Retief at Large (22 page)

            "But
I haven't given you the big picture yet. These Hoogan priests launched a
full-scale propaganda campaign—painted up a lot of religious art with pictures
of Spisms poking pitchforks at Hoogs, and pretty soon it got so even the
average Hoog in the street started jumping and making X's in the air and
mumbling spells every time one of us came up for a breath of fresh air. The
next thing we knew, it was full-scale war! I'm telling you, Retief, us Spisms
are in bad shape—and it's gotta get worse!"

            A
guard was working his way toward the ogre fountain.

            "Jiggers,
the gendarmes," Retief said. "You'd better get out of sight,
Jackspurt. They're beating the bushes for you. Why don't we continue this
later."

            The
Spism whisked back under cover. "But this is important, Retief!"
Jackspurt's voice emanated from the brush. "The boys are counting on
me."

            "Shh!
Watch me and take your cue."

            Magnan
had turned and was eyeing Retief suspiciously. He stepped to his junior's side.

            "Retief,
if you're mixed up in this mix-up ..."

            "Me,
Mr. Magnan? Why, I just arrived this afternoon the same time you did."

            "Magnan!"
Straphanger's voice cut through the hubbub. "The Bishop informs me that
some sort of demonic creature was seen here on the Embassy grounds this
evening! Of course we know nothing about it, but His Arrogance has drawn the
unfortunate implication that we're consorting with denizens of the
netherworld!" He lowered his voice as Magnan drew close.
"Superstitious poppycock, but we've got to play along. You and the others
spread out and go through a show of looking for this mythical imp. I'll pacify
His Arrogance."

            "Certainly,
Mr. Ambassador. But ... ah ... what if we find it?"

            "Then
you're an even greater idiot than I suspect!" Straphanger twisted his
working smile into position and turned back to the Bishop.

            "Retief,
you start along there," Magnan indicated the front of the house.
"I'll go poke about in the bushes. And whatever you do, don't turn up
anything—like that ghastly creature we encountered upstairs." A startled
look spread across his face. "Good Lord, Retief! Do you suppose—?"

            "Not
a chance. I picture something more like a medium-sized dragon."

            "Still
... perhaps I'd better mention it to the ambassador."

            "And
confirm the Bishop's opinion? Very courageous of you. Mind if I stick around
and watch?"

            "On
the other hand, he's a busy man," Magnan said hurriedly. "After all,
why bother him with trivia?" He hurried off to take up a position near the
Bishop and make a show of stooping and peering among the conifer-like hedges.

            Retief
sauntered back to the table deserted now except for a lone Hoogan bearer at the
far end gathering empties onto a wide tray and tossing damp paper napkins into
a capacious waste-paper receptacle. Retief picked up an empty sandwich plate,
said "hsst!" The Hoogan looked up as Retief tossed the plate, dropped
the big paper bag and caught the tossed crockery.

            "Here's
some more," Retief offered helpfully. He gathered up and handed over a
pair of saucers, three empty glasses and a couple of cheese sandwiches each
minus one bite. "You'd better hump along now and police up behind His
Arrogance," he suggested. "He's leaving a trail of saucer rims behind
him—doesn't seem to like the floral design."

            "You
dry dell me my chop?" the Hoogan demanded truculently as Retief fumbled a
spoon and let it drop to the grass just under the edge of the hanging table
cloth.

            "Certainly
not, old boy," Retief reassured the glowering local. He stopped for the
spoon, caught a glimpse of an eye peering from the shadows.

            "Get
in the bag," he hissed from the corner of his mouth.

            "Who
you talg to?" the servant ducked and stared under the table. Behind him,
the paper-trash container rustled softly as the Spism whisked into it.

            "Just
addressing a few words to the spoon god," Retief said blandly. "Bad
luck to drop a spoon, you know."

            "Yes?"
the Hoogan said. He leaned against the table, got out a much-used toothpick and
began plying it on his unpolished teeth. "You voreigners kot grazy iteas.
Efrypoty know kood lug trob sboon, bat lug trob forg." He carefully
examined the tip of the toothpick.

            "Back
home, falling from a ten-story building is considered an inauspicious
omen," Retief rambled on, watching the armed Episcopal Guards as they
worked closer. One came over to the table, gave Retief a sharp look, thrust his
head under the table, and then reached down to check the paper-trash container.

            "How
about a little refreshment?"

            Retief
picked up a cup, dipped it full from a bowl of thick purple punch, took a step
toward the warrior and seemed to trip; the sticky fluid struck the Hoogan just
below the clasp holding the rainbow-hued cape, spread out in an interesting
pattern across his polished breastplate. The bearer grabbed up his tray and bag
and backed off hurriedly as the spluttering guard slapped limber fingers at the
purple mess.

            "Itiot!
Clumpsy oaf!" he choked angrily.

            "What?
Boozink on tudy?" a vast voice boomed. The Bishop bellied past Retief,
planted himself before the confused Hoogan. "The benalty is boilink in
oil!" he roared. "Take him away!"

            Other
guardsmen closed in and grabbed their unfortunate fellow.

            "That
was my fault, Your Arrogance," Retief started. "I offered him—"

            "You
would inderfere with the Ebiscobal admimV tration of justize?" the Bishop
bellowed, turning on Retief. "You have the demerity to sugchest that the
Ebiscobal judgment is fallible?"

