The Philosophical Strangler(85)

So there they were—caught red-handed in an escape attempt right after vanishing a lawyer who’d just been appointed the Queen’s Royal Adjudicator. A dark moment, you’d think, in the life of desperate criminals.

Not them. Sure, and your average felons would have been for the high jump. But they were always quick-witted, the Trio.

So right away, after being hauled before the Queen’s Inspector General, they started in spinning a tale of how they had been cowering in the cell, listening to Muroidea and that other beast, what’s-his-name, planning to cut their throats before the lawyer and his cohort made good their escape so that the Trio wouldn’t be able to warn the Queen of the coming attempt on her life.

What coming attempt on her life? Why, the one Muroidea boasted about. Rubbing his hands with glee, he was, cackling at the thought of the poor Queen sprawled on the throne, her life’s blood pouring out of a hundred wounds. A horrible plot! Masterminded, of course, by the Dark Duke.

What Dark Duke? Muroidea’s boss, the archvillain of the conspiracy. Well, no, the Trio didn’t know exactly who it was, but it was plain as day from listening to Muroidea talking with that other vicious assassin, what’s-his-name, that the Dark Duke had to be one of the great nobles of Sfinctria. The Trio would have figured that out anyway, because nobody else but a great nobleman could afford to have a thousand assassins on his payroll.

What thousand assassins? Why, the ones Muroidea told the other scoundrel, what’s-his-name, that the Dark Duke had gotten infiltrated into every level of the Sfinctrian government. Hundreds of ’em in the Praetorian Guard alone.

Every level of the Queen’s government? Naturally, on account of how this Muroidea and his fellow cabalist—what’s-his-name—were the trickiest plotters you ever ran into. Why, hadn’t Muroidea even fooled the Queen herself into appointing him the Royal Adjudicator? Of course, when he heard the porkers coming into the cell, natural and he’d had to take it on the lam, even forgetting to slit the Trio’s throats, on account of how he must have figured the Queen’s men were on to him and of course he couldn’t afford to be caught and tortured where he might spill his guts because didn’t Muroidea know every detail of the whole plot, even including the identity of the Dark Duke’s mole in the highest levels of Ozar’s greatest espionage agency, the Commission to Repel Unbridled Disruption?

And, of course, that was the masterstroke. Because as soon as the Crud adviser who was sitting in on the Trio’s interrogation heard that, he screeched like a castrated pig and demanded that the Trio be held for questioning by the Angel Jimmy Jesus himself, the Director of the Cruds. And, sure enough, as soon as he got the news the Angel raced in to interview the Trio.

From then on, of course, they were in the gravy. The Angel Jimmy Jesus was undoubtedly the world’s champion paranoid, and he’d been saying for years that the Cruds had been infiltrated by moles, and now—at last!—he had proof. Mind you, nobody in their right mind would have believed the Trio if they’d said the sun rose in the east and set in the west. The porkers tried to tell that to the Angel, but he wasn’t having any of it. Then again, nobody had ever accused the Angel Jimmy Jesus of being in his right mind.

So there they were. Released from prison, now informers for the Cruds, hot on the trail of the Dark Duke.

“A master criminal, ’e is, th’Dark Duke,” intoned Erlic solemnly.

“ ’As ’is treach’rous fingers in ev’ry pie, ’e does,” added McDoul piously.

“ ’Specially ’mongst lowlifes like what ’angs around y’rotten dives sech as th’Trough,” continued Geronimo Jerry, shaking his head sadly, “which, o’ course, is what necess’tates us t’spend so much o’ our days there, knockin’ down one pot ’o ale after ’nuther, which we couldna afford ’cept for th’Cruds is payin’ fer it an’ all, so’s we can ferret out th’treacherous plot of th’Dark Duke.”

And that explained, naturally, why they’d been forced—much though it pained them to raise a hand against the Queen’s finest—to form the Cat’s last guard in the brawl at The Trough. Keep their cover, don’t you know? And it worked like a charm. Not only did they get released, but they even got a raise out of the Cruds.





Chapter 19.

A Plot Is Hatched

Once they finished their tale, Greyboar explained to them what we wanted. The Trio pondered the problem deeply—three ale pots’ worth apiece.

“Th’information regardin’ th’layout o’ th’Pile, now,” mused Erlic, “aye an’ that’s no th’problem.”