Chapter 13 . . . And the Bargain Changes

Adam sat in the chair writing some notes on their discussions on the Pelian war and Teela leaned over his shoulder, making suggestions, when a new portal opened on the other side of the table. The imposter stepped through wearing an impish grin. Not speaking, he looked down at the pile of books that sat in front of him on the table and selected one of Elegius' diaries. He saluted them with it, then left the way he had come. The whole incident took only a few seconds, and neither Adam or Teela had any time to react before he was gone.

"What's he up to?" Adam wondered aloud.

Teela was blinking and staring at the air where the imposter had stood. "That was just bizarre," she muttered. Adam nodded agreement, but she shook her head. "Not him taking the book, though that's kind of weird. It was – well – he looked like you. I mean, you grin like that when you're going to do something you shouldn't."

Disturbed, Adam looked back and imagined the imposter's face. "So, what do you suppose he's up to?"

A chair materialized suddenly on the other side of the table, making them both jump. It was one of the ones from Adam's bedroom, he noticed. "I don't know what he's doing," Teela said in an apprehensive voice. "But whatever it is has put him in an alarmingly good mood." They shared worried looks. Then, shrugging, Teela grabbed the chair and sat down.

Randor woke up slowly to the sound of a bustling infirmary. His back ached terribly, and his whole body felt stiff, as if he hadn't moved in hours. Which he probably hadn't, he reflected. With a great effort, he rolled himself onto his side, preparatory to standing up.

In the chair beside the bed sat the imposter, open book in hand, in the pose of worried son. Randor froze for a second and then forced himself to react as normally as he could, for beyond the imposter he could see that the door into the main room of the infirmary was open. People were sitting on the exam tables and medics were moving about, but nobody was paying attention to them. Then Orko darted into view. Apparently he was helping out, because he was carrying a small pile of bandages which he gave to one of the medics. His eyes flashed to the king's movement, and he flitted immediately out of sight.

"Good morning, Father," the imposter said in a fair imitation of Adam's tone. For the most part, he hadn't seen the fellow when anyone else was around to hear them, so he hadn't actually heard him pretending to be Adam. The sound of it made his flesh crawl. "How are you feeling?"

Randor glared at him, unable to help himself. "I'm fine," he growled. "Just tired and a little sore."

The imposter smiled brightly at him. "I've been doing my physical therapy with Dorgan today, and he says my progress is 'satisfactory at this stage in my recovery.'" There was something unsavory in the weasel's expression, and the notion that Dorgan had declared his 'progress' to be satisfactory made Randor very nervous. Even this evil fool wasn't that stupid. What had Dorgan done?

The imposter leaned close to speak into his ear, but at that moment the light from the doorway was occluded as Dorgan came in. "Your highness, I'm glad to see you're awake," Dorgan said. "We had some trouble awakening you at seven as you asked." Randor raised his eyebrows. How long did I sleep? he wondered. "Since that was the case, Adam and I decided to let you sleep yourself out." The imposter and Dorgan decided . . . ? There was a self-satisfied smirk in the weasel's eyes that gave Randor pause. What had happened while he slept? What new horror had he unleashed? Dorgan turned back from closing the door, his eyes going first to Randor's face and then to the imposter's. Deep apprehension flickered in the healer's eyes as he gazed at the imposter.

"Man-at-Arms is working hard on my device, Randor," the imposter said in calm, cool tones. There was no doubt that something had changed while he slept, some shift in the balance of power. What was going on? Why was the imposter behaving as though Dorgan knew the secret? "Evidently Man-E-Faces came in during the night with the dendromine he needed, and he sent him back out with a small team to look for the elpinar." The imposter shot an amused glance at Dorgan. "And your healer here is too smart for his own good."

Randor pushed himself upright. "What do you mean?" he asked.

The imposter shrugged and stood up, strolling over to stand face to face with Dorgan, who stood stiffly, looking straight ahead. Had the monster done something to him? "Well, according to him, he's been wondering about Prince Adam for days. Admittedly, I've been fairly hit or miss with my movement, and I haven't been in for therapy once. But I wondered. . . .after all, you told the mechanic easily enough when he asked. Did you tell the healer? Did he ask?" Randor was at a loss for words. Waking out of deep sleep to an inquisition left him floundering. "Did you volunteer the information? Did the mechanic tell him?"

"I need to treat the king," Dorgan said suddenly.

The imposter turned and favored the healer with an angry glare. "Don't interrupt me."

"You won't be pleased if he falls asleep during this interview, will you?" Dorgan snapped.

The fellow raised an irritated eyebrow and shrugged. "No, I suppose I wouldn't," he said lazily. "Give him whatever shot you think will keep him able to respond and then keep quiet." Dorgan walked over and checked Randor's temperature and looked in his eyes. Then he selected a shot and gave it to him. When he was done, he backed away and stood against the wall. "So, do you have an answer for me, King Randor? How did the healer find out?"

Hoping against hope that this was the right answer, for the consequences of being caught in a lie could be grave, Randor said, "I didn't know he knew. He never said anything to me."

