along a narrow, winding road.
Godwin wished people would leave him along long enough to think. Despite the assurances of the Bruuns he was still not convinced that the claim to the British throne was kosher. Those movies could have been faked.
Then he realised that he still carried the so-called chocolate-bar in his pants pocket. If the thing were a time-bomb, it might go off any minute and splatter him and Malling all over southern Greenland.
"What makes you so pale?" asked Malling solicitously. "Are you not feeling good?"
"I—I'm all right, thanks," said Godwin, tensing his jaws to keep his teeth from chattering.
He would have to get rid of the thing, but in an inconspicuous manner, and in such wise that when and if it did go off it would not kill anybody. It wouldn't do to throw it out of the cab ...
They reached the Oster-Bygd and got out to look at a singularly unimpressive group of ruins: a little clump of what had once been houses of raw fieldstone, unmortared, of which now only a few stretches of thick wall remained. Wire fences surrounded them and a policeman paced back and forth.
"The settlement of the great Eric Thorvaldson," said Malling reverently. "We keep the cop there to stop American tourists from carrying the houses away as souvenirs, stone by stone."
"Let's walk down to the shore," said Godwin.
They climbed over the rocks, hampered by being handcuffed together. When they came near the sluggish sea, Godwin threw the chocolate-bar as far as he could.
At Malling's questioning look he said: "That was a piece of candy in that bag von Wittelsbach left with me. I figured it might have been poisoned, too."
"You should not have thrown it away! We needed it to examine!"
"Too late now. Let's go back."
As the taxi purred off on the road back towards Julianehaab, a terrific roar split the air behind them. The shock made the little automobile quiver, and the air was filled with the cries of startled gulls. Craning his neck, Godwin saw a tall geyser of water settling back into the sea a few metres off-shore.
Malling ordered the taxi-driver to turn around once again and return to the parking-lot at the Oster-Bygd. He hurried down to the shore, where the uniformed policeman was already standing, looking out to sea. There was nothing to be seen. At last Malling returned to the cab, saying:
"Maybe, Mr. Godwin, it is yust as well you threw that thing away when you did!"
"Why don't you pinch Werner von Wittelsbach before he poisons or blows up somebody else?"
Malling looked unhappy. "I should like to. But that is not easy without very good proof, and we do not know that the candy-bar was what exploded. That young man is a—how do you say—protégé of Thor Thomsen, who works closely with Herre Gram ... So you see ..." The detective spread his hands helplessly.
AT THE GATES of the palace stood a pair of troopers of Greenland's microscopic armed force, wearing parade uniforms topped by conical cossack-style lambskin hats. When Malling identified himself and his fellow-passenger they snapped to present-arms with a click and a clank that made Godwin wince.
"You will get used to it," said Malling.
The taxi drove around a winding driveway between scrubby dwarf trees and stopped in front of a big field-stone house similar (except in size) to the other residences of Julianehaab.
"The palace," said Malling, getting out and paying the taxi-driver . "Oh, here comes the king!"
Godwin looked around at the crunch of tyres on gravel. Three men were approaching on bicycles. The one in front, in civilian tweeds, was a man about Godwin's stature with a fringe of greying red hair around his nude scalp. He looked stocky and powerful, and the resemblance to his daughter was obvious. Behind him pedalled two more soldiers in black kalpaks, each with a drawn sabre held against his right shoulder.
Malling came to attention and took off his hat, saying: "God Dag, Herlighed!"
The leading cyclist braked to a stop and got off, saying: "God Dag, Malling," and then to Godwin: "So this is my future son-in-law, eh?" He wrung Godwin's hand in a bone-crushing grip. "Come inside."
King Edvard III led the way to the front door and bellowed: "Ingeborg!"
When a woman appeared, the king exchanged words with her in Danish, then said to Godwin: "Your room is not quite ready yet. Come into my sitting-room."
Then he conversed briefly with Malling, who finally unfastened the hand-grip of Godwin's fetter from his hand and remained outside while the king led Godwin into a room and closed the door.
"He was afraid to leave you alone with me," said King Edvard. "As if I needed protection from you! Ha!"
"What ja mean, your Majesty?"
The king stuck out his jaw and thrust his face close to Godwin's, his blue eyes narrowed to slits. "I mean if it weren't for Gram's fordomme banquet tonight, I'd tie you in knots and stamp the remains into the floor, you young swine!"
The king reached out and tweaked Godwin's nose between his powerful fingers.
"Ouch!" said Godwin.
"That's just a taste. Lucky for you I can't afford to have you turn up at the banquet with a pair of black eyes and a few broken teeth."
Godwin's temper rose in its turn. "Look here, pop, I don't care who you are, you can't push me around! If you wanna fight, I know something about that too. An actor has to learn—"
"Actor! To make it worse, he has to be an actor!"
"What's the matter with being an actor? I didn't ask you to kidnap me up to the end of nowhere and marry me to your daughter!"
"And who asked you to seduce my poor innocent darling and drag the honour of the royal house in the mud?"
"I never did!"
"But those photographs—"
"That was just a joke—"
"Yust a yoke!" roared the king, his speech becoming more Danish under stress. "I'll show you vat is a yoke—"