“Tell them to go to hell!” I shouted. “There’s no one on this poxy planet I want to see.”
Paying no attention to my request, he bowed in the governor of the prison and a pair of ancient types wearing black clothes and severe looks. I did the best I could to ignore them. They waited grimly until the guard had gone, then the skinniest opened a folder he was carrying and slowly drew out a sheet of paper with his fingertips.
“I will not sign a suicide note so you can butcher me in my sleep,” I snarled at him. This rattled him a bit, but he tried to ignore it.
“That is an unfair suggestion,” he intoned solemnly. “I am the Royal Attorney and would never condone such an action.” All three of them nodded together as though they were pulled by one string, and the effect was so compulsive that I almost nodded myself.
“I will not commit suicide voluntarily,” I said harshly to break the spell of agreement. “That is the last word that will be said on the subject.”
The Royal Attorney had been around the courts long enough not to be thrown off his mark by this kind of obliquity. He coughed, rattled the paper, and got back to basics.
“There are a number of crimes you could be charged with young man,” he droned, with an intensely gloomy expression draped on his face. I yawned, unimpressed. “I hope this will not have to be done,” he went on, “since it would only cause harm to all concerned. The King himself does not wish to see this happen, and in fact has pressed upon me his earnest desire to have this affair ended quietly now. His desire for peace has prevailed upon us all, and I am here now to put his wish into action. If you will sign this apology, you will be placed aboard a starship leaving tonight. The matter will be ended.”
“Trying to get rid of me to cover up your drunken brawls at the palace, hey?” I sneered. The Attorney’s face purpled but he controlled his temper with a magnificent effort. If they threw me off the planet now everything was wasted.
“You are being insulting, sir!” he snorted. “You are not without blame in this matter, remember. I heartily recommend that you accept the King’s leniency in this tragic affair and sign the apology.” He handed the paper to me and I tore it to pieces.
“Apologize? Never!” I shouted at them. “I was merely defending my honor against your drunken louts and larcenous nobility, all descended from thieves who stole the titles rightly belonging to my family!”
They left then, and the prison governor was the only one young and sturdy enough for me to help on the way with the toe of my shoe in the appropriate spot. Everything was as it should be. The door clanged shut behind them—on a rebellious, cantankerous, belligerent son of the Freibur soil. I had arranged things perfectly to bring me to the attention of Angelina. But unless she became interested in me soon I stood a good chance of spending the rest of my days behind these grim walls.
Waiting has always been bad for my nerves. I am a thinker during moments of peace, but a man of action most of the time. It is one thing to prepare a plan and leap boldly into it. It is another thing altogether to sit around a grubby prison cell wondering if the plan has worked or if there is a weak link in the chain of logic.
Should I crack out of this pokey? That shouldn’t be hard to do, but it had better be saved for a last resort. Once out I would have to stay undercover and there would be no chance of her contacting me. That was why I was gnawing my way through all my fingernails. The next move was up to Angelina; all I could do was wait. I only hoped that she would gather the right conclusions from all the violent evidence I had supplied.
After a week I was stir-crazy. The Royal Attorney never came back and there was no talk of a trial or sentencing. I had presented them with an annoying problem, and they must have been scratching their heads feebly over it and hoping I would go away. I almost did. Getting out of this backwoods jail would have been simplicity itself. But I was waiting for a message from my deadly love. I toyed with the possibilities of the things she might do. Perhaps arrange pressure through the court to have me freed? Or smuggle in a file and a note to see if I could break out on my own? This second possibility appealed to me most and I shredded my bread every time it arrived to see if anything had been baked into it. There was nothing.
On the eighth day Angelina made her play, in the most forthright manner of her own. It was night, but something unaccustomed woke me up. Listening produced no answers, so I slipped over to the barred opening in the door and saw a most attractive sight at the end of the hall. The night guard was sprawled on the floor and a burly masked figure dressed completely in black stood over him with a cosh in one meaty hand. Another stranger, dressed like the first, came up and they dragged the guard further along the hall towards me. One of them rummaged in his waist wallet and produced a scrap of red cloth that he put between the guard’s limp fingers. Then they turned towards my cell and I moved back out of sight, climbing noiselessly into bed.
A key grated in the lock and the lights came on. I sat up blinking, giving a fine imitation of a man waking up.
“Who’s there? What do you want?” I asked.
“Up quickly, and get