The weasel walked over and Randor's eye was drawn to the book he still held. With a sinking feeling, the king recognized it. It was one of Elegius' diaries. He'd sent all of them to Adam days ago. . . . The imposter put one finger under his chin and drew his face up. "You wouldn't lie to me, now, would you?" A vicious smile ghosted across his face to be replaced by a look of determination. "The penalties would be severe. You'd still want your baby boy back if he was missing a hand, wouldn't you?" He put the book down on the bed next to Randor's knee and sauntered back to his chair where he sat down languidly. "And then there's the question of which hand. I suppose I could ask Adam which one he would prefer to lose."

"I didn't know Dorgan knew," Randor said again, his mouth dry. "In fact, I doubt he was certain until you confirmed it." Dorgan nodded, and Randor thanked the elders he'd chosen the right lie.

"I see. Well, then, this does make things more complicated, doesn't it?"

"How so? Neither Duncan nor Dorgan will tell anyone else."

"The healer has no one to hold hostage against his good behavior. How ever am I going to control him?"

"If any more people fall ill or disappear, more people will get suspicious," Randor said, trying and failing to swallow. "You can't keep on –"

"I know," the weasel said complacently. "And it's no fun damaging an unconscious man," he went on, glancing in the direction of Mekanek's room, effectively reminding them both of that threat. "So poor Prince Adam has just gained another strike against him. I find it interesting that you threatened to kill me should I harm the girl, but I've damaged your son repeatedly without so much as an irate word. Can it be that I've taken the wrong hostage?" Randor had nothing to say to this. The imposter had made this suggestion before, followed by a threat to take Marlena. "Tell me, Randor, have I? Would you be better pleased if I killed the boy?" Randor looked up at him, appalled by the very suggestion. "Is all this just your sense of duty?" The weasel leaned toward him, poking him in the knee. "Some men will do a lot out of guilt. Could it be that you don't really care for the boy? That you feel guilty for that, and that's why you're doing this?"

"What do you want me to say?" Randor demanded. "I love my son. I would do anything for him."

"Anything?" the weasel purred. "I like the sound of that." He stood up and walked to the door. Smiling, he said, "If the machine isn't done by the end of the week, you'll be getting a couple of fingers to demonstrate that I'm in earnest." Then he opened the door and left the room, swinging it shut behind him.

After a moment, Dorgan walked over and began to examine Randor's back. The king took several deep breaths and then said, "What happened, Dorgan?"

The healer didn't respond for a long while, concentrating on changing the dressing on Randor's back. Randor knew he was just stalling, but he didn't press. Finally, Dorgan said, "He came in when I was trying to wake you. I really couldn't, by the way. I gave you a mild stimulant, and you didn't stir."

"Then?"

"I didn't want him to hang around – I wanted to avoid you waking up to him, in fact," Dorgan said dryly. "I suggested he join me for a little physical therapy to keep him occupied until you woke." The healer sighed. "I suppose some of my unease at having him so near you must have been evident. I figured he'd hare off to avoid being found out, but he came into the office with me – we were alone, of course –"

"Did he harm you?" Randor asked.

Dorgan didn't answer the question. "He just did all the exercises without hesitation or difficulty. When I stuttered something about adequate performance, he stood up and – and I found myself hitting a wall, though not with very much force." Randor growled low in his throat. "I'm fine, Randor, a bruise or two, nothing more. He asked me how I figured it out, and why I didn't confront him with it." Dorgan shrugged. "I told him I wanted to ask you about it first."

Randor sighed. "That seems reasonable."

"He went away to question Duncan, then he came back and sat down by your bed. Does that book have some significance?"

"Yes, it's one of the ones I sent to Adam."

"Ah."

"I take it Manny's party had no trouble setting off?"

"None whatsoever."

"Have you seen Duncan?"

Dorgan shook his head. "He hasn't been out of his workshop yet today, or so I gather. It's nearly noon, by the way."

Randor stood up. "Is there anything else you need to do to me at the moment?"

"Well, I should give you an all over check up, just to –"

"So not really. I'm going to see Duncan." He went to the cupboard on the wall and opened it. Where are my clothes?"

"You can't put a shirt on over that dressing," Dorgan said. "It –"

"Then put a bandage over it. I must go to see Duncan, and I can't go out like this."

"I'll send for him."

"No, Dorgan! He needs to keep working on that machine. I will go to him."

There was a knocking at the door and both men stiffened. Randor turned so that his back would not be visible from the door as Dorgan went to answer it. "I must speak to his highness," said the voice of a guard. "There is an urgent message from the lord of Avion."

"Stratos? Dorgan, get me a shirt."

Frowning, the healer pulled out a pajama shirt and helped Randor into it, and then followed him to his office, where Randor activated the viewscreen in secure mode.

"Yes, Stratos?"

"Your highness. I have news for you." Randor could see that Stratos was in his own home, and Marlena was in view behind him, her eyes grave.

"What news?"

"Not good, I'm afraid." The Avion held a scroll in his hand. "We have discovered very little about the artifact he seeks beyond its name and what it takes to bring it to power. It lies dormant far beneath the surface, encased in benzoral and sunk in a stratum of yetheni."

"No wonder he wants the elpinar for the head of the drill," Randor said. "What else?"

Stratos looked down at the scroll, and took a deep breath. It was evident that he didn't want to impart the next piece of information. Randor curbed his impatience and waited. "It takes blood to activate it. Human blood."

