Reward for Retief (12 page)

            "The very idea!"
he cried. "A matron of
your
years clowning in such a disgraceful
fashion!"

            "What's a matron?"
somebody called.

            "Some kinda
dance," another supplied. "He thinks Blinky's dancin!"

            "Don't take it so hard,
Mate," Blinky advised the newcomer. "What's goin on out there? Looks
like we got a regular invasion here. How'd you boys get the 'pillars' all
worked up, anyways?"

            "Enough of your
insolence, Madam!" the frail-looking new arrival snapped. He stood on
tiptoes to scan the room over the heads of its occupants. Blinky moved in to
block him off. "A spy, hey?" he charged, shoving the slightly larger,
but unathletic stranger.

            "It's OK," Henry
advised his guests. "Blinky can handle it. Looked to me like one o' them
topsiders. Wonder how he got past the patrol."

            "That's Mr. Magnan, a
professional associate of mine," Retief told the big fellow. "I'd
better introduce him before Blinky does something a little too permanent."

            "Suit yourself,
pal," Henry conceded, and began to ply a well-worn toothpick on his large,
square, yellow teeth.

            As Magnan disappeared from
his view in the gang of excited men, Retief rose. "Excuse me," he
said. "Bill, order another round and I'll be right back."

            "Retief!" Magnan
yelled from the midst of the huddle of waving arms and raised voices.
"There you are! I feared the worst! Get away, you hussy!" he snapped
at a paunchy deck-ape type who was attempting to frisk him. "Take your
grimy paws off my person instanter, or I shall be forced to resort to harsh
measures!"

            Blinky recoiled, blinking
rapidly. "Zounds!" he exclaimed, whipping off his warped nautical
cap. "Best belay that, me hearties," he advised his modey crew.
"Most planet-lubbers know when to keep their jaw shut, but this here one
seems to be made of sterner stuff!"

            "Quite right,
Madam," Magnan told the frustrated fellow. "You may now conduct me to
your leader."

            "Still too cheeky by
arf," Blinky remarked, then, addressing Magnan: "You wouldn't be a
shipmate of my chum Retief, I don't suppose?"

            "Indeed I am!"
Magnan averred. "Now stand aside."

            "Sure, bub," Blinky
agreed, backing away, shooing his minions from Magnan's path. "Any pal o'
Retief and Big Henry is OK with me!"

            "Big Henry,
indeed!" Magnan snapped and forged into the press directly toward Retief,
who led him to the table.

            "May I join you, gentlemen?"
Magnan inquired rhetorically as he sank into an empty chair. He mopped at his
forehead dramatically with an Ambassador-only issue hanky.

            "Well!" he
remarked to Retief by way of greeting, "I rather thought you could have
come along sooner to assist me with that cutthroat crew, rather than continuing
to linger here in low company, swilling whatever it is you're swilling."

            "I was admiring your
technique, Mr. Magnan," Retief explained blandly. "You handled
matters quite well, I thought."

            Magnan dug at his eyes with
the heels of his hands. "Of course," he snapped, "I was at no
moment at a loss for the correct mode of response to those hussies."

            " 'Hussies'," Big
Henry echoed. "That's some kinda dames, ain't it? If you seen one, that's
the second time the Number One House Rule's been broke this afternoon. Will
don't really count, o' course, him bein' a pote and all, not like a regular
humern bean. But now, this here swab—what's yer alias, bub?" His small
porcine eyes suddenly bored into Magnan's.

            "Uh, as to that,"
Magnan gobbled, "one wonders by what authority—I mean to say, while I have
nothing to hide, of course, it happens that at the moment I am engaged on a
most sensitive operation, and both honor and custom require that I decline to
disclose that datum to one of your stripe, sir, in the absence of competent
authorization, that is." He turned to Retief with an earnest expression.

            "What sort of place
is
this?" he almost wailed. "Somehow," he confided, "it
gives me the creeps. Everything seems so ... so, well, I don't really know how
to describe it, but my hair is attempting to stand on end. Let's go." He
broke off to peer anxiously around. "A moment ago—" he began and fell
silent.

           
"It's
all right,
sir," Retief reassured him. "Or, it's not exactly 'all right,' but
it's not immediately disastrous."

            "The disaster comes
later, eh?" Magnan queried, still nervous. He looked distastefully at
Henry.

            "Where did the ladies
go?" he wondered aloud. "And who is this ... ah ..."

            "Henry," Retief
put in, "may I present Mr. Magnan of the Econ Section. Mr. Magnan, Big
Henry, also known as Sir Henry, and Lord Shivingston, as well as King
Hank."

            Magnan extended a shaky
palm. "Honored, Your Majesty," he managed. "God Lord,
Retief," he interrupted himself. "Why didn't you tell me? I'd have
observed proper protocol."

            "Didn't want to risk a
fall when you backed into the Presence," Retief told the senior diplomat.

            "In what way, Your
royal Majesty, may I be of service?" Magnan inquired in his most unctious
tone.

            "Say, Retief,"
Henry addressed his guest,
sotto voce,
"you sure this here guy is a
shipmate o' yours? Sounds like a spy to me. And you shunt of said about the
boys electing me king and all."

            "Hardly, Your Imperial
Highness," Magnan objected, "and I do hope I have got your style
right. A diplomatic member of an Embassy staff would hardly stoop to
espionage!"

