Retief Unbound (17 page)

Retief turned and found himself
face-to-face with Ambassador Crodfoller.

"I witnessed that," the
ambassador hissed. "By the goodness of Providence the Potentate and his
retinue haven't appeared yet, but I can assure you the servants saw it. A more
un-Nenni-like display I would find it difficult to imagine."

Retief arranged his features in an
expression of deep interest. "More un-Nenni-like, sir? I'm not sure
I—"

"Bah!" The ambassador
glared at Retief. "Your reputation has preceded you, sir. Your name is
associated with a number of the most bizarre incidents in Corps history. I'm
warning you; I'll tolerate nothing." He turned and stalked away.

"Ambassador-baiting is a
dangerous sport, Retief," Magnan said.

Retief took a swallow of his drink.
"Still, it's better than no sport at all."

"Your time would be better
spent observing the Nenni mannerisms; frankly, Retief, you're not fitting into
the group at all well."

"I'll be candid with you, Mr.
Magnan; the group gives me the willies."

"Oh, the Nenni are a trifle
frivolous, I'll concede. But it's with them that we must deal. And you'd be
making a contribution to the overall mission if you abandoned that rather
arrogant manner of yours." Magnan looked at Retief critically. "You
can't help your height, of course, but couldn't you curve your back just a
bit—and possibly assume a more placating expression? Just act a little more . .
."

"Girlish?"

"Exactly." Magnan nodded,
then looked sharply at Retief.

Retief drained his glass and put it
on a passing tray.

"I'm better at acting girlish
when I'm well juiced," he said. "But I can't face another sorghum and
soda. I suppose

it would be un-Nenni-like to slip
one of the servants a credit and ask for a Scotch and water."

"Decidedly." Magnan
glanced toward a sound across the room.

"Ah, here's the Potentate now
. . ." He hurried off.

Retief watched the bearers coming
and going, bringing trays laden with drinks, carrying off empties. There was a
lull in the drinking now, as the diplomats gathered around the periwigged chief
of state and his courtiers. Bearers loitered near the service door, eyeing the
notables. Retief strolled over to the service door and pushed through it into a
narrow white-tiled hall filled with kitchen odors. Silent servants gaped as he
passed and watched him as he moved along to the kitchen door and stepped
inside.

A dozen or more low-caste
Petreacans, gathered around a long table in the center of the room, looked up,
startled. A heap of long-bladed bread knives, carving knives and cleavers lay
in the center of the table. Other knives were thrust into belts or held in the
hands of the men. A fat man in the yellow sarong of a cook stood frozen in the
act of handing a twelve-inch cheese-knife to a tall one-eyed sweeper.

Retief took one glance, then let
his eyes wander to a far corner of the room. Humming a careless little tune, he
sauntered across to the open liquor shelves, selected a garish green bottle,
then turned unhurriedly back toward the door. The group of servants watched
him, transfixed.

As Retief reached the door, it
swung inward. Magnan stood in the doorway, looking at him.

"I had a premonition," he
said.

"I'll bet it was a dandy. You
must tell me all about it— in the salon."

"We'll have this out right
here," Magnan snapped. "I've warned you—" His voice trailed off
as he took in the scene around the table.

"After you," Retief said,
nudging Magnan toward the door.

"What's going on here?"
Magnan barked. He stared at the men and started around Retief. A hand stopped
him.

"Let's be going," Retief
said, propelling Magnan toward the hall.

"Those knives!" Magnan
yelped. "Take your hands off me, Retief! What are you men—"

Retief glanced back. The fat cook
gestured suddenly, and the men faded back. The cook stood, arm cocked, a knife
across his palm.

"Close the door and make no
sound," he said softly.

Magnan pressed back against Retief.
"Let's . . . r-run . . he faltered.

Retief turned slowly, put his hands
up.

"I don't run very well with a
knife in my back," he said. "Stand very still, Mr. Magnan, and do
just what he tells you."

"Take them out through the
back," the cook said.

"What does he mean,"
Magnan spluttered. "Here, you—"

"Silence," the cook said,
almost casually. Magnan gaped at him, then closed his mouth.

Two of the men with knives came to
Retief's side, gestured, grinning broadly.

"Let's
go,
peacocks," said one.

Retief and Magnan silently crossed
the kitchen, went out the back door, stopped on command, and stood waiting. The
sky was brilliant with stars and a gentle breeze stirred the tree-tops beyond
the garden. Behind them the servants talked in low voices.

"You go too, Illy," the
cook was saying.

"Do it here," said
another.

"And carry them down?"

"Pitch 'em behind the
hedge."

"I said the river. Three of
you is plenty for a couple of Nenni dandies."

"They're foreigners, not
Nenni. We don't know—"

"So they're foreign Nenni.
Makes no difference. I've seen them. I need every man here; now get
going."

"What about the big guy?"

"Him? He waltzed into the room
and didn't notice a thing. But watch the other one."

At a prod from a knife point,
Retief moved off down the walk, two of the escort behind him and Magnan, another
going ahead to scout the way.

Magnan moved closer to Retief.

"Say," he said in a
whisper, "that fellow in the lead— isn't he the one who spilled the drink?
The one you took the blame for?"

"That's him, all right. He
doesn't seem nervous any more, I notice."

"You saved him from serious
punishment," Magnan said. "He'll be grateful; he'll let us go. . .
."

"Better check with the fellows
with the knives before you act on that."