Randor stared. Wetting his lips, he asked, "How much?"

Stratos did not respond – in fact he seemed unable to. Marlena took a step forward. "The description in the chronicle we found is 'the life's blood of two hundred innocents at the very least, more if possible.'" She spoke without consulting any text; her husband imagined that the words must be seared indelibly into her mind. Now they knew why the weasel didn't want the village moved. "Randor, I – we –" She shook her head. "We can't sacrifice two hundred men, women and children for Adam's life, or for Teela's. And we haven't yet found what the artifact does. It can be nothing good with that price to use it."

"From all the references we've found, it sounds like an extremely powerful device, your highness. Something that had better remain buried."

Randor gazed into his queen's desperate eyes. What were they going to do?

"Find him," Marlena said in a determined voice. "Find our son, Randor. Find him and then destroy that evil toad."

"We've already got Manny searching for him," Randor said. "I will find him, Marlena. I will."

The soldier who'd brought the message had waited outside the office while they took the call from Stratos. Randor sent him to get some clothes from his room. Then he turned to Dorgan. "You do whatever you must to keep me going. Once Adam is safely home, I can collapse, but not before."

Dorgan nodded reluctantly. "What are you going to do?" he asked.

Randor looked at the healer's worried expression and did not answer the question he was really asking. He wasn't yet ready to answer that question. "I'm going to go see Duncan as soon as I'm dressed." He fiddled with the papers on his desk while he was waiting, and his eye fell on the tentative evacuation plan for Arleron village he'd started work on days ago. Picking it up, he gazed thoughtfully out the window The machine couldn't be built until one of the teams returned with sufficient elpinar. They had a little time. We have a week before serious mutilations begin, he thought grimly.

He dressed quickly when his clothes arrived and went straight to Duncan's lab. His heart sank as he arrived to find Buzz-Off explaining where and how he had found the elpinar. The imposter stood nearby leaning against what had to be the excavator, beaming happily as Buzz-Off described his quest. He glanced over at their entry. "Father!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing out of bed?" Playing Adam to the hilt, he fussed until Dorgan got Randor a chair. He sat on the arm of the chair, one arm draped ever so gently across his "father's" back. Randor hoped the distaste he felt for this pose was less than evident.

Buzz-Off began his tale again for the king's benefit. Randor had difficulty following the narrative, but the Andrenid didn't appear to notice that the king was less vocal than usual. He probably put it down to his illness. At least Randor hoped so.

"That's just great!" the imposter said enthusiastically as the Andrenid wound up his story by gesturing at the crate of elpinar he'd managed to obtain. "Great work, Buzz-Off." He'd gotten the congratulatory tone slightly wrong and it came out patronizing. The Andrenid's wings buzzed in irritation, but he said nothing, merely nodding his thanks.

"Well," the imposter said giving Randor's shoulders a squeeze that made his eyes widen in pain. "I'm going to have lunch." Grinning, he left.

Randor glanced over to Dorgan who was watching the ersatz prince leave through one of the windows. When he nodded, Randor sighed and said, "Thank you, Buzz-Off, you have performed yeoman service as usual."

Buzz-Off, seeming more gratified, nodded at the king, then tilted his head. "Are you in pain, your highness? You seem very stiff."

Randor nodded wearily. Duncan's eyes widened at this frank admission of weakness from the king. "Tell me, Buzz-Off, was Adam here when you arrived or did he come in after you?"

"He was here." The Andrenid gave the king an odd look. "I am concerned, your highness. His – forgive me – his scent has changed. Is he unwell?"

Randor closed his eyes. He felt himself start to laugh helplessly. It started low, but grew until he had to clamp his jaws tightly together to keep the volume down. When it became apparent that he could not stop, Dorgan stepped quickly up to him, taking hold of his chin and checking his eyes. His grip startled Randor out of his hysteria, and he waved the healer off. Buzz-Off watched with alarm, his wings thrumming an uneasy cadence. Duncan had clenched impotent fists and looked away.

"I do not understand," Buzz-Off said. "Is there something I should know?"

Randor, having regained control of his voice, looked up at the Lord of Andrenos. "How easily can you manufacture a convincing excuse to return to your homeland?"

His wings gave a flickering buzz, a perplexed sort of sound. "Easily. Is there some further service you would have me perform?"

"There is. But there are some things you should know, first." Before he had come close to finishing his tale, the Andrenid had found it necessary to take flight twice to control his agitation, darting around the lab, his wings vibrating loudly.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked when Randor had fallen silent.

Pulling out the evacuation plan that he had shoved hastily in his pocket upon seeing the imposter in the lab, Randor handed it to him. "I would like you to manage the covert evacuation of the village of Arleron." Dorgan made a surprised movement. "It must seem for the moment that nothing there has changed, and there must be no gossip. Do you think you can do that?"

Buzz-Off's wings stilled for a moment as he considered the proposition. "Yes, sire, I think I could. It might help if you assigned me a member of the guard as a liaison. Do you have someplace in mind to move the villagers to?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's difficult to imagine where we could put them that wouldn't excite comment." Randor shook his head, trying yet again to come up with a solution to this problem.

"May I suggest that there are some caverns in Andrenos suitable for the housing of quite a number of your kind, were they to be provided with sufficient supplies," Buzz-Off said diffidently.

