Retief at Large (12 page)
Miss
Braswell giggled again. "It's so sort of sexy, being barefooted, isn't
it?"
"That
depends on what's attached to the feet," Retief said. "Hurry up, now.
We're in enemy territory."
"Mr.
Retief," she said from above, "Do you think I flaunt my ah ..."
"Certainly
not, Miss Braswell. They flaunt themselves."
There
was a sudden drumming from the shadows of the arcade across the way.
"It
just occurred to my friend Tish to use a little initiative," Retief called
softly. He dropped to the street a few feet below. "Jump—I'll catch
you."
The
thumping continued. Miss Braswell squealed and let go, slammed against Retief's
chest. He set her on her feet. "The Groaci have good ears. Come on!"
They dashed for the nearest dark alley as a squad of armed Groaci Peace-keepers
rounded a corner. There was a weak shout, a clatter of accoutrements as the
four aliens broke into a run. Gripping Miss Braswell's hand, Retief dashed
along the narrow way. Ahead, a wall loomed, blocking the passage. They skidded
to a halt, turned to face the oncoming pursuers.
"Get
to the roof," Retief snapped. "I'll slow them down!"
Between
Retief and the Groaci, a six foot long grating set in the pavement suddenly
dropped open with a clank of metal. The leading Groaci, coming on at a smart
clip, plunged over the edge, followed an instant later by the second. Retief
brought his light up, shone it in the eyes of the other two as the third runner
reached the pitfall, dropped from sight. As the last of the four faltered,
sensing something amiss, the long, sinuous form of a Yalcan native glided from
a door set in the wall, gave the Groaci a hearty push, dusted both sets of
hands, and inclined its head in a gracious nod.
"Ah,
Retief-Tic—and Braswell-Ticcim! What jolly surprise! Please do honor to enter
humble abode for refreshing snort before continuing!"
"Nice
timing, Oo-Plif," Retief said. "I thought you'd be off to the
festival by now."
The
Yalcan reached inside the door, fumbled. The grating swung back in place.
"I was busy with brisk trade when Five-eyes arrive," he explained.
"Decide stick around to keep eye on store. Plenty time make scene at bog
yet."
Miss
Braswell shuddered as she crossed the grate. "What's down there?"
"Only
good honest sewage, nice change for Five-eyes. After brisk swim, fetch up in
bog, join in merry-making."
"I
thought you Yalcans were pacifists," Retief commented, stepping inside a
roughly finished passage running parallel with the outer wall of the building.
"All
Yalcan love peace. More peaceful now noisy Five-eyes enjoying swim. Besides,
only open drain cover; visitors dive in of own free will."
"I
had the impression you helped that last fellow along."
"Always
try to be helpful when possible. Listen, you want to talk, or want snort?"
They
followed Oo-Plif along interior passages to emerge behind the bar of the
darkened dram-shop, took seats at a low bench and accepted elaborate glasses of
aromatic liquor.
"Oo-Plif,
I'd appreciate it if you'd see Miss Braswell back to the Legation," Retief
said. "I have to leave town on an urgent errand."
"Better
stay close, Retief-Tic. Come along to bog in time for high point of Voom
festival. Only couple hours now."
"I
have an errand to run first, Oo-Plif. I've been delegated to find Minister
Barnshingle and notify him that the Legation's under siege and that he
shouldn't sign anything without reading the fine print."
"Barnshingle-Tic-Tic?
Skinny Terran with receding lower mandible and abdomen like queen ripe with
eggs?"
"Graphically
put, Oo-Plif. He's supposed to be hanging around a mountain somewhere, if the
Groaci haven't yet swooped down to the rescue."
Oo-Plif
was wobbling his head, now enameled in orange and green holiday colors, in the
Yalcan gesture of affirmation.
"Barnshingle-Tic-Tic
here in city at present moment. Arrive half-hour ago amid heavy escort of
Five-eyes."
"Hmmm.
That simplifies matters, perhaps. I was expecting to have to steal a Groaci
heli and hunt him down in the wilds. Did he seem to be a prisoner,
Oo-Plif?"
"Hard
to say, not get too good look. Busy helping Five-eyes find way to bog."
"Via
the sewer, I take it?"
"Sure;
plenty gratings round town. Must be fifty Five-eyes in swim now; plenty
company."
"Are
you sure they can swim?"
"Details,
details," Oo-Plif said soothingly. "You want to go now, pay visit to
Barnshingle-Tic-Tic?"
"As
soon as Miss Braswell's taken care of."
"I'm
going with you," the girl said quickly. "I wouldn't dream of missing
the excitement."
"This
system of hidden passages is certainly handy," Retief said. "How much
farther?"
"Close
now. Not really hidden passages; just space in double walls. Yalcan like build
plenty strong."
They
emerged into another of the innumerable alleys that characterized the town,
crossed it, entered another door. Oo-Plif cautioned silence. "Place swarm
with Five-eyes. We sneak up and get lie of land, find way of rescue
Barnshingle-Tic-Tic from rescuers."
