Ron Goulart - The Curse of the Obelisk

THE CURSE OF THE OBELISK 29
"You've lost a bit of weight, Orchardson." Harry scratched at his thick false beard. "Judging
from the last society page portrait of you I saw."
"Yes, I do believe I'm wasting away from worry," he said. "Those of us who loathe life as much
as I do have a terrible fear of death. It might turn out to be even more boring."
The black butler cleared his throat with a sedate rumble. "Shall I fetch the hot coals and the
pokers, sir?"
"Not yet, Logo." The languid fat man stretched and plucked a green carnation from the
lacquered vase on the table. "Suppose, Challenge, you tell me what you have in mind with this
delightful masquerade."
Harry moved across the hardwood floor to the edge of the rug. "We're all interested in the
obelisk. We wanted to find out how much you knew about it."
"There was no need to dress up like a pair of road-show Othellos to do that, dear boy,"
Orchardson pointed out, brushing at his puffy cheek with the green flower. "No, you intended to
take me unawares."
"I'm not too happy over what you did to Jennie." Harry scratched at his false whiskers once
again. "These damn things are starting to itch."
"The price of duplicity." Orchardson pushed himself to a sitting position and the divan gave a
protesting moan. "If I catch your drift, Challenge, you had in mind to find out all that I was up to
and perhaps give me a sound thrashing as well."
"I still may."
Orchardson blinked. Then he started laughing, a whooping, gasping noise. "Forgive me," he
apologized after a moment, "I fear my grief expresses itself in odd ways. I even laughed at my
mother's funeral."
"He's grieving for you," explained the large Logo, "because you'll soon be dead."
After giving his fez an adjusting shove, the Great Lorenzo went striding over to the center of
the room. "What say we get down to business," he said. "You don't want to kill us because then you
won't have a chance at the obelisk. Nor will you be able to find out what sort of a deal we're
contemplating with your chief rival."
Orchardson's colorless eyebrows climbed. "Who might that be?"
"Let us refer to him merely as the Merchant of Death."
"A colorful name." Orchardson poked the stem of the emerald-dyed carnation into his doughy
chin as he glanced toward the wide windows at the front of the room. The rain was pelting the thick
panes. "Not one that means anything to me."
"He's certainly aware of you. In fact, this very day he offered us, via an emissary, a
considerable sum to arrange for the delivery of the obelisk into his hands." The Great Lorenzo
pushed his fez to a more jaunty angle. "We'll, of course, entertain a higher offer."
Orchardson waved the green carnation at Logo. "You'd best start bringing in the torture
implements," he said. "This polite social intercourse has started to be quite tedious." His pale lips
seemed to disappear into his flesh as he smiled. "We'll begin with the lady, since I have never gone
along with the rather antiquated dictum that young people should be seen and not heard."