A resonant point was the path between two universes, but these universes never varied. Thus, if a Lord used the Horn without knowing where the resonant point would lead him, he would find himself in whichever universe was on the other side, like it or not.
Kickaha knew of four places where he could blow the Horn and be guaranteed to open the way to. One was at the gate in the cave near Lake Arrowhead. One was in Kentucky, but he would need Wolff to guide him to it. Another would be in his former apartment in Bloomington, Indiana. And the fourth would be in the closet in the basement of a house in Tempe, Arizona. Wolff knew that, too, but he had described to Kickaha how to get to it from Earth’s side, and Kickaha had not forgotten.
Red Orc’s voice was impatient. “Come, come! Don’t play games with me, Earthling! Say yes or say no, but be quick about it!”
“Yes! Provisionally, that is! It depends upon your other conditions!”
“I have only one.” Red Orc coughed several times and then said, “And that is, that you and the others first help me catch the Beller!”
Kickaha was shocked, but a thousand experiences in being surprised enabled him to conceal it. Smoothly, he said, “Agreed! In fact, that’s something I had wished you would agree to do, but at that time I didn’t see working with you. Of course, you had no whip hand then.”
So the Beller had either been caught by Orc’s men and had then escaped or somebody else had captured him. That somebody else could only be another Lord.
Or perhaps it was another Beller.
At that thought, he became cold.
“What do we do now?” he said, unwilling to state the truth, which was, “What do you wish now?”
Orc’s voice became crisp and restrainedly triumphant.
“You will present yourself at Mrs. Cambring’s house as soon as possible, and my men will conduct you here. How long will it take you to get to Cambring’s?”
“About half an hour,” Kickaha said. If he could get a taxi at once, he could be there in ten minutes, but he wanted a little more time to plan.
“Very well!” the Lord said. “You must surrender all arms, and you will be thoroughly examined by my men. Understood?”
“Oh, sure.”
While he was talking, he had been as vigilant as a bird. He looked out the glass of the booth for anything suspicious, but had seen nothing except cars passing. Now a car stopped by the curb. It was a big dark Cadillac with a single occupant. The man sat for a minute, looked at his wristwatch, and then opened the door and got out. He sauntered toward the booth, looking again at his watch. He was a very well-built youth about six-foot-three and dressed modishly and expensively. The long yellow hair glinted in the sun as if it were flecked with gold. His face was handsome but rugged.
He stopped near the booth and pulled a cigarette case from his jacket. Kickaha continued to listen to the instructions from the phone but he kept his eye on the newcomer. The fellow looked at the world through half-lidded arrogant eyes. He was evidently impatient because the booth was occupied. He glanced at his watch again and then lit his cigarette with a pass of the flame over the tip and a flicking away of the match in one smooth movement.
Kickaha spoke the code which prepared the ring on his finger to be activated for a short piercing beam. He would have to cut through the glass if the fellow were after him.
The voice on the phone kept on and on. It seemed as if he were dictating the terms of surrender to a great nation instead of to a single man. Kickaha must approach the front of the Cambring house and advance only halfway up the front walk and then stand until three men came out of the house and three men in a car parked across the street approached him from behind at the same time. And then . . .
The man outside the booth made a disgusted face as he looked at his watch again and swung away. Evidently he had given up on Kickaha.