"Indeed?" Randor said, surprised by the offer.

Duncan sat down on the crate of elpinar. "That's a magnificent offer, Buzz-Off," he said. "But I'm afraid that sort of movement would almost undoubtedly cause quite a stir."

"Surely some means could be invented to camouflage the caravans," Randor said, reluctant to abandon so good an idea.

"I've got some ideas," Buzz-Off said. "How much time do I have?"

"Duncan, how long before the machine is completed?"

"I can drag it out until the week is up, another five days."

"But how long, truly?"

Man-at-Arms gazed at the elpinar judiciously, then glanced at the excavator. "Two days."

Randor nodded thoughtfully. "But, sire, you can't be planning on –" Dorgan started to say, but stopped at a glare from Randor.

Duncan gave Randor an appraising look. "You've heard from Stratos, haven't you?" Randor nodded. "What did he have to say?"

"The artifact he seeks requires the –" Randor discovered that he, too, had memorized the phrasing. "The life's blood of two hundred innocents."

Jaw dropping, Duncan stared at Randor in horror. He rose abruptly and turned away, his back stiff with unexpressed emotion.

"So, you see, we can't complete the machine!" Dorgan exclaimed.

Randor shook his head. "No, Dorgan. We must complete the machine. Or at least we must seem to intend to – to give Manny's team the time it needs to find them." Duncan turned back to face him as he spoke, hope growing on his face. Randor spoke directly to him, trying to bolster his courage. "And if we are forced to give him the device, I plan to deprive him of the villagers. We will stop him, somehow. But we must retrieve Adam and Teela."

Duncan took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I will give you what time I can."

Randor relaxed infinitesimally, for if there was one person whose help was mandatory for this mad scheme to succeed, it was Duncan. Then it was his turn to breathe deeply, for this next part was hard to say. "And, much as it pains me to say so, if we need more time than the week, I think that Adam would agree –"

"Randor, no!" Dorgan exclaimed, eyes wide with shock.

Closing his eyes, Randor swallowed. "I don't want to borrow trouble, Dorgan, but surely a couple – surely – to avoid the death of two hundred people and to save their lives –" Randor couldn't bring himself to say aloud that the loss of a few fingers might be worth it. Duncan and Buzz-Off wore identical puzzled looks, though, so Randor pulled himself together and said, "The imposter has threatened to send me a couple of Adam's fingers if the machine isn't done by the end of the week." There was silence as the two masters took in that information.

Dorgan cleared his throat. "I can have facilities prepared to preserve them if the situation arises." Randor looked up at him, eyes wide, the very pragmatism of the statement hitting him like a blow to the gut. "It may be possible to reattach them."

Duncan crossed to his king and gripped his shoulder. Randor winced, and Duncan gave him a apologetic look. "It won't come to that, Randor."

"Well, see to it that it doesn't," Dorgan snapped.

Buzz-Off had watched this interplay silently. Now he snapped his wings. "I'd best be off to make my plans."

"I'll send someone to work with you shortly," Man-at-Arms said. Buzz-Off opened the door and flitted off into the garden. The three men sat quietly for a moment, then Duncan said, "Randor, did he say anything about Teela?"

"Only that he was surprised that I threatened to kill him over her and not over Adam." Randor shook his head. "Is there something wrong with me, Duncan? He's not wrong. He's hurt Adam repeatedly and I haven't so much as reproached him for it."

"Randor, I –"

"What kind of a father am I? My son has been kidnapped out of his own bedroom four times in the last three months, and two of those times the villains actually succeeded in getting him out of the palace! Teela was very nearly taken along with him on one of those occasions." Randor buried his face in his hands. "If I can't keep my own son safe, how can I manage the security of my country effectively?"

"First of all, Randor," Dorgan said in caustic tones, "there's nothing wrong with you. You didn't reproach him about Adam because you were afraid he'd go back and hurt him some more." Randor looked at Dorgan in surprise. "Second, I would imagine that it comes as second nature to you as your father's son to intimidate people who threaten the safety of women." Duncan sank down onto the crate of elpinar, staring up at the healer in fascination. "Third, your son's security and your nation's security are entirely different things, which you would realize yourself if you thought about it for a moment."

"Dorgan, I –"

"Furthermore, unless you plan to turn your court into an armed camp with guards in every room and checkpoints to get from wing to wing, there is always going to be a threat that people will sneak in past your security." Dorgan gave an aggrieved sigh. "And, forgive me, sire, but now is not the time for self-pity. You can wallow later, when Adam and Teela are home safe."

"Well said, Dorgan," Duncan commented. "Randor, you have given us all our instructions. Is there anything else you need to accomplish?"

"Duncan, I am not going back to –"

"You must get rest, your highness. While I wholly support your desire to be awake and present for the key moments in this crisis, Dorgan's drugs have their limits. If you exceed them, it won't matter how much he gives you."

"If he exceeds the limits, I won't give him any more. I've already tried once to kill him, I won't do it again."

Randor gave the healer a sour look. "It's my turn to tell you not to wallow in self-pity. You made a mistake – it's not the end of the world."

