Act Four, Part One

The Brit pocketed his gun and chortled merrily, enjoying the sight of his erstwhile boss Niko being turned into one massive bruise. He gave the fake James West a pat on the shoulder. "Off you go then, lad. Have fun!" he said, then strolled about the perimeter of the room, endeavoring to stay out of the way of his brawling minions as he went over to pick up Niko's fallen gun.

Abruptly a hand seized him by the back of his collar and yanked him backwards into a set of iron bars. A moment later an arm encircled the Brit's throat. "Call them off!" growled a voice into his ear.

"I…! Ah…!" Ichko sputtered, writhing as he tried to break free of the real James West's steely grip. "No! No, I won't!"

The pressure around the man's throat redoubled. "Call them off!" West reiterated.

Ichko scrabbled at his pocket, going for his gun again. Suddenly the arm about his neck vanished and he felt himself thrust outwards by strong hands clutching his shoulders. Before he could quite process what was going on, the hands reversed directions, jerking him backwards against the bars again.

Clang! Ichko's head made a most intimate rendezvous with the unyielding iron, and the man sagged in Jim's grip. Quickly with one hand, Jim searched the Brit's pocket and came up with the key to the cell. He dropped the unconscious Englishman and turned his attention to the lock.

Meanwhile the fight raged on. Niko had found early on, much to his relief, that not all of the men in this battle were his opponents, but he and his defenders were definitely in the minority. Still he and his few were determined to sell their lives dearly, stubbornly refusing to let the dishonorable majority's inevitable victory be an effortless one.

And then the certainty that Niko and his crew would lose became far more dubious as a lithe and athletic figure threw open the cell door and sprang right into the midst of the fray. One by one, or two and three together, this new ally grabbed Ichko's men and mopped up the floor with them. Some he slugged, others he sent flying into walls or into crates or even into each other. Soon the fighting force was drastically reduced.

One man, however, was just coming back to consciousness. The Brit looked around at the devastation James West was causing, and with a ferocious scowl went for something in his pocket.

"Look out, Mr West!" cried Niko. "Ichko! He has a gun!" The betrayed leader of the revolutionaries dove for the spot where his own gun had long before come to rest. Niko rolled and came up to one knee, leveling the revolver at his erstwhile right-hand man, and…

Oh. As Niko looked on in amazement, Mr West dashed the gun out of Ichko's hand, then laid hold of the Brit's collar, yanked the man to his feet, then butted him squarely, forehead to forehead.

Once again Ichko collapsed. Jim flung him into the cell, clanged the door shut, and tossed Niko the key. "You and your men can handle the rest of these, I believe," he said.

"Dasda — yes! And thank you, Mr West!" Niko held out a hand and Jim shook it.

"You wouldn't have a carriage, would you?" Jim asked.

"To take you to the Old Palace to go after Ichko's assassin? Carriage, no — but we do have a couple of horses."

"Thanks. I only need one."

"True. But I will take the other; I am coming with you." Niko passed the key on to one of the men who had fought on his side, along with orders to fill the cell with all of the Brit's minions.

"I'll make faster time alone," Jim said and set off up the hallway.

"But that is only if you know your way around the city," Niko countered, limping after the American as fast as he could.

"Yes, and I do," said Jim. "I know my way between the Old Palace and the New, and I memorized the route by which your men brought me here from the museum."

Niko gave a small snort. "No doubt you did — but if I know Ichko, he had you brought here by a most circuitous route, did he not? Another of his grand gestures."

Jim paused in midstep. "And you know a more direct route?"

Niko grinned. "Naturally!"

"Well then, come on. We don't have a second to lose!" With the Ptervonian miner hurrying to keep up, Jim raced up the hallway and out into the open air.

…

Artie stepped back out into the sunshine beyond the sally port and sighed, wondering if this had been a wasted trip. Koloshko knew nothing, and Artie still didn't know what had become of Jim.

Hmm… Well, there had been those footprints in the dust inside. Perhaps there were more tracks out here?

Ah yes! A quick survey of the ground rewarded Artie with another set of footprints, including Jim's highly distinctive boot marks. He set off following them, off to the right, around one corner, then another, bringing him back around to the front of the Old Palace.

