Reward for Retief (51 page)

            "An inflated neoprene
bladder, plus your imagination, sir," Prince William interjected,
"are quite sufficient to produce all the phenomena you've experienced. But
you're quite right: the bladder was a mere imitation of the real Worm."

            "Those teeth!"
Magnan reminisced.
"That
was no balloon! But who could be
responsible for the imitation?"

            Prince William cleared his
throat tactfully, but before he spoke, the boy Sobhain volunteered:

            "I did it," he
declared with pride. "Pretty good, eh? Scared the pants off old Boss and
his hirelings, too. Wind blew it away, right after it helped me escape from
that crummy room; I had it come poking around the windows and all. Willy
shouldn't have popped him."

            "Your Highness behaved
irresponsibly," the gray-haired prince told his young charge.

            "So we had not one, but
two 'Worms' roaming the area," Magnan explained to himself. "No
wonder things got confused."

           
i must ask your pardon, sol,
the Voice spoke up
. I
had
assumed you were responsible for the prank, and it was for that reason I have,
I confess, persecuted you; when I discovered that the renegade terry, one
overbore was on the make, I could not resist the opportunity.

           
Sol slapped his
forehead. "Oy!" he yelped. "Get that kid outa here, before
I—" Prince William's outthrust foot tripped the enraged merchant mariner
as he took his first step toward the boy prince, who stood his ground.

            "I didn't mean the old
coot any harm," he said sullenly. "Didn't even know him—except he
looks a little like Boss."

            "Not meaning harm,
milord Prince," William told the lad, "is not sufficient for one who
will one day administer an empire."

            "Fat chance,
Willy," Sobhain dismissed the rebuke. "We're all stuck here; back
home they've probably forgotten all about me."

            "By no means, milord,"
Retief told him. "In fact, you've come to be a legendary hero. The old
story is told of how you were kidnapped from the hunting lodge at Steepcliff,
and although the search went on for a hundred years, you were never found, nor
was Prince William of Tallwood, your faithful tutor."

            "I've only been gone
for a few months," Sobhain objected. "What's this 'hundred years'
stuff?"

            "Time, it
appears," Retief told the princeling, "is a matter of perception. On
this strange world, all our perceptions are distorted."

            "You mean—back in
Fragonard everyone's a hundred years older?" The lad looked stricken.
"Then my royal father and mother are long dead. I have to get back before
my Empire falls into disarray! Why do we loiter here, William?" he turned
to the older to demand. Then he whirled on Retief.

            "Why should I believe
you?" he almost shouted. "The great legendary worrier Earl, Retief,
you claim to be. You have a knightly look, I grant, but—"

            "I claim nothing,
milord Prince," Retief corrected quietly. "I am Jame, Earl Retief. I
know nothing of such a legend."

            "It is told how, as a
mere lad, you went alone to the heights of Bifrost Pass and yourself took alive
the bandit Mai de Di; and later, how you—or Earl Retief—visited the Games at
Northroyal incognito, and defeated the Champion; there were many who saw in
him—or you— the returned emperor, and you did indeed unseat the false usurper
Rolan." The boy paused to spit. "You turned him out, then disappeared
as mysteriously as you had come—and
my
branch of the imperial House
assumed the Lily throne. So, if you really are the fabled, and long-lost Earl,
my cousin, I owe my throne to you." The boy turned to Prince William.
"How say you, my lord Prince? Is this an imposter, or my benefactor?"

            "He is none other than
the true Retief," William said. "On that you may depend, Sobhain. But
what now, sir?" He addressed the final words to Retief. "Will you
resume the honors due you, or ...?" He glanced at Sobhain, who returned
his look keenly.

            "Retief!" Magnan
spoke up. "Does this mean that you actually, ah, are, or were in the line
of succession to a throne, albeit a petty one?"

            "No," Retief
replied. "It's not so petty, sir," he added. "I recall that you
yourself once called Fragonard the key to peace in the Eastern Arm."

            "I—I only mean, I
meant; I didn't mean," Magnan gobbled. "No offense, Your Imperial
Highness," he went on, executing a clumsy curtsy before Sobhain, who
watched in amazement.

            "That's quite all
right, Mr. Magnan," the boy said, almost concealing a snicker.

            "Hey," Sol
interjected. "If you guys are gonna start kissing each other's hands, I'm
leaving." He set off in a determined fashion, but halted after two steps.

            "I should leave
already?" he inquired of the circumambient air. "It's
my
place;
I'm staying. Now, clear outa here," he started and again paused.
"Well," he am-mended, "seein we're the other side o' the Portal,
I guess there's no telling where we are. O' course, that don't matter, because
the whole planet belongs to me, anyway."

           
really
,
the Voice spoke up,
I
had the idea it belonged to its autochthonous
population.

           
"You think
a bunch of Terries is gonna turn over a Class A world to a bunch of
worms?" Sol inquired derisively.

