Reward for Retief (49 page)

            "Are you right sure
about that, Cap?" Small asked earnestly. "Nudie and me come
cross-country from the cave maybe a couple day's walk, and come up on that door
from behind. What's to keep old Worm from going the other way?"

            "It's beyond your
comprehension, I fear, my good fellow," Sol replied. "No offense—it's
beyond
my
comprehension, too. Has to do with the polarity of the
paradigm, or something of the sort."

            "That why you stick to
yer cabin so close?" Small suggested. "Feared he'll be waiting right
outside yer clearing?"

            "One may as well play
it safe," Sol pointed out. "He's accepted as an aspect of his
paradigm that the door constitutes an impassable barrier; I'm content to leave
it at that."

            "Looks to me,"
Small commented judiciously, "like he's got you penned up as much as you got
him—and in a smaller space, too—course," he added mildly, "I guess
it's all in how you look at it."

            "And I assure you,
Space'n Small," Sol stated firmly, "that I am very careful indeed
about how I look at it."

            "So were all trapped
here together?" Magnan mourned. "And that horrid great beast may well
be lurking just outside?"

            "Stand aside,"
Prince William spoke up suddenly. He drew his jeweled-hilted ceremonial sword
from its black leather-and-gold filigree sheath, and took a step toward the
closet door. "I for one will not be prisoned here, impotent, while my
liege lord is in peril." Without further warning, he wrenched the door
wide open, to reveal a view of a strip of velvety green lawn with a tiled path
and a white-painted wrought-iron bench, all sun-dappled against a backdrop of
black-green primeval forest. The only imperfection was a swarm of gnats around
the bench.

            "Retief!" Magnan
burst out. "That's—I know that spot! It's— "

            "You're right,
Ben," Retief confirmed. "Over there—" he pointed off to the
right— "You can barely see the Domes."

            "Well, there ain't no
worm hanging around here," Nudine stated. "This here's my own turf. I
met you boys just yonder, by my pond," she pointed. "This is swell.
Come on." She thrust past the prince and went to the bench beside the walk
and sat down.

            "Easy, Your
Highness," Retief suggested as the bypassed William glowered at the girl.
"I think young Sobby is quite all right."

            "How can you know,
sir?" William demanded. "What indeed do you know of my noble
charge?"

            "I know he's the heir
presumptive to the throne of Fragonard," Retief told the prince. "He
was kidnapped and you followed and managed to secure passage on the vessel on
which he was being smuggled off-world. The ship crashed here on Goldblatt's
Other World, in a lake, with no casualties. In the confusion, you found and
released the lad, and together made your way clear of the wreck in a ship's
skiff, and almost at once discovered indications that the world was not, after
all, unpopulated. There was a rather disreputable-appearing structure visible
across the lake, from which boisterous sounds emanated even though it was
mid-morning. You made a cautious approach, unnoticed, and moored your skiff
beneath the bistro, cautioned the boy to remain where he was, and found a side
entrance. Inside you were astonished to find a scene that was familiar to you
from your knowledge of ancient painting: the bar at the
Folies Bergere,
circa
1880, AD. You took a seat and soon found yourself in conversation with none
other than Will Shakespeare, the Bard of Avon. Am I correct, so far?"
Retief paused to inquire.

            "I knew at once that I
had lost my mind," Prince William confirmed. "On the bandstand, a
youthful Arturo Tosconini conducted a pick-up combo in a preliminary version of
a Giacomo Puccini piece from Tosca. The wine was an 1870
Chateau Rothschilde.
I fled, of course. What man desires to confront his madness
face-to-face?"

            "That's what we've all
been doing, like it or not!" Magnan declared. "Only it appears it's
not really 'madness' in the sense of the loss of contact with reality. Rather,
reality has lost contact with us—or me, at least."

            "Aw, Benny," Gaby
said soothingly, "don't go getting upset and all. This is all routine. I
hear from the boys other places ain't like Zanny-du, but what I heard, they
sound purty dull, nothing much ever changes."

            "I'd hardly say nothing
ever changes on a normal world, my child," Magnan corrected without heat.
"But the changes are gradual and rational: evolutionary rather than
revolutionary. Organisms come into existance, mature, age, and pass away—"

            "That don't sound so
good," Gaby put in. "I don't wanta age, so I don't. And I already passed
over, like I told you. You, too, or you wouldn't be here." She hugged his
arm in the possessive manner that had become habitual. Magnan disengaged
himself hurriedly.

            " 'I also,' you say? Do
you suggest, my dear, that
I
am a dead man?"

            "Well, I guess it's a
matter of terminology," the girl hedged. "In a lot of ways we're more
alive after we pass over than we was before, don't you think, Benny?"

            "I'm sure I have no
idea," Magnan huffed. "As for myself, I'm very much alive, thank you
very much, and I have every intention of remaining so."

            "Dern," Gaby
commented contritely. "I done riled you again. I don't know if we can ever
figger on getting along for the long haul."

            "Again, your meaning
escapes me, child," Magnan carped. "What is this 'long haul' to which
you refer?"

           
"You
know,"
Gaby urged, gazing soulfully into Magnan's eyes, a maneuver which had the
effect of reducing the senior diplomat to babbling incoherency.

            "I—ah, you say 'I know',"
he managed. "Let me assure you, miss, if I knew, I should hardly waste
your time and my own by, ah, what did you say?"