"That's easy for you to say, but –"

Duncan stood up. "All right, we have declared a moratorium on self-pity and guilt. Randor, you're going to sleep for a couple of hours. Dorgan, has he eaten?" Dorgan shook his head and hastily left the room, presumably to get a meal of some sort. Randor hoped not glop.

"I don't want to sleep, Duncan," Randor said vehemently.

"Randor, you must. You need the rest. Don't tell me you're not tired."

"It's not that. The last time I woke up, the imposter was waiting beside me." He shuddered. "I don't think I can face that again."

The sick look on Duncan's face made it clear that he understood Randor's point. "There's always the cot in here," he suggested, bending to pull the object in question out from under the workbench where he stored it when not in use. Randor looked down at the appealing flat surface. "I'll be here, and I won't let him be the first thing you see when you awaken."

Randor sat down on the cot. "Give me those five days, Duncan," he said. Nodding, Duncan handed him a blanket and Randor lay down on his stomach. He was asleep before Dorgan could return with his food.

Adam woke to the sound of Teela counting. He was lying on his back. Turning his head he saw that she was doing push ups. "Nineteen. . .twenty. . .twenty-one. . ."

"What are you doing that for?" he asked.

"I don't want to lose my fighting trim," Teela said, pausing for another push up. "I can't spar – even if you were well – there really isn't space – and we have no weapons." She sat back on her knees and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "How are you feeling?"

"Wiped out," Adam said. "It's really rotten to wake up feeling exhausted."

"Maybe you'd better just stay in bed," Teela said. "I wasn't sure I was going to get you back to bed when your energy crashed this last time."

"I can't stand to be in bed when I'm not sleeping," Adam groused. "I've spent far too much time in beds over the last few months."

Teela snorted, acknowledging the truth of that statement. "So, do you want to read to me while I work out? We still have to find those references to Berevor in the new book."

Adam sighed. "Sure. Let me have a glass of water."

The rest of the day passed somewhat oddly for Randor. He awakened in the lab after about two hours and Dorgan practically materialized at his side and forced a hearty soup upon him. There he sat for awhile, watching Duncan work. Though recovering from his wounds was sapping the energy out of him, he couldn't sleep all the time, no matter what Dorgan thought.

Duncan was hard at work fashioning drill bits from the elpinar. There was something soothing about watching his competent hands shape the metal. After a time, Randor said, "So, have there been any reports?"

"None," Duncan said, not looking up from his labors. "'Adam' has been in twice since you fell asleep, to gloat over his excavator."

"Oh."

"And we have a problem. He drew up the plans for the device. He can tell that it's nearly done. I don't think he'll buy that it's going to take me five more days to complete it."

"I'm sure we'll come up with some way to stall him."

"Perhaps." Duncan shook his head. "I don't know." Randor watched him as he continued to work with the metal.

"Where's the viewer?" he asked abruptly. Duncan pointed to it where it lay on the workbench near Randor's head. Picking it up, he activated it and gazed at the view it presented. Adam was sitting up on the bed, leaning back against the wall, apparently reading aloud from a book he held in his lap. Teela was working out. As he watched, she finished her exercises and went to sit next to Adam on the bed. They began an animated discussion. Then Adam suddenly looked tired and, between one word and the next, he seemed to doze off.

Teela stood up, looking down at him with concern in her eyes. She took the book, then straightened him out and got him lying down with a tenderness that she'd never have shown had she been aware of being watched. Randor was alarmed, however, by Adam's abrupt lapse into sleep. "Duncan, can you get Dorgan here for me, right away?"

Duncan looked up from his work and gazed worriedly at Randor. "Is something wrong, your highness? Are you in pain?"

"No, Duncan, it's Adam. He just – in the middle of talking with Teela, he just fell asleep."

Man-at-Arms raised an eyebrow. "Oh, that. It's not uncommon, Randor. It's a reaction to the severity of his injuries combined with –"

It seemed to Randor that he only blinked, but when he opened his eyes again, Duncan was bending over him, eyes filled with worry, checking his pulse. He realized what must have happened, and looked up at Duncan wryly. "I thought it was nothing to worry about, Duncan?"

"Adam is younger, and he didn't go into shock and nearly die last night," Man-at-Arms said. "I've sent for Dorgan."

"I just fell asleep, Duncan. Like father, like son, right?"

Duncan wouldn't stop fussing, though, until Dorgan had arrived and pronounced his condition unchanged. With Dorgan came a servant bearing dinner for three. They ate, not saying much, watching as Teela ate and Adam slept. Randor grew drowsy again before he had half finished his food, but he forced himself to keep eating. He had visions of Dorgan pouring glop into him while he slept helplessly if he thought the king hadn't eaten enough dinner. When Duncan got up and started back to work on the excavator, Randor sighed. "I'm going back to sleep," he said. "Please don't let me sleep till noon."

"Are you coming back to the infirmary?" Dorgan asked.

Randor glanced back at the cot he'd occupied for so much of the day. "I think I'll stay here. Duncan can drag me back to my rooms when he's ready to sleep." Dorgan shook his head disapprovingly, but helped him back to the cot where he stretched out and was asleep again before his head hit the pillow.

