Retief Unbound (2 page)

The shrill pipes and whining reeds
had been warming up for an hour when Retief emerged from his cubicle and
descended the stairs to the banquet hall. Standing by the open doors he lit a
slender cigar and watched through narrowed eyes as obsequious servants in black
flitted along the low wide corridor, carrying laden trays into the broad room,
arranging settings on a great four-sided table forming a hollow square that
almost filled the room. Rich brocades were spread across the center of the side
nearest the door, flanked by heavily decorated white cloths. Beyond, plain
white extended down the two sides to the far board, where metal dishes were
arranged on the bare table top. A richly dressed Yill approached, stepped aside
to allow a servant to pass and entered the room.

Retief turned at the sound of
Terran voices behind him. The Ambassador came up, trailed by two diplomats. He
glanced at Retief, adjusted his ruff and looked into the banquet hall.

"Apparently we're to be kept
waiting again," he snapped. "After having been informed at the outset
that the Yill have no intention of yielding an inch, one almost wonders . .

"Mr. Ambassador," Retief
said. "Have you noticed—"

"However," Ambassador
Spradley said, eyeing Retief, "A seasoned diplomatist must take these
little snubs in stride. In the end—ah there, Magnan ..." He turned away,
talking.

Somewhere a gong clanged. In a
moment the corridor was filled with chattering Yill who moved past the group of
Terrestrials into the banquet hall. P'Toi, the Yill interpreter, came up,
raised a hand.

"Waitt heere . . ."

More Yill filed into the dining
room, taking their places. A pair of helmeted guards approached and waved the
Terrestrials back. An immense grey-jowled Yill waddled to the doors, ropes of
jewels clashing softly, and passed through, followed by more guards.

"The Chief of State"
Retief heard Magnan say. "The Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau."

"I have yet to present my
credentials," Ambassador Spradley said. "One expects some latitude
in the observances of protocol, but I confess . . ." He wagged his head.

The Yill interpreter spoke up.

"You now whill Ihie on yourr
intesstinss and creep to fesstive board there." He pointed across the
room.

"Intestines?" Ambassador
Spradley looked about wildly.

"Mr. P'Toi means our stomachs,
I wouldn't wonder,"

Magnan said. "He just wants us
to lie down and crawl to our seats, Mr. Ambassador."

"What the devil are you
grinning at, you idiot?" the Ambassador snapped.

Magnan's face fell.

Spradley glanced down at the medals
across his paunch.

"This is . . . I've never . .
."

"Homage to godss," the
interpreter said.

"Oh-oh—religion," someone
said.

"Well, if it's a matter of
religious beliefs . . ." The Ambassador looked around dubiously.

"Actually, it's only a couple
of hundred feet," Magnan said.

Retief stepped up to P'Toi.

"His Excellency, the
Terrestrial Ambassador will not crawl," he said clearly.

"Here, young man, I said
nothing—"

"Not to crawl?" The
interpreter wore an unreadable Yill expression.

"It is against our
religion," Retief said.

"Againsst?"

"We are votaries of the Snake
Goddess," Retief said. "It is a sacrilege to crawl." He brushed
past the interpreter and marched toward the distant table. The others followed.

Puffing, the Ambassador came to
Retief's side as they approached the dozen empty stools on the far side of the
square opposite the brocaded position of the Admirable F'Kau-Kau-Kau.

"Mr. Retief, kindly see me
after this affair," he hissed. "In the meantime, I hope you will
restrain any further rash impulses. Let me remind you I am Chief of Mission
here."

Magnan came up from behind.

"Let me add my
congratulations, Retief," he said. "That was fast thinking."

"Are you out of your mind,
Magnan?" the Ambassador barked. "I am extremely displeased."

"Why," Magnan stuttered,
"I was speaking sarcastically, of course, Mr. Ambassador. Naturally I,
too, was taken aback by his presumption."

