Retief at Large (53 page)

            At
that moment, the bent branch, released by the burning of the dope stick, sprang
outward, ramming the astounded bowman in the seat of his baggy green velveteen
trousers. The arrow smacked into the dirt at his feet as he jumped, then stood
rigid.

            "Don't
strike, sir!" he urged in a plaintive tenor. "The older lads put me
up to it—"

            Retief
strolled from his shelter, nodded easily to the Tsugg, plucked the bow from his
nerveless grip.

            "Nice
workmanship," he said, inspecting the weapon. "Groaci trade
goods?"

            "Trade
goods?" the Tsugg said with a note of indignation. "Just because yer
partner has a dirk at me back's no cause to make mockery of me. I plundered it
from the Five-eyes all open and aboveboard, so help me."

            "Sorry,"
Retief said. He withdrew the arrow from the loam, fitted it to the bow
experimentally.

            "You're
not by chance a member of Hoobrik's band, are you?" he inquired
off-handedly.

            "Too
right it's not by chance," the Tsugg said emphatically. "I went
through the Ordeal, same's the other lads."

            "Lucky
we met," Retief said. "I'm on my way to pay a call on His Truculence.
Can you lead me to him?"

            The
Tsugg straightened his two-hundred-and-ninety-pound bulk. "Tell yer crony
to do his worst," he said with a small break in his voice. "Fim Gloob's
not the Tsugg to play the treacher."

            "It
wasn't exactly treachery I had in mind," Retief demurred. "Just
ordinary diplomacy."

            "Yer
threats will avail ye naught," Fim Gloob declared.

            "I
see what you mean," Retief said. "Still, there should be some way of
working this out."

            "No
outsider goes to the camp of Hoobrik but as a prisoner." The Tsugg rolled
his shiny black eyes at the Terran. "Ah, sir—would ye mind asking yer
sidekick not to poke so hard? I fear me he'll rip me weskit, stole for me by me
aged mums it were, a rare keepsake."

            "Prisoner,
eh, Fim? By the way, I don't have a sidekick."

            "That
being the way of it," Fim Gloob said carefully, after a short, thoughtful
pause, "who'd be the villain holding the blade to me kipglands?"

            "As
far as I know," Retief said candidly, "there's nobody here but you
and me."

            The
Tsugg turned his head cautiously, peered behind him. With a grunt of annoyance
he snapped a finger at the offending bough.

            "Me
and me overactive imagination," he snorted. "And now—"

            He
turned to Retief with a scowl.

            "Remember,
I still have the bow," Retief said pleasantly.

            "And
a mort o' good it'll do ye," Fim snarled, advancing. "Only a Tsugg
born and bred has the arm to draw that stave!"

            "Oh?"
Retief set the arrow and with an easy motion pulled until the arrowhead rested
against the bow, the latter being bent into a sharp curve. Another incli—and
the stout laminated wood snapped with a sharp
twang.

           
"I see what you mean,"
Retief said. "But then the Groaci always did produce flimsy
merchandise."

            "You—you
broke it!" Fim Gloob said in tones of deep dismay.

            "Never
mind—I'll steal you a new one. We have some ladies' models in the Recreation
Kits that ought not to overstrain you."

            "But—I'm
reckoned the stoutest bowman in the band."

            "Don't
give it another thought, Fim. They'll love you when you bring in a live Terry,
single-handed."

            "Who,
me?"

            "Of
course. After all, I'm alone and unarmed. How could I resist?"

            "Aye—but
still—"

            "Taking
me in as a prisoner would look a lot better than having me saunter in on my own
and tell Hoobrik you showed me the route."

            "Wouldst
do such a dirty trick?" Fim gasped.

            "I
wouldst—unless we start immediately," Retief assured the Tsugg.

            Fim
sighed. "I guess I know when I'm licked. I mean when you're licked. Let's
go, prisoner. And let's hope His Truculence is in a good mood. Otherwise he' 11
clap ye on the rack and have the whole tale out of ye in a trice!"

            A
few dozen heavyweights lazing about the communal cooking pot or sprawling in
the shade under the striped awnings stretched between the trees looked up in
mild interest as Retief appeared on struke-back, Fim Gloob behind him astride
his Vorch, glowering ferociously as he verbally prodded the lone Terran
forward.

            "Ho,
that's far enough," he roared. "Dismount, while I seek instruction o'
His Truculence whether to h'ist ye out of hand or ha' a bit o' sport wi' ye
first."

            "Ha,
what be this, Gloob?" a bulky outlaw boomed as Retief swung down from the
saddle. "An off-worder, I trow!"

            "That
he's no Oberonian, is plain," another offered. "Mayhap a two-eye
variety o'Five-eyes."

            Fim
yelled. "Clear the way—I've fetched this Terry here to divert the great
Hoobrik wi' his saucy sayings."

            "Here,
what passes?" a familiar baritone cut through the clamor. A large Tsugg in
a red sash pushed through the mob, which gave way grudgingly, with much
muttering. The newcomer halted with a jerk when his eye fell on Retief.

