LITMIR.BIZ

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here to implement the policies of the Chief of Mission. And I should dislike to be in the shoes of a member of the staff whose conduct jeopardized the agreement that will be concluded here tonight.”

      * * * *

      A bearer with a tray of drinks rounded a fluted column, shied as he confronted the diplomats, fumbled the tray, grabbed and sent a glass crashing to the floor.

      Magnan leaped back, slapping at the purple cloth of his pants leg. Retief’s hand shot out to steady the tray. The servant rolled terrified eyes.

      “I’ll take one of these, now that you’re here,” Retief said. He took a glass from the tray, winking at the servant.

      “No harm done,” he said. “Mr. Magnan’s just warming up for the big dance.”

      A Nenni major-domo bustled up, rubbing his hands politely.

      “Some trouble here?” he said. “What happened, Honorables, what, what….”

      “The blundering idiot,” Magnan spluttered. “How dare—”

      “You’re quite an actor, Mr. Magnan,” Retief said. “If I didn’t know about your democratic principles, I’d think you were really mad.”

      The servant ducked his head and scuttled away.

      “Has this fellow….” The major-domo eyed the retreating bearer.

      “I dropped my glass,” Retief said. “Mr. Magnan’s upset because he hates to see liquor wasted.”

      Retief turned to find 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?” he said. “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,” he said, “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,” Magnan said. “But it’s with them that we must deal. And you’d be making a contribution to the overall mission if you merely 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 the bearer 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, pushed through it into a narrow white-tiled hall filled with the odors of the kitchen. Silent servants gaped as he passed, watching as he moved along to the kitchen door and stepped inside.

      II

      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, French 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 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 and turned unhurriedly back toward the door. The group of servants watched him, transfixed.

      As Retief reached the door, it swung inward. Magnan, lips pursed, stood in the doorway.

      “I had a premonition,” he said.

      “I’ll bet it was a dandy,” Retief said. “You must tell me all about it—in the salon.”

      “We’ll have this out right here,” Magnan snapped. “I’ve warned you!” Magnan’s 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, 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, 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, closed his mouth.

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

      “Let’s go, peacocks,” one said.

      Retief and Magnan silently crossed the kitchen, went out the back door, stopped on command and stood waiting. The sky was brilliant with stars. 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,” another said.

      “And carry their damn dead bodies down?”

      “Pitch ’em behind the hedge.”

      “I said the river. Three of you is plenty for a couple of Nenni. We don’t know if we want to—”

      “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? He looks tough.”

      “Him? He waltzed into the room and didn’t notice a thing. But watch the other one.”

      At

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