Randor awoke in near total darkness with the noise of someone's resounding snores filling his ears. He was lying, of course, on his stomach, on a bed and not the cot. His eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light, but he still wasn't sure where he was. It wasn't the lab, that was certain, and it wasn't his bedchamber. He turned his head and found that the snorer was Duncan, who had fallen asleep in the chair by the bed in the infirmary. The snoring was no doubt due to his position, which looked uncomfortable in the extreme.

Very gingerly, he pushed himself up to his knees on the bed. His stomach was rumbling, and he had a sneaking suspicion that Dorgan would disapprove of his ignoring it because it was the middle of the night. He wondered why no one had gotten a cot for Man-at-Arms, who was likely to fall out of that chair before very much longer. Slowly and quietly, he got off the bed, muting his grunts of pain as best he could. Duncan didn't stir. When he opened the door and stepped into the main room of the infirmary, he found that Medic Jonis was there, doing paperwork. The medic looked up as he entered the room and said, "Your highness, how are you feeling?"

"Like a cart rolled over me. But chiefly, at the moment, I'm hungry."

"Good." Jonis jumped up and went immediately into the kitchen that was attached to the infirmary. He emerged a moment later with a tray full of food from which steam rose in the night air. Randor was ravenous. He sat eagerly as Jonis placed the tray on the table. Grilled fish, he wasn't certain what variety, a green salad, and a bowl of thick, rich, vegetable soup. He nodded his thanks to the medic and began eating with gusto. Jonis smiled and went back to his paperwork.

Randor was sopping up the last of his soup with a piece of bread when Duncan came barreling into the room. "Where's the king?" he demanded. Jonis's eyes widened at his frantic tone.

Raising his eyebrows, Randor cleared his throat. "I'm here, Duncan, and I'm fine." Man-at-Arms slumped against the doorframe with relief. "Which reminds me, I meant to ask. Jonis, why didn't someone bring a cot into the room for Duncan?"

"He said he didn't need one."

Randor gave Duncan an irritated look. "Well, if it's possible at this hour of the night, could you send for one now?" Jonis nodded and got up to open a supply cupboard. "I'm not going to have you ruining your own health at a time like this."

Duncan glared, but Randor ignored it. "Now, sit down. Did you have dinner, or did you work straight through the meal?"

"Someone sent a snack over from the kitchen. I ate some of it."

Carrying the cot he'd pulled out of storage toward the bedchamber, Jonis said, "I'll get his plate in a moment, sire."

"No doubt Dorgan left strict orders for us to be fed if we so much as twitched an eyelid," Randor said wryly. "I hope he got a good dinner."

"He's a fine one for not practicing what he preaches," Duncan said as he sat down. "I know he didn't eat much at lunch."

Randor applied himself to the remainder of his meal. Shortly, Jonis arrived with a tray for Duncan and more soup for the king. "You don't need to worry about Healer Dorgan, your highness," the medic said. "Three of us sat on him this evening. We made him eat and then sent him firmly to bed."

"I'm glad to hear it," Duncan remarked. "Maybe he'll be less grouchy tomorrow."

Jonis rolled his eyes in resigned agreement and went back to his work.

"How did you get me to the infirmary?" Randor asked. "I hope you didn't carry me through the halls." He chuckled. "And if you did, I hope Lady Asala didn't see me." Jonis snorted.

"Elders forfend," Duncan groaned. "That's all we need. No, I had the halls cleared and then Jonis and I carried you in and put you to bed."

"And then you sat on the chair and – what, were you going to stay awake all night?" Duncan looked down at his fish and didn't answer the question. "Don't be foolish, Duncan. I need you at your best. This crisis won't be helped if we both collapse." Duncan continued to eat, and he continued to remain silent. Randor gave him an ironic look, and began to eat the fresh bowl of soup Jonis had brought.

Before long, however, Randor began to tire again. He stood up, yawning. "Duncan, you will come back in there and sleep on the cot, won't you? Or do I have to make it a royal command?"

Duncan glared up at him. "No, sire, you don't have to make it a royal command."

Randor returned to the bed and went back to sleep.

Dorgan woke him the next morning with an enormous bowl of oatmeal flavored with brown sugar, a bowl of mixed fruit, and a sausage and cheese omelet. "Surely you don't expect me to eat all that, Dorgan?" Randor exclaimed, looking at the laden tray.

"I expect you will eat a great deal of it, young man," the healer said. Randor gave him an irritated look. "Don't glare at me, or I'll confine you to bed."

"Where's Duncan?"

"He'll be back momentarily. I sent him to get washed up. We'll get you cleaned up after you've eaten."

Randor applied himself to his breakfast, surprised by the appetite he felt. Duncan returned and was presented with a similar tray. "How did you sleep, Randor?" Man-at-Arms asked.

"Like the dead."

"Me, too, apart from that startling moment last night."

"I'm glad to see you both so well rested," drawled a voice from the doorway. They both turned, and Randor felt his gut chill. The imposter stepped into the room and shut the door. "So, mechanic, how soon will my device be done?"

Duncan turned to Randor, but the imposter snapped his fingers, capturing his attention. "No, no, don't look at the king. He's not the one building the machine, I doubt he has any more idea when it will be complete than that floating imbecile of a jester." The weasel turned to the king and said, "Why do you keep him around, Randor? He isn't even funny." Randor looked at him neutrally and continued to eat, pretending a calm he didn't feel. The imposter sauntered over and stood between them, leaning on the bed. "So, Duncan, when will my excavator be done? I'm sure you can come up with an answer without consulting your king."