            "Well, if Retief says
you're OK, Bub, you're OK with me. Now, I was just tryna tell the boys here,
about the Club. See, one o' the first Terries in here, a couple hunnert years
back, was a big Swede, Captain Larson, and natcherly he had his own idears, all
about the olden times, and he was one tough hombre, I guess, and he printed his
old-time Swedes and all on the place so they still stick. Me and Willy together
never got 'em all cleared out; but we got a good bunch here now; we all work
together at a what you might say is a compromise set-up. Course, you fellers
are welcome to add a few choice items o' your own, if you got the loose-nation
power to make it stick. Now, you, Bill, you was objecting to the knife fights
and all—so what I say is, who needs em? See? We aim to make a feller feel at
home."

            "We got a few house
rules, like no nood dames—ner no nood guys, neither. One time we hadda pair
here, name of Ralphie and Dood, had the whole place steamed up, something you
call a sharrom, whatever that is, where some guys they call Rams hang out, and
all. Hadda throw 'em out. Ralphie and Dood, I mean, not these Rams. But mostly
we get along good. Jest don't expect to be able to override me nor Willy: we
got the strongest loose-nations here, especially Willy, eh, Willy?" Henry
looked knowingly at the half-bald pote, who nodded dreamily.

            "Tis passing
strange," he commented. "I dreamt of days to come—and in the instant
here was I, amid the scenes I mused on. But for Hal's rude warriors, tis
true."

            "Tole ya an I tole ya,
Willy, them ain't
my
knaves," Henry objected. "Left over from
old Cap Larson, like I was telling Retief here. Wisht I could get ridda 'em.
Club'd be peaceful joint cept fer them rogues!"

            "Easily done, friend
Harry," Will said. "But concentrate your will, as I shall mine—and
perhaps our guests as well. We'll wish 'em to Hell, and no part of this our
club." He closed his eyes and frowned.

            "Geeze!" Bill
exclaimed. "Willya look at that! Old Olaf and Helgi—least that's what they
been callin each other—jest got up and walked out, like they hadda go or
something. And the rest of 'em, too." He twisted in his chair to scan the
farthest corners of the cavernous room.

            "Well done,
gentles!" Will exclaimed. "Better than any putter-out at three to one
had wagered, I trow!"

            "Old Willy talks funny
sometimes," Henry told Bill behind his hand. "But he's larning."

            "Methought twas your
own rude dialect that 'casioned fun," Willy observed mildly. "Still,
so long as we can converse, what matters terminology, say I."

            "Ere, ere," Blinky
put in from a position just behind the windy pote. He raised his warped amber
bottle and drank deep.

            "Par me, Big, and
fellers," he added. "I gotta get back on the gate. Gotta press a crew
to get the timber back in place." He paused to eye Retief, half
resentfully, half hopefully, "Lessen maybe Cap Retief here might wanta
lend a hand."

            "With pleasure,"
Retief acceeded, rising. "But may I inquire why it's necessary to set up a
roadblock of such heroic dimensions?"

            "You been lissening to
Willy too much," Big Henry grunted. "But I get the drift: you wanta
know how come we got to fortify the door."

            "Precisely put, Your Majesty,"
Magnan supplied. "I think that is precisely what Mr. Retief was wondering,
as I do myself."

            "Well, you see,
gents," Henry began hesitantly, "some slob named Goldberg or like
that with a grudge against old Cap Larson they say, tried to bring in a horde
of evil spirits and all, to drag old Wolf direct to the Bad Place, least that's
what they usta say, the old boys was here when I come." He paused to empty
his bottle and bellow for refills all around.

            "Fact is," he
continued, a trifle defiantly, "I seen 'em myself, once. Had a few too
many, maybe a couple dozen brews and a jug o' rum, and had a notion to go
outside for a looksee. And this here devil in the shape of a big old
caterpillar or what ya call 'em rared up square in front o' me and said, 'Hold
hard, Mate, notaries loud in the high street,' or like that." Henry
uncapped a new bottle with a flip of his thumb and drank half of its contents
in a gulp. "Fer meself," he went on thoughtfully, "I like a nice
grog-shop where a feller can get some good brew and a nice plate o' eats and
maybe get into a few friendly fights. No guys blowing that loud music and
guitar-picking. And
no
dames—dames cause trouble," he explained.
"Sure, I like a nice dame, but so does every other guy, 'cept Ralphie and
Dood, o' course, and that's where the trouble comes in. Guys use knives over
dames ..."As he spoke, Henry fingered a scar on the side of his neck.
"Hadda bar one feller fer life," he added. "Say, talking about a
nice plate of eats, what say we put on the feed bag, fellers?" He yelled
and the black-clad waiter was back. He nodded at Big Henry's instructions, and
was gone only a moment before returning with five heaped plastron plates
balanced along one arm.

            "I hope ya like a
golosh, boys," Big said heartily. "My own recipe. Have it every day.
Only one issue galosh to a batch, but it's got lots o' glimp eggs fer
texture."

            "Why I'm sure it's
delightful, Your Highness—" Magnan burbled.

            " 'Majesty',"
Henry corrected, "if ya wanta be technical. Retief mentioned I was king,
remember?"

            Bill sniffed his steaming
plate and commented. "Seems like that galosh was a used one—GI, too."

            Will averted his eyes.
"Didst forget thy promise, good Henry?" he inquired. "Twas
agreed that I should prevail in the kitchen. In this my ideal pot-house, height
Ye Moulin Rouge,
I assure you the
chef de cuisine
is an
artist."

            "I dunno, Willy,"
Henry temporized. "That there Moolin Rooje grub might be a mite too fancy
for the new—I mean my old pals here." He looked inquiringly at Retief.