Bride of the Castle by John Dechancie

Author:John Dechancie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ereads.com
Published: 1993-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

max stood flattened against the wall, waiting breathlessly for Hochstader to come out of the inner office. Max had sneaked in, heard noises in the other room, and peered in to find Hochstader hunting through some filing cabinets. Now he heard Hochstader’s footsteps approaching the door.

Max got him in a chokehold as he came through.

“I want my world back, Hochstader,” Max growled in the small man’s ear. “My world. I want it.”

“Gahhhhh—” Hochstader answered.

Max eased up a little and let him breathe.

Hochstader tried craning his head around. “What the . . . hell do you . . . want?” he choked.

“Don’t be coy. You know damn well.”

“Let go of me, you big creepazoid!”

Suddenly, a startling possibility occurred to Max, and he reduced the pressure of his forearm against Hochstader’s Adam’s apple. Hochstader tore himself away and staggered to the desk, coughing and massaging his throat. Max noticed now that Hochstader looked different, at least slightly. Max couldn’t pin it down, but possibly the little squirt wasn’t so little today. Had he put on weight overnight? And the hair—shorter? And perhaps Hochstader was slightly better dressed today. Or—Could it be?

“Now,” Hochstader snarled, bracing himself with one hand on the desktop, “would you mind telling me who in the blue blazes—”

“You’re really not him, are you?” Max marveled.

“Huh?” Hochstader took a breath and closed his eyes. “I think I understand.” He went around the desk and plopped into the creaking swivel chair. “You probably had dealings with one of my alternate selves. Somehow I get the feeling the deal wasn’t to your liking.”

“Guess I owe you an apology,” Max said weakly.

Hochstader waved it off. “Forget it. Occupational hazard. Occasionally I take the heat for one of my alternates’shenanigans.”

“Sounds dangerous. I could have strangled you.”

“No kidding,” Hochstader said acidly, loosening his collar.

Max sat down in a mildewed armchair and thought. Presently he asked, “Are you for hire?”

“As your punching bag? Not likely.”

“No. I want to get back to my home world.”

“Yeah? And where is that?”

Max shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“I need coordinates. Precise ones.”

Max slumped back in the chair. “Of course.”

“I’m guessing it’s a twentieth-decimal-place variant of this one. That means cutting things mighty close.”

Max began to feel very depressed. He tried to remember his mantra, but it had been years since he’d chanted it.

Hochstader seemed compelled to help in spite of himself. “Are there any landmarks you could look for?”

“Landmarks?”

“Not necessarily physical ones. A big whopping fact that could identify your world?”

Max straightened up. It was worth a try. The agency, Max 2’s agency. If he could find a world in which it didn’t exist . . .?

“Yeah, I think so,” Max said.

“Good.” Hochstader got up and walked past Max and into the other room. “Let’s get you home.”

Max followed him. “You’d do that for me?”

“To get you out of my hair, I’d carry you. Follow me.”

Max obliged, dogging Hochstader’s sneakered steps through the back room, under the arch and out into the mad scientist’s lab. And this one really looked the part.

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