            "Not
exactly; you're just wrong," Retief said. "I spilled the punch on
him."

            The
Bishop's face purpled; his mouth worked. He swallowed.

            "It's
ben zo long zinze anyone condraticded me," he said mildly, "that I've
vorkotten the bunishment." He waved two fingers in blessing. "You are
apzolved, my zon," he said airily. "In vact, I apzolv you for the
whole weekent. Have fun; it's on the house."

            "Why,
isn't that gracious of His Arrogance," Magnan chirped, popping up beside
the Bishop. "What a pity we didn't find the demon; but I—"

            "That
reminds me," the Bishop said ominously. He fixed an eye on Ambassador
Straphanger as the senior diplomat came up. "I'm still waitink for
results!"

            "Look
here, Your Arrogance! How can we find a demon if there's no demon here?"

            "That's
your
broblem!"

            There
was a yell from the gate. Two guards were man-handling the bearer with the
waste-paper bag, who jerked away, making indignant noises. The bag fell, split
open, spilling garbage from the midst of which the fugitive Spism burst,
sending scraps flying in every direction.

            With
a bound, it was past the astonished guards and heading for the rear gate. More
guards appeared in its path, jerking long-barrel led guns from tooled holsters.
A shot seared a long gouge in the deep grass, narrowly missing other Episcopal
retainers dashing up to get a crack at the action. The Bishop yelled, waving
his boneless arms.

            Cut
off, the Spism veered, dashed from the house, but was met by a squad charging
out from inside. A near-miss smashed dishes on the table behind Magnan, who
yelped and hit the dirt.

            The
Spism skittered, took evasive action, headed for the flower-decked gate letting
out onto the drive. The guards were all behind it now, the way clear. With a
tremendous yell, Bishop Ai-Poppy-Googy whipped his giant sword out and leaped
to intercept the fleeing creature. As he bounded past Retief, the latter
pivoted, and thrust out a foot. He hooked the Espiscopal leg just above a
flare-topped, bejeweled pink leather shoe. His Arrogance dived forward, struck
medals-first, and skidded on his face under the table.

            "Why,
hi there," Magnan's voice piped under the muffling canopy of the drooping
tablecloth. "Just a minute, and I'll scroonch over—"

            The
Bishop roared and rose up, the table lifting with him; dishes, glasses, and
food cascaded off on Magnan, who was still crouching on the ground. With a
surge, the Bishop hurled the board aside and roared again, while whirling to
confront the dancing figure of Ambassador Straphanger, who flapped a napkin at
the mud on the ornate conicals of the guest of honor.

            "Treazon!"
Ai-Poppy-Googy bellowed. "Azzaz-zints! Murderers! Achents of the Unterworlt!
Obstructors of chustist! Heretics!"

            "Now,
now, Your Arrogance! Don't get upset—"

            "Upzet!
This iz maybe a choke?" The Bishop dashed the muddied cloth from
Straphanger's hand. He bent down, snatched up his sword and waved it overhead.
The Episcopal Guard was closing in quickly now.

            "I
hereby eggsgommunigate the lot of you!" the Bishop yelled. "No food,
no water, no bolice brotec-tion! Alzo, you will be puplicly eggsecuted! Boys,
round zem up!"

            Guns
were suddenly leveled at the huddle of diplomats surrounding the ambassador.
Magnan yelped. Straphanger's wattles quivered.

            "Ton'd
miss this one!" Ai-Poppy-Googy indicated Retief. "It was his foot I
fell over!" A guard poked a gun into Retief's side.

            "Ah,
I think Your Arrogance is forgetting that Mr. Retief has an Episcopal
dispensation," Straphanger said brightly. "Retief, if you'll just run
along to my office and send out a code two-oh-three—or is it
three-oh-two—or—anyway, a call for aitch ee ell pees—"

            "He'll
ko along with the rest of you scoundrels!" the Bishop yelled. Half a dozen
armed Hoogans were herding the remainder of the staff up to join the group now.

            "Any
more insite?"

            "No,
Your Arrokants," the captain of the guard reported. "Only a few
zervants."

            "Toil
them in oil for azzociatink with azzazzints! As for the rest of you—"

            "Your
Arrogance," Straphanger spoke up. "Naturally, I don't mind dying, if
it's Your Arrogance's pleasure, but then we won't be able to give you the gifts
and things, will we?"

            "Tamn!"
Ai-Poppy-Googy threw his sword down, narrowly missing Magnan's foot. "I
forgot about the gifts!" He looked thoughtful. "Look, zuppose I make
arranchmends for you to write a few chegs in your zell before the
eggzecution?"

            "Oh,
I'm afraid that wouldn't do at all, Your Arrogance. I need the Embassy seal,
and the check verifying machine, and the code books and—"

            "Well
... bossibly I might make an egzeption; I'll defer punishment until the cash
arrives."

            "Sorry,
Your Arrogance, but I wouldn't ask you to deviate from tradition just to
accommodate me. No, we're all excommunicated, so I suppose we may just as well
get comfortable and start starving—"

            "Holt
it! Don't rush me! Who's doing the eggsgommunigatink, you or me?'

            "Oh,
you are."

            "Brecizely!
And I zay you're not eggsgommunigated!" The Bishop stared around
truculently. "Now, about the gifd! You can deliver the two million
immediately; I juzt happened to pring an armored gar alonk—"