            "Getting married and
all is a serious matter, Benny," she wheedled. "Don't go making jokes
about it, puh-lee-us." She paused to dab at a moist eye.

            "M-marriage!"
Magnan yelled, then at once became solicitous as Gaby's sniffles gave way to a
full-scale wail of despair. He patted the slender back which went with the shapely
front which had somehow become plastered against him. "D-don't, for
Heaven's sake, cry, child," he mumbled. "I didn't mean, I mean, I
only meant— did you make reference to the holy state of matrimony?"

            Her tear-stained face looked
appealingly up at him. "Sure, Benny; I figgered—I mean, if a gent like you
makes advances to a lady I got to figger yer intentions are honorable,
right?"

            "Of course, my
dear," Magnan mumbled, deep in hypnosis. "Just as you say, child, so
long as one doesn't become
too
serious."

            "Take my advice, Mr.
Ah," Sol put in, as if confidentially, "sheer off now, before it's
too late. That gal's got you space-packed and coded Expedite."

            Gaby's right cross was
surprisingly effective. It caught the old fellow on the side of the jaw and
sent him reeling back to—and through—the open closet door. Magnan stared after
them in horror. "The dragon!" he yelped. "It will eat him for
sure!"

            "I doubt it, Ben,"
Retief said soothingly. "Worm has some big ideas, but he doesn't quite
know what to do with them." As he spoke, Sol, who had tripped and fallen
heavily, got to his feet, rubbing his jaw; then he spun and sprinted for the
cover of the crape myrtles. Magnan yelled after him, "Wait, Sol! We
need—"

            Retief went to the
shimmering veil before the woodland scene, paused only momentarily, and stepped
through. Magnan uttered a strangled cry and would have followed, had Gaby not
caught his arm and restrained him. Then the portal darkened as something huge
and scaled moved in front of it.

            "The dragon!"
Magnan yipped.

            "Durn Worm," Small
muttered.

            "Step aside,"
ordered Prince William. He advanced to the portal, drew his ceremonial sabre,
and poked the monstrous obstruction. It responded by disappearing abruptly.
Without delay, the gray-haired nobleman stepped through. Magnan's yelp of alarm
was cut off abruptly as the prince spun, raised his jeweled sabre and hacked at
a target out of sight beyond the door jamb. Again the view was blocked by an
expanse of scaly hide; this time it seemed inert, Magnan thought, or at least
not actively aggressive.

            "He killed it!"
Magnan yelped. "Good lord, he's slain the deity of these simple
people!" Then the massive bulk blocking the doorway quivered, heaved, and
slid aside. The prince was not to be seen, though Sol slipped back through the
door.

            "God!" Magnan
wailed. "It's killed a prince of the blood!"

            "Take it easy,
already," Sol suggested quietly. "Remember, the opera ain't over till
the fat lady sings."

            " 'Sings?' "
Magnan echoed in a tone of Stunned Incredulity at Gross Impropriety (1278-b).

            "Easy, honey,"
Gaby urged.

            "Never seen
nothing," Small offered. "Maybe his Lordship's OK." He brushed
past Magnan to pass through the narrow clear space opened when the monstrous
form had shifted. Magnan yelped yet again, but shied away from following. He
turned to the others.

            "We have to
do
something!"
he moaned. "Isn't there another way round?"

            "Look!" Gaby said
sharply and pointed. Magnan turned to see two immense yellow eyes, set in a
complex pattern of tiny, vari-colored scales, staring, it seemed, directly at
him.

            "I know you, Ben
Magnan," a rumbling voice said audibly, but without movement of the
monstrous face. "I'm holding you
and
Retief responsible for this
outrage."

            "Me?" Magnan
yipped. "Why, what ever did I do?"

            "It's what you
failed
to do," the rumble replied stonily. "You omitted to restrain your
subordinate when he set out to savage me."

            "He, savage
you?"
Magnan gasped. "That's ridiculous! You're a thousand times his size,
and you've those horrid bitey things, and claws, and—and ..." Words failed
the frail bureaucrat. "It isn't
fair!"
he lamented.

            " 'Fair'," the
heavy voice repeated. "You an admitted diplomat, matter of fairness? Have
you no respect for hallowed tradition? Remember Career Ambassador
Pouncetrifle's wise dictum: 'Expediency; may she always be right, but right or
wrong, expediency'."

            "Would you, Sir
Worm," Magnan demanded with a show of spirit, stung by the harsh and, he
was sure, undeserved rebuke, "—imply that I am remiss in my adherence to
regulation, protocol, and tradition, as well as local policy? Outrageous! You
can't prove it! I defy you to level such charges formally!"

            "You forget Ambassador
Grossblunder's adage, Ben," the deep voice came back sharply. " 'The
implication is mightier than the affadavit' "

            "All right, break clean
in the cinches, boys," Gaby admonished, thrusting between the verbal
antagonists.

            "Benny," she
continued, "what about your sidekick, which he's in there with Worm, and
nobody but old Small and the feller with the hat-pin to side him."

            "Certainly, my
dear," Magnan goggled, "I was on the way, was I not, when you
restrained me. If the captain would kindly step aside ..."

            Sol responded by executing a
sardonic bow, and stepping aside—and through the mirror. For a moment his grin
lingered, cheshire-cat like; then his rugged features rearranged themselves
into an expression of horror, as he stared at something off-screen to the
right. He held up his hands in instinctive defense and backed out of sight.