The Terrestrials took their places,
Retief at the end. The

table before them was of bare green
wood, with an array of shallow pewter dishes upon it.

The Yill at the table, some in
plain grey, others in black, eyed them silently. There was a constant stir
among them as one or another rose and disappeared and others sat down. The
pipes and reeds of the orchestra were shrilling furiously and the susurration
of Yillian conversation from the other tables rose ever higher in competition.
A tall Yill in black was at the Ambassador's side now. The nearby Yill all fell
silent as the servant ladled a whitish soup into the largest of the bowls
before the Terrestrial envoy. The interpreter hovered, watching.

"That's quite enough,"
Ambassador Spradley said, as the bowl overflowed. The Yill servant dribbled
more of the soup into the bowl. It welled out across the table top.

"Kindly serve the other
members of my staff," the Ambassador commanded. The interpreter said
something in a low voice. The servant moved hesitantly to the next stool and
ladled more soup.

Retief watched, listening to the
whispers around him. The Yill at the table were craning now to watch. The
servant was ladling the soup rapidly, rolling his eyes sideways. He came to
Retief and reached out with the full ladle for the bowl.

"No," Retief said.

The servant hesitated.

"None for me," Retief
said.

The interpreter came up, motioned
to the servant, who reached again, ladle brimming.

"I don't want any!"
Retief said, his voice distinct in the sudden hush. He stared at the
interpreter, who stared back for a moment, then waved the servant away and
moved on.

"Mr. Retief." a voice
hissed. Retief looked down the table. The Ambassador was leaning forward,
glaring at him, his face a mottled crimson.

"I'm warning you, Mr.
Retief," he said hoarsely. "I've eaten sheep's eyes in the Sudan,
ka swe
in Burma, hundred- year
cug
on Mars, and everything else that
has been placed before me in the course of my diplomatic career, and by

the holy relics of Saint Ignatz,
you'll do the same!" He snatched up a spoon-like utensil and dipped it
into his bowl.

"Don't eat that, Mr.
Ambassador," Retief said.

The Ambassador stared, eyes wide.
He opened his mouth, guiding the spoon toward it.

Retief stood, gripped the table
under its edge, and heaved. The immense wooden slab rose and tilted; dishes
crashed to the floor. The table followed with a ponderous slam. Milky soup
splattered across the terrazzo; a couple of odd bowls rolled clattering across
the room. Cries rang out from the Yill, mingling with a strangled yell from
Ambassador Spradley.

Retief walked past the wild-eyed
members of the mission to the sputtering chief. "Mr. Ambassador," he
said. "I'd like-"

"You'd like! I'll break you,
you young hoodlum! Do you realize—"

"Pleass . . ." The
interpreter stood at Retief's side.

"My apologies,"
Ambassador Spradley said, mopping his forehead. "My profound—"

"Be quiet," Retief said.

"Wh-what?!"

"Don't apologize," Retief
said.

P'Toi was beckoning. "Pleasse,
arll come."

Retief turned and followed him.

The portion of the table they were
ushered to was covered with an embroidered white cloth, set with thin porcelain
dishes. The Yill already seated there rose, amid babbling and moved down to
make room for the Terrestrials. The black-clad Yill at the end table closed
ranks to fill the vacant seats. Retief sat down, finding Magnan at his side.

"What's going on here?"
the Second Secretary said.

"They were giving us dog
food," Retief said. "I overheard
a
Yill. They seated us at the
servants' section of the table."

"You mean you understand the
language?"

"I learned it on the way
out—enough, at least—"

The music burst out with a
clangorous fanfare, and a throng of jugglers, dancers, and acrobats poured into
the center of the hollow square, frantically juggling, dancing, and

back-flipping. Servants swarmed,
heaping mounds of fragrant food on the plates of Yill and Terrestrials alike,
pouring pale purple liquor into slender glasses. Retief sampled the Yill food.
It was delicious. Conversation was impossible in the din. He watched the gaudy
display and ate heartily.