"Say something to him,"
Magnan hissed, "remind him."

The lead man fell back in line with
Retief and Magnan.

"These two are scared of
you," he said, grinning and jerking a thumb toward the knife-handlers.
"They haven't worked around the Nenni like me; they don't know you."

"Don't you recognize this
gentleman?" Magnan said, "He's-"

"He did me a favor," the
man said. "I remember."

"What's it all about?"
Retief asked.

"The revolution. We're taking
over now."

"Who's 'we'?"                                        ^                  I

"The People's Anti-Fascist
Freedom League."

"What are all the knives
for?"

"For the Nenni; and for you
foreigners."

"What do you mean?"
gasped Magnan.

"We'll slit all the throats at
one time; saves a lot of running around."

"When will that be?"

"Just at dawn—and dawn comes
early, this time of year. By full daylight the PAFFL will be in charge."

"You'll never succeed,"
Magnan said. "A few servants with knives; you'll all be caught and
executed."

"By who; the Nenni?" The
man laughed. "You Nenni are a caution."

"But we're not Nenni—"

"We've watched you; you're the
same. You're part of the same blood-sucking class."

"There are better ways,"
Magnan said. "This killing won't help you. I'll personally see to it that
your grievances are heard in the Corps Courts. I can assure you that the plight
of the down-trodden workers will be alleviated. Equal rights for all."

"Threats won't help you,"
the man said. "You don't scare me."

"Threats? I'm promising relief
to the exploited classes of Petreac."

"You must be nuts. You trying
to upset the system or something?"

"Isn't that the purpose of
your revolution?"

"Look, Nenni, we're tired of
you Nenni getting all the graft. We want our turn. What good it do us to run
Petreac if there's no loot?"

"You mean you intend to
oppress the people? But they're your own group."

"Group, schmoop. We're taking
all the chances; we're doing the work. We deserve the pay-off. You think we're
throwing up good jobs for the fun of it?"

"You're basing a revolt on
these cynical premises?"

"Wise up, Nenni; there's never
been a revolution for any other reason."

"Who's in charge of
this?" Retief said.

"Shoke, the head chef."

"I mean the big boss; who
tells Shoke what to do?"

"Oh, that's Zorn. Look out,
here's where we start down the slope. It's slippery."

"Look," Magnan said.
"You. This-"

"My name's Illy."

"Mr. Illy, this man showed you
mercy when he could have had you beaten."

"Keep moving. Yeah, I said I
was grateful."

"Yes," Magnan said,
swallowing hard. "A noble emotion, gratitude."

"I always try to pay back a
good turn," Illy said. "Watch your step now on this sea-wall."

"You'll never regret it."

"This is far enough."
Illy motioned to one of the knife men. "Give me your knife, Vug."

The man passed his knife to Illy.
There was an odor of sea-mud and kelp. Small waves slapped against the stones
of the sea-wall. The wind was stronger here.

"I know a neat stroke,"
Illy said. "Practically painless. Who's first?"

"What do you mean?"
Magnan quavered.

"I said I was grateful; I'll
do it myself, give you
a
nice clean job. You know these
amateurs: botch it up and have a guy floppin' around, yellin' and spatterin'
everybody up."

"I'm first," Retief said.
He pushed past Magnan, stopped suddenly, and drove a straight punch at lily's
mouth.

The long blade flicked harmlessly
over Retief s shoulder as Illy fell. Retief took the unarmed servant by the
throat and belt, lifted him, and slammed him against the third man. Both
screamed as they tumbled from the sea-wall into the water with a mighty splash.
Retief turned back to Illy, pulled off the man's belt, and strapped his hands
together.

Magnan found his voice. "You .
. .
we ...
they ..

"I know."                                                                   ^

"We've got to get back,"
Magnan said. "Warn them."

"We'd never get through the
rebel cordon around the palace. And if we did, trying to give an alarm would
only set the assassinations off early."

"We can't just. . ."

"We've got to go to the
source: this fellow Zorn. Get him to call it off."

"We'd be killed. At least
we're safe here."

Illy groaned and opened his eyes.
He sat up.

"On your feet, Illy,"
Retief said.

Illy looked around. "I'm
sick."

"The damp air is bad for you.
Let's be going." Retief pulled the man to his feet. "Where does Zorn
stay when he's in town?"

"What happened? Where's Vug
and . .

"They had an accident. Fell in
the pond."

Illy gazed down at the restless
black water.

"I guess I had you Nenni
figured wrong."

"We Nenni have hidden
qualities. Let's get moving before Vug and Slug make it to shore and start it
all over again."

"No hurry," Illy said.
"They can't swim." He spat into the water. "So long, Vug. So
long, Toscin. Take a pull at the Hell Horn for me." He started off along
the sea wall toward the sound of the surf.

"You want to see Zorn, I'll
take you see Zorn. I can't swim either."

"I take it," Retief said,
"that the casino is a front for his political activities."

"He makes plenty off it. This
PAFFL is a new kick. I never heard about it until maybe a couple months
ago."

Retief motioned toward a dark shed
with an open door.

"We'll stop here," he
said, "long enough to strip the gadgets off these uniforms."

Illy, hands strapped behind his
back, stood by and watched as Retief and Magnan removed medals, ribbons,
orders, and insignia from the formal diplomatic garments.

"This may help some,"
Retief said, "if the word is out that two diplomats are loose."

"It's a breeze," Illy
said. "We see cats in purple and orange tailcoats all the time."