And here the trail ended. He wasn't entirely sure, but it looked to Artie as if Jim had been loaded into a carriage here. But which way had the carriage taken him? Wheel tracks of all sorts led in a thousand directions here before the museum; which track would lead him to Jim? He rubbed at his chin and looked up the street and down, hoping for inspiration.

Great jumpin' balls of St Elmo's fire, what he got was even better! There was Jim right now, riding past in a cab!

"Jim! Hey, Jim!" Artie called.

Strange. His partner must not have heard him, for he didn't even turn his head to look at him. Well, that didn't matter too much. All Artie needed to do was catch a cab for himself, which turned out to be a fairly simple task in this part of town. Pointing to the carriage moving briskly up the street before them, Artie told his driver, "Follow that cab!"

…

They weren't the best horses Jim had ever seen, and weren't too far off from the worst ones either. It was a great temptation to leave the horses behind and take off running — except that Niko was in no shape after his recent beating to travel on foot. Not only that, but he had been right about Jim's need for a guide to take him through the streets of Lyuko.

Shortly Jim heard the clop-clop of horse's hooves coming up from behind them. A cab, and without a fare to boot! Jim reined in his horse and called out to the cabbie.

The driver scowled at the pair of men in their worn and faded workmen's clothing. He growled out something in Pterovnian.

Niko, quickly dragging off his cap, spoke respectfully to the driver, but the cabbie only snorted and shook his head, then slapped the reins to urge his draft horse into a quicker pace, leaving the pair of men behind him.

"What's his problem?" said Jim. "He doesn't want passengers?"

"Not passengers like us, no," Niko sighed. "He does not think we can pay. And, truth be told, I do not have enough money to ride in style to the palace. Do you?"

Jim reached for a pocket, then remembered that this clothing was not his own. No doubt when his suit had been taken from him, his wallet had been stolen as well. "Guess not," he replied.

The two rode on.

…

The closer Artie's carriage brought him to the New Palace, the more crowded the streets became. The carriage he was following, however, was having the same problem. At length that carriage reined up and its occupant dismounted, tossing the cabbie a coin. Artie followed suit, then set out as briskly as he could trailing after his partner through the throngs of people. "Jim! Hey, Jim!" he called again.

But again Jim apparently didn't hear him. He shoved on through the mob, knocking into an old woman in his haste. The woman doddered in his wake, starting to lose her balance.

"Hey!" Artie scurried ahead, trying to catch the old granny before she could fall. Quickly he wrapped his arms around her, then gently set her back on her feet. As her withered old voice wheezed out "Kedurshte djo!" to him half a dozen times, Artie stared off after his partner. What was the matter with Jim? he wondered. What kind of a hurry was he in, to treat an old lady like that?

"Something must be really wrong here," Artie muttered to himself. He touched the brim of his hat to the old granny, then set off again, more determined than ever to catch up with Jim.

…

"I cannot believe I was such a fool as to fall for Ichko's lies, Mr West! But his lies were very good; he knew all the right words to use to convince us that he was a true revolutionary. I suppose though," Niko mused, "the fact that he never told us his right name should have been a tip-off — but then so often we who are striving to bring about radical changes in our countries must hide our identities."

"I always did think 'Ichko' sounded more like a Pterovnian name than an English one," Jim commented, still trying to urge a little speed out of his mount.

"Oh, it is not even a Pterovnian name!" said Niko. "It is based on one of the letters in the alphabet: the letter ich, which you would know in English as…"

"Let me guess," Jim interrupted. "The letter X?"

Niko grinned. "Dasda! You are very perceptive, Mr West!" His smile faded quickly though. "Oh, but we must foil Ichko's plot to assassinate our king! It is one thing to plan a peaceful change of government, quite another to plot the death of a monarch! For that matter, we were working for a government in which all our people would have a voice, only to find that this Ingleshko would replace our Pterovnian king, not with a Pterovnian president or even a Pterovnian congress, but with a foreigner! A cursed Carpanian!"

"You're not fond of Carpanians, I take it."

"Fond? Mr West," Niko said, his reply plainly intended to make everything crystal clear, "Carpania is a Catholic nation!"

"So? The majordomo's wife is Catholic."

"Yes, yes, but she is not vying to rule over an Orthodox nation, and Baron Von Stuppe is! If that infernal Carpanian takes over here, he will no doubt outlaw our Pterovnian Orthodox faith in favor of his own!"