Five
minutes later, crowded into a narrow, dusty passage in the heart of the
sprawling building, Retief heard the booming tones of Barnshingle's voice
nearby, and the breathy reply of a Groaci.
"Opening
in back of closet just ahead," Oo-Plif whispered. "Get earful of
proceedings there."
Retief
edged forward. Through the half-open closet door he caught a glimpse of
Minister Barnshingle seated awkwardly in a low Yalcan easy chair, dressed in
dusty hiking clothes. Half a dozen Groaci in varicolored mufti surrounded him.
"—an
exceedingly hairy experience, to be sure," Barnshingle was saying.
"Most gratifying to see your heli appear, Drone-master Fiss. But I don't
quite grasp the import of the present situation. Not that I'm suggesting that
I'm being held against my will, you understand, but I really must hurry back to
my office."
"No
need for haste, Mr. Minister," Fiss reassured him. "Everything has
been conducted with scrupulous regard for legality, I assure you."
"But
there seemed to be hundreds of your ... ah ... esteemed compatriots about in
the streets," Barnshingle pressed on. "And I had the distinct
impression that there were a number of highly irregular activities in
progress."
"You
refer perhaps to the efforts of some of our people to remove certain
obstacles?"
"Breaking
down doors, to be precise," Barnshingle said a trifle snappishly. "As
well as hauling away wagon-loads of merchandise from shops the owners of which
appeared to be absent."
"Ah,
yes, impulse buying. Hardly consonant with domestic thrift. But enough of this
delightful gossip, Mr. Minister. The matter I wished to discuss with you ..."
Fiss gave the Minister a glowing account of his peaceful takeover, citing
chapter and verse each time the astounded diplomat attempted to rumble a
protest.
"And,
of course," he finished, "I wished to acquaint your Excellency with
the facts before permitting you to be subjected to ill-advised counsel by
hotheads."
"B-but,
great heavens, Drone-master—"
"Planetary
Coordinator
Pro
Tem
,"
Fiss interjected smoothly.
"Now, I shall, of course, be happy to inspect your credentials at once in
order to regularize relations between the Corps and my government."
"My
credentials? But I've presented my credentials to Mr. Rillikuk of the Foreign
Office!"
"This
is hardly the time to reminisce over vanished regimes, Mr. Minister. Now—"
Fiss leaned forward confidentially—"you and I are, if I may employ the
term, men of the world. Not for us the fruitless expense of emotional energy
over the
fait accompli,
eh? As for myself, I am most eager to show you
around my offices in the finest of the towers of my capital."
"Towers?
Capital?"
"The
attractive edifices just beyond the swampy area where the local wildlife are
now disporting themselves," Fiss explained. "I have assigned—"
"You've
violated the native Sanctum Sanctorum?" Barnshingle gasped.
"An
unfortunate choice of words," Fiss hissed.
"Would
you have me establish my ministries here in this warren of huts?"
"The
Yalcans—" Barnshingle said weakly.
"The
name of the planet is now Grudlu," Fiss stated. "In honor of Grud,
the patron Muse of practicality."
"Look
here, Fiss! Are you asking me to turn my back on the Yalcans and recognize you
as the
de jure
government here? Simply on the basis of this absurd
legalistic rationalization of yours?"
"With
the exception of a number of slanted adjectives, very succinctly put,"
Fiss whispered.
"Why
in the world would I do a dastardly thing like that?" Barnshingle
demanded.
"Why,
good for him," Miss Braswell breathed behind Retief.
"Ah,
yes, terms," Fiss said comfortably. "First, your mission would, of
course, be raised at once to Embassy level, at Grudlun insistence, with
yourself requested by name as Ambassador, naturally. Secondly, I have in mind
certain local commercial properties which might make a valuable addition to
your portfolio. I can let you in at investor's prices. The entire transaction
to be conducted with the utmost discretion, of course, so as not to arouse
comment among the coarse-minded. Then, of course, you'll wish to select a
handsome penthouse for yourself in one of my more exclusive towers ..."
"Penthouse?
Ambassador? Portfolio?" Barnshingle babbled.
"I
marvel at the patience your Excellency has displayed in tolerating the thinly
veiled insult implied in your assignment to grubby quarters in this
kennel," Fiss commented. "Why a person could disappear in this maze
of old crockery and never be heard from again."
"Disappear?"
Barnshingle croaked. "And wha— what if I refuse?"
"Refuse?
Please, Mr. Minister—or more properly, Mr. Ambassador—why release the fowl of
fancy to flutter among such morbid trees of speculation?"
"What
about my staff? Will—"
"Suitable
bribes will be offered," Fiss whispered crisply. "Pray don't give it
another thought. All surviving members of the Mission will present a united
front—with the exception of the two criminals now sulking in the former
Legation, of course," he added.