Randor kept his eyes on his plate, not wanting to draw Duncan's attention and irritate the imposter further. He wanted to kick out with his leg and shove the weasel to the floor, but that was undoubtedly a very bad idea.

"Another two days at least," Duncan temporized. "The elpinar is proving to be very difficult to work with."

"Really? I see." He turned to the king. "So tell me, Randor, do you agree with this assessment?"

"You just made the point that I know very little about the machine. I would have to take Duncan's word on the matter."

The imposter shoved his weight off the bed and went to pace along the wall opposite the foot. "So," he said finally. "This wouldn't have anything to do with a conversation the two of you had last night regarding stalling me, would it?" Randor blinked. How long had he been eavesdropping? "Because I really don't like the sound of that."

"No," Duncan said firmly. "I'm quite serious. I wouldn't stall you." He glanced at Randor, his eyes unreadable. "I want my daughter back right now."

The imposter's eyes widened, and a grin began to play at the corners of his mouth. "Do I sense trouble between this famous pair of old friends? Do Randor's goals and yours suddenly fail to match, Man-at-Arms?" He walked over to Duncan and squatted so that he would be eye to eye. "When the machine is completed, mechanic, you will get your daughter back." He glanced up at the king. "When I have used it successfully to achieve my goals, the prince will be returned." Standing, he said, "But I think the king needs a bit of persuasion. I'd watch that viewer closely today, old man. Just remember, the sooner I can use my excavator, the sooner your son is safe." He shrugged. "Assuming that's what you want." With that, the weasel turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him.

After a moment, Duncan turned to Randor. "I'm sorry, sire. I didn't mean to –"

"Shut up, Duncan," Randor growled. "That dirty, rotten, scheming, no-good – the deal was that I got Adam back when he got his machine!"

"I know, Randor. It's my fault. I shouldn't have –"

"Stop it! That's an order, Man-at-Arms. You called a moratorium on self-pity yesterday. That didn't apply just to Dorgan and me." Duncan's jaw worked but he didn't say anything more. Randor picked up the viewer. "Now we've got other things to think about. Like what he's going to do to Adam."

Dorgan came in and shut the door. "What's going on? What did he say? What did he do?"

"He's changed the deal," Duncan said. "And he's evidently been eavesdropping."

Dorgan looked thunderstruck. "What?"

"He heard us last night talking about stalling him."

"You mean he heard me," Randor said. "I'm the only one who said anything about stalling him." He shook his head. "He's decided that Teela is his warranty that the machine will be made, and Adam –"

"He's going to hold Adam until he's used the device," Duncan interrupted. Dorgan's eyes widened, and he left the room abruptly. Randor looked at his friend in surprise. What was the old healer doing? A moment later, he returned, carrying three pads of paper and pencils. He handed one to each of them, then wrote hurriedly on his, passing it face down to Randor.

He can't hear what we don't say aloud. What are you going to do?

The king read the words thoughtfully. He passed the pad on to Duncan and sat back without thinking. He immediately sat forward again, biting back an irritated cry of pain.

"Don't do that, you fool!" Dorgan exclaimed.

Randor just glared at him, picked up his pad of paper and wrote, Rescue them.

Dorgan took the pad from him when he held it out and read the simple message. Rolling his eyes, he wrote and handed it back. How?

Randor sighed and gave Dorgan an annoyed look. However we can, he wrote and handed it back to the healer. "I need to bathe," he said aloud. "I think I've had enough breakfast for now."

Dorgan handed the pad with their messages on it to Duncan and said, "All right, Randor, let's get you a bath."

The king allowed the healer to guide him to the infirmary's bathing chamber. There followed a brief wrangle as the healer insisted on helping him bathe. Randor gave in with ill grace, realizing that he couldn't properly clean the injury on his back. That wretched weasel had a lot to answer for.

Once he was clean, Randor went straight to the lab, where he knew Duncan would have to be by now. Upon arriving, he sat immediately and activated the viewer. Adam and Teela were eating breakfast in peace – well, external peace. They appeared to be arguing about something, but they were alone.

"Teela, I've had enough sleep!" Adam growled. "I'm not going back to bed."

"You need more rest –"

"I've been resting for months! I don't want to rest. I want to get my legs strong enough to stomp on that guy!"

Teela shook her head. "Adam, you don't have enough strength to stand up for five minutes at a time."

"Well, that's part of what I want to change!" He got up and walked over to the wall with the door he'd carved. They'd spent some time on it, Teela painting the top while he sat on the floor and painted the bottom. It was dry now, and resembled a door out of a fairy tale. He hauled back and punched it again. The force of his blow only succeeded in knocking him on his butt as his balance deserted him. Now the scratches on his thigh hurt all the more, and the same for his chest hurt and arm. And his head hurt.

"Adam!" Teela exclaimed in exasperation, running over to help him up. "You're still recovering from the poison, and –" She touched his forehead. "I think you still have a fever from infection. Don't be so impatient."

"Oh yeah, you're a fine one to talk about impatience!" he muttered. "Every time you've been laid up for any length of time, the healers have had to practically strap you down to keep you in bed."