Jim glanced at him. "So you're saying that a man who seizes a throne by means of assassination would then have the gall to insist that his religion was better than anyone else's."

"Yes, and kill anyone who disagrees with him."

Jim shook his head. "Unfortunately, if I know my history, that's been an all too common occurrence in this corner of the world."

"And most of the other corners as well, I think," said Niko sadly.

…

At last, at last! Artie hurried under the open portcullis of the New Palace and in through the gate beyond it. There was Jim, only a few yards ahead of him. Artie started to put on a burst of speed…

"Oh, Mr Gordon! Please, do come and help us!"

The feminine voice appealing for help drew Artie up short. He pivoted to see a gaggle of courtly ladies crowding around the majordomo, among them a lovely blonde with pearls in her hair.

"Oh, hello again, Your Highness." Artie pulled the hat from his head as he greeted Princess Gina Carlottic… er, Gina Carlotta. "I beg your pardon, but I was in the middle of catching up with…"

"Artemus!" came another familiar voice. A dark-eyed beauty wearing a tasteful gold coronet upon her brunette locks broke from the rest of the noble ladies and strode towards him smilingly, both hands held out before her. "How wonderful to see you again, Artemus!" said she, welcoming him with a kiss that landed in the air near his cheek. "Albeit under such distressing circumstances, that is."

Artie nearly did a double take. "Why, if it isn't Queen Leandra!" he beamed. "How are you doing, Your Highness? Are you also among Baroness Mireje's bridesmaids?"

"Yes, indeed, as are we all." Leandra waved a hand at the remainder of the young women.

"We came here to the palace," Gina Carlotta added, "thinking that it would be a good idea for us to gather in the king's chapel within and hold a prayer vigil for Mireje's safe return."

"Yes, but he will not let us in!" Leandra fumed, and pointed out Ruvenko Duzko, the lone man within the huddle of young women.

"Oh, I see," said Artie. "I rescued the princess here from Duzko earlier when he refused to bend his orders for her, and now I'm being asked to do so again? Well, I'd be glad to help, Your Highnesses, but I really need to catch up with Jim right away, and…"

"Oh, yes. There he is at the palace door," said Gina Carlotta. "Or…" she frowned. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I am mistaken."

"The man in blue, do you mean?" asked Leandra. "He looks something like James, yes, but I don't think that is he."

Artie as well took a look, and frowned as his previous puzzlement during this chase after his partner rose up within him again. That was plainly Jim, wasn't it? It had to be, for who else would be dressed in a bright blue bolero suit? And yet… no, something was wrong; something was off.

The man turned and looked out over the courtyard.

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Leandra. "That's James West, all right. I'd recognize him anywhere."

And that, thought Artie, was the problem: he too would recognize Jim anywhere, and as long as he was looking at the man's face, it was obviously Jim. But as soon as he turned his back…

Which he did precisely at the moment. And Artie snapped his fingers. Of course! Now he knew what was wrong. The rear view! Even Janus had looked like Jim from behind, but this man didn't! He didn't have the, er, background for the pants he was wearing!

"Excuse me, ladies. I'll be glad to come help you shortly, but it's absolutely imperative that I catch up with, uh, with Jim right this minute!" He nodded to them both, then turned away, jamming his hat back onto his head as he rushed for the door. He also nodded to Captain Andreshko and Lady Anushche, but without stopping to speak to them. Behind him, though, he heard Andreshko saying, "It's very kind of you to make the offer, Your Highnesses, but such a vigil just won't be nec… Oh!"

"What my cousin means," Anje put in graciously, "is that the chapel isn't ready for you to use for a vigil quite yet. Wait here, if you please, and all will be prepared for you shortly."

Well, Artie thought, at least that was resolved. But who was this bogus Jim and what was he up to? Artie hurried up the stairs, practically on the man's heels, and was just about to catch him by the arm and swing him around to demand an explanation. But right at that moment the fake Jim stepped inside the palace and shut the door decisively — right in Artie's face. "Ow…" Artie touched his nose gingerly, decided it was barely bruised, then yanked the door open to go confront his so-called partner.

"But where is he?" he blurted out loud. For there was no one in sight within the foyer of the palace. No one at all.