            "Methinks,"
he said, "I've seen you before, sirrah."

            "We've
met," Retief acknowledged.

            "Though
all you Terries look alike to me." Dir Blash fingered his jaw gingerly.
"Meseemeth 'twas in the Street of the Sweetmakers—"

            "So
it was."

            "Aha!
I've got it!" Dir Blash clapped Retief on the shoulder. "My boon
companion! Ah, bullies," he addressed his fellows, "this Terry gave
me a shot of something with a kick like a Vorch—though for the life of me I
can't recall the precise circumstances. How wert thou yclept again,
sirrah?"

            "Retief;
lucky you have the kind of memory you do, Dir Blash; your compatriots were just
debating the best method of putting me out of my misery."

            "Say
you so?" Dir Blash looked around threateningly, his hand on the hilt of
his cutlass. "Nobody murders my drinking buddies but me." He turned
back to Retief. "Say, you wouldn't chance to have any more of the same,
would you?"

            "I'm
saving it for a special occasion," Retief said.

            "Well,
what could be more special than a reprieve from being staked out on a zing-wasp
hive, eh?"

            "We'll
celebrate later," Retief said. "Right now I'd appreciate a short
interview with His Truculence."

            "If
I use my influence to get you in, wilt let me have another sample later?"

            "If
things work out as they usually do," Retief said, "I think you can be
sure of it."

            "Then
come along, Dir Retief. I'll see what I can do."

-

            Hoobrik
the Uncouth, lounging in a hammock under a vari-colored canopy, gazed
indifferently at Retief as Dir Blash made the introductions. He was an immense
Tsugg, above the average height of his kind, his obesity draped in voluminous
beaded robes. He selected a large green berry from a dented silver bowl at his
elbow, shook exotic salts over it from a heavy gold saltshaker and popped it
into his mouth.

            "So?"
he grunted, spitting the seeds over the side. "Why disturb my meditations
with trifles? Dispose of the creature in any way that amuses you, Blash—but
save the head. I'll impale it on a pike and give it to the Terry
chieftain—gift-wrapped, of course."

            Dir
Blash nodded, scratching himself under the ribs. "Well, thus doth the tart
disintegrate, Retief," he said in tones of mild regret. "Let's
go—"

            "I
don't want to be a spoilsport, your Truculence," Retief spoke up,
"but Ambassador Clawhammer only allows his staff to be decapitated at
Tuesday morning staff meetings."

            "Staff
meetings?" Hoobrik wondered aloud. "Is that anything like a
barbecue?"

            "Close,"
Retief agreed. "Quite often a diplomat or two is flayed alive and roasted
over a slow fire."

            "Hmm."
Hoobrik looked thoughtful. "Maybe I should introduce the custom here. My
wish is to keep up with the latest trends in government."

            "In
that connection," Retief said, offering the stiff parchment envelope
containing the invitation to the reception, "His Excellency the
Terrestrial Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary presents his
compliments and requests me to hand you this."

            "Eh?
What be this?" Hoobrik fingered the document gingerly.

            "Ambassador
Clawhammer requests the honor of your company at a ceremonial affair
celebrating the election," Retief explained.

            "Ceremonial
affair?" Hoobrik shifted uneasily, causing the hammock to sway
dangerously. "What kind of ceremony?"

            "Just
a small semi-formal gathering of kindred souls. It gives everyone a chance to
show off their clothes and exchange veiled insults face to face."

            "Waugh!
What kind of contest is this? Give me a good hand-to-hand disemboweling any
day!"

            "That
comes later," Retief said. "It's known as Dropping by the Residence
for a Drink. After the Party."

            "It
hath an ominous sound," Hoobrik muttered. "Is it possible you Terries
are more ferocious than I'd suspected?"

            "Ha!"
Dir Blash put in. "I myself dispatched half a dozen of the off-worlders
only this morning when they sought to impede my entrance to a grog shop in the
village."

            "So?"
Hoobrik yawned. "Too bad. For a moment, things were beginning to look
interesting." He tore a corner off the gold-edged invitation and used it
to poke at a bit of fruit rind wedged between his teeth. "Well, off with
you, Blash—unless you want to play a featured role at my first staff
meeting."

            "Come,
Terry," the red-sashed Tsugg growled, reaching for Retief's arm. "I
just remembered the part of yesterday's carouse that had slipped my mind."

            "I
think," Retief said, evading the sub-chief's grab, "it's time for
that jolt I promised you." He stepped in close and rammed a pair of
pile-drive punches to Dir Blash's midriff, laced a hard right to the jaw as the
giant doubled over and fell past him, out cold.

            "Here!"
Hoobrik yelled. "Is that any way to repay my hospitality?" He stared
down at his fallen henchman. "Dir Blash, get up, thou malingerer, and
avenge my honor!"

            Dir
Blash groaned. One foot twitched. He settled back with a snore.