Retief leaned back, grateful for
the lull in the music. The last of the dishes were whisked away, and more
glasses filled. The exhausted entertainers stopped to pick up the thick square
coins the diners threw. Retief sighed. It had been a rare feast.

"Retief," Magnan said in
the comparative quiet. "What were you saying about dog food as the music
came up?"

Retief looked at him. "Haven't
you noticed the pattern, Mr. Magnan? The series of deliberate affronts?"

"Deliberate affronts! Just a
minute, Retief. They're uncouth, yes, crowding into doorways and that sort of
thing. But . . ." He looked at Retief uncertainly.

"They herded us into a baggage
warehouse at the terminal. Then they hauled us here in a garbage truck."

"Garbage truck!"

"Only symbolic, of course.
They ushered us in the tradesmen's entrance, and assigned us cubicles in the
servants' wing. Then we were seated with the coolie-class sweepers at the
bottom of the table."

"You must be mistaken! I mean,
after all, we're the Terrestrial delegation; surely these Yill must realize
our power."

"Precisely, Mr. Magnan.
But—"

With a clang of cymbals, the
musicians launched a renewed assault. Six tall, helmeted Yill sprang into the
center of the floor, paired off in a wild performance, half dance, half combat.
Magnan pulled at Retief's sleeve, his mouth moving. Retief shook his head. No
one could talk against a Yill orchestra in full cry. Retief sampled a bright
red wine and watched the show.

There was a flurry of action, and
two of the dancers stumbled and collapsed, their partner-opponents whirling
away to pair off again, describe the elaborate pre-combat ritual, and abruptly
set to, dulled sabers clashing—and two more Yill were down, stunned. It was a
violent dance. Retief watched, the drink forgotten.

The last two Yill approached and
retreated, whirled, bobbed, and spun, feinted and postured. And then one was
slipping, going down, helmet awry, and the other, a giant, muscular Yill, spun
away, whirled in a mad skirl of pipes as coins showered—then froze before a
gaudy table, raised the saber, and slammed it down in a resounding blow across
the gay cloth before a lace-and-bow-bedecked Yill. The music stopped with a
ringing clash of cymbals.

In utter silence the dancer-fighter
stared across the table. With a shout the seated Yill leaped up and raised a
clenched fist. The dancer bowed his head, spread his hands on his helmet and
resumed his dance as the music blared anew. The beribboned Yill waved a hand
negligently, flung a handful of coins across the floor, and sat down.

Now the dancer stood rigid before
the brocaded table— and the music chopped off short as the saber slammed down
before a heavy Yill in ornate metallic coils. The challenged Yill rose, raised
a fist, and the other ducked his head, putting his hands on his helmet. Coins
rolled, and the dancer moved on.

He circled the broad floor, saber
twirling, arms darting in an intricate symbolism. Then suddenly he . was
towering before Retief, saber above his head. The music cut, and in the
startling instantaneous silence, the heavy saber whipped over and down with an
explosive concussion that set dishes dancing on the table-top.

The Yill's eyes held on Retief's.
In the silence Magnan tittered drunkenly. Retief pushed back his stool.

"Steady, my boy,"
Ambassador Spradley called. Retief stood, the Yill topping his six-foot-three
by an inch. In a motion too quick to follow Retief reached for the saber,
twitched it from the Yill's grasp, swung it in a whistling arc. The Yill
ducked, sprang back and snatched up a saber dropped by another dancer.

"Someone stop the
madman!" Spradley howled.

Retief leaped across the table,
sending fragile dishes spinning.

The other danced back, and only
then did the orchestra spring to life with a screech and a mad tattoo of high-
pitched drums.

Making no attempt to follow the
weaving pattern of the Yill bolero, Retief pressed the Yill, fending off
vicious cuts with the blunt weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on
hip, Retief matched blow for blow, driving the other back.