"That's not the point, Adam," Teela exclaimed, sitting him down in his chair. "The point is that you need to take it slowly."

Adam put his head down on the table. He didn't want to take things slowly. He wanted to be better now. Frustrated, he started thumping his head on the table. He wanted to become He-Man and take that imposter apart.

The sounds of splashing made him look up. Teela was washing her hair, which was an imposing task under these circumstances. Adam started to get up to offer his help, but she turned and looked at him upside down. "Don't get up, Adam. I can manage."

Adam laid his head back down on the table and started thumping again. It was oddly soothing.

Suddenly, a hand wrapped itself in his hair and, pulling back slightly, slammed his forehead down sharply against the tabletop. "There, is that better?" the imposter asked in an amused tone, letting go of his hair but not removing his hand.

Adam sat up, trying to blink away the pain. He could feel the imposter's hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. Teela's head whipped up, sending water and soap flying in an arc. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"I'm just here to make a point," he said, tightening his grip on the back of Adam's neck. Teela took in their positions, and her back straightened. "Now, you, girl, stand up slowly." Teela, eyes flashing with anger, did what he said. "Go stand in the corner."

"What?" Teela asked, forehead wrinkling in confusion.

"Imagine just how incapacitating a severe burn in this particular spot would be, my dear." Teela's fists clenched. "Do as I say." Adam gathered himself, preparing to get up, to slam the imposter into the wall behind them.

"Duncan!" Randor cried as he saw the imposter step out of the portal while Adam had his head down and Teela was distracted with her hair. "Come here! Come quick!"

Dropping his tools, Man-at-Arms came across the lab at a run and stood over Randor's shoulder, gazing at the scene in front of them.

Then they heard Teela demand to know what the intruder was doing there. "There's sound," Duncan said in shock. "There's never been sound before."

"Sshhhh!" Randor hissed, though his heart was sinking. Why had the weasel have suddenly included sound? What was he planning? What did he want them to hear?

"I'm just here to make a point," the imposter said, and Randor wanted to tell him that the point was already made. That he didn't need to do anything. He didn't need to hurt Adam, or frighten him and Teela. There was no need.

When he threatened to burn Adam unless Teela obeyed him, Randor felt his stomach muscles clench, and he began to regret his heavy breakfast. Then he saw Adam's body tense, and he suddenly, passionately wished that he could tell him to be still. Randor hated the notion of Adam sitting by passively with that imposter looming over him like that, but the boy was injured and ill, and weak already from his previous incapacitation. There was nothing he could do.

Adam must have made some slight movement, for his double looked down at him and chuckled. "I wouldn't do anything foolish if I were you, my prince." Adam gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax as Teela walked over and stood, arms crossed, back to the corner. The imposter gestured toward her and spoke. Adam jerked convulsively, half-expecting the heat to start against the back of his neck. Instead, a wall of light flashed briefly across the corner, sealing Teela in. She stepped forward and put her hands on an invisible forcefield that blocked her off from the rest of the room.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Don't you dare hurt him!"

"Keep quiet, girl. I'm not interested in you. Your father's behaving himself." The emphasis he placed on the word 'your' told Adam volumes.

"Oh?" Adam asked, tilting his head to look up at the creep. "Is Father making things difficult for you?" The imposter glared down at him through familiar blue eyes. "I'm glad to hear it," he continued. "He's King of Eternia. He's not supposed to do the bidding of obnoxious little pieces of scum like you."

Randor felt his breathing stop. No, Adam, don't keep antagonizing him!

"I don't think he read my letter," Duncan murmured.

"We saw him read it, Duncan! He just didn't listen!"

The imposter slammed his head into the table again and Adam's vision blackened briefly. Maybe he should stop annoying this jerk. It didn't seem to have much positive benefit.

"You are mentally deficient, boy!" the imposter growled, still holding his face pressed against the table.

Adam suddenly found this whole situation funny beyond words. Uncontrollable laughter burbled silently out of him, and he began to shake.

"What, are you crying?" the imposter exclaimed contemptuously, letting him up. "What a –" His eyes widened as the truth of Adam's reaction hit him and he watched the boy clutch at his stomach and at the burn on his chest as he laughed frenetically, undaunted by the obvious threat the doppelganger posed him. "Stop it! This isn't funny, boy!"

Duncan kept starting words but not being able to finish them as he watched Adam collapse across the table, laughing hysterically. "Adam," he exclaimed finally. "No, don't!"

Randor watched his son sympathetically. He knew just how he felt.

Adam tried to control himself, but the laughter just kept bubbling up. He looked up at the imposter and his astonished expression just made him laugh all the harder. "What are you laughing at?" the imposter demanded.

"This just seems –" Adam gasped "– to be an awful lot of trouble to go to for a shovel." The double's eyes widened and he stared down at his captive, whose gut had begun to ache with all this hilarity. "A fancy shovel, but still a shovel!" Adam could see Teela gaping at him from behind the force field, but he just couldn't master himself. She had her hands up and was waving at him to stop. Adam bit his lip, trying hard to stop, but he just kept laughing. It was growing painful.

Eyes flashing in fury, the imposter drew a knife from a sheath at his waist and slammed it into the tabletop in front of Adam. Its vibration drew Adam's attention, and he took one sharp, short breath and stared at the blade.