            "A moment,
Captain," Magnan spoke up. "We are now entering the proper domain of
the trained diplomat. Pray permit me a word."

            "You already took maybe
a couple dozen," Sol pointed out. "So go ahead, already. Who's
counting?"

            "It appears,"
Magnan stated soberly, "that this planet lacked a mentational species
prior to the arrival of Captain S. Goldblatt, TMSS; accordingly, as is made
clear in FSR One, 12-3, Chapter IX, sub-section 3-w, the Terran claim to the
world cannot legitimately be challenged. Therefore, the question is merely that
of the role to be assigned the local population which has attained
trans-threshold status subsequent to, and due to the didactic efforts of Terran
nationals."

            " 'Nationals,'
smashionals," Sol sneered.
"One
Terry, that's all, educated
these schmendricks. Me." He gave Magnan a glance full of pride and
defiance. "So what's yer fancy regulations got say about
that?"

           
"Most
conscientious of you to mention the point, Captain," Magnan replied
smoothly. "Actually, Subsection Four, which deals with unauthorized
technological transfer, is clear on the point: 'Any individual, Terran, or
enjoying Civil status under Section Ten, who shall knowingly educate
unsophisticated peoples, as defined under Section Nine, in such fashion as to
enhance such population's capacity to wage hostilities against legitimate
Terran interests shall be liable under Chapter One, Section One, to such
penalties, not to exceed confinement for his lifetime plus ten years, as shall
be prescribed by a duly constituted multi-species tribunal, as defined in FSR
I, One, A-l'."

            Sol frowned at the frail
diplomat as if incredulous. "You're coming in here, on my own turf and
talking 'penalties'?" He tugged the loose collar of his well-worn tunic as
if to relieve internal pressure. "This is
my
world, Mister Ah. What
I
say goes! I got no need for no space lawyers tryna get tough!" He
advanced a step and was confronted by Retief, who said quietly, "Easy,
Captain; if you're in charge as you say, then I presume you're responsible for
the activities of Worm; the real Worm, not this silly bag of air."

            "Well," Sol
temporized, "don't get me wrong. I got maybe a few problem areas to clean
up here. But I'm doing OK until you boys come along, so why don't you boys, and
that crook Overbore and the rest of you just do a fast fade and leave me work
it out. OK?"

            "You speak,
Captain," Magnan piped up, "as if a ravening monster were not at
large, terrorizing the countryside! You've a great deal to answer for, sir! I
suggest that if you would adopt a less truculent attitude, we may begin to
evolve a solution to this contretemps!"

            "There you go,"
Sol carped. "Talking them big words. 'Contretemps,' eh? Well, I got you on
that one: I had plenty time I should view the Webber in my spare time, which I
had nothing else but, for some time now. 'Contretemps,' that's a bum situation,
which it should happen to somebody else!"

            "Nonetheless,"
Magnan offered severely, "it has happened, indeed is happening to
us.
And
all due to
your
irresponsibility, Captain."

            Sol slapped his forehead
again with enough force to rock his bullet-like head on its thick neck.
"Enemies!" he yelled. "Woe! I maybe ain't got enough troubles I
should have this schnook giving me a hard time?"

            "Captain," Magnan
said patiently, "in spite of your resort to obscure dialects, I happen to
know that the appellation 'schnook' which you have applied to me is far from
complimentary. I demand an immediate apology. You said 'schlimeil,' too,"
he added.

            "Not me!" the
captain blurted. " 'Schmendrick,' maybe. And let's see you make me apologize,
Mr. Ah. I got rights, plenty of 'em! Now get outa here! I got no more time fer
yuz!"

            "Here?" Magnan
echoed in a tone of Astonishment at a Logical Lapse By One's Verbal Opponent
(281-Q). He waved a hand at the surrounding forest wall. "You're demanding
I vacate the entire planet? I, a duly authorized First Secretary of Embassy of
Terra, in the performance of his duties?"

            "Secretary?" Sol
hooted. "I don't see no typewriter, not even no dictation machine. What
kind Secretary is that?"

            "The title, sir,"
Magnan responded loftily, "is one of considerable dignity, as in
'Secretary of State,' and has nothing whatever to do with stenography."

            "So now you're a
big-shot politician, hey? So what're you doing out here in the boondocks of the
boondocks, you should give a hard time to the sole owner this dizzy
planet?"

            "I emphatically did not
lay claim to Cabinet rank," Magnan declared coldly. "I merely cited
the ancient title of the foreign minister of an early historic state known, as
I recall, as NICE DAY. That, in order to define the nonclerical nature of the
title 'Secretary.' I am, as it happens, a close advisor to His Terran
Excellency, Elmer Shortfall, Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister
Plenipotentiary to this benighted world. Are you satisfied, sir?"

            Sol shrugged elaborately.
"If
you re
satisfied you should be some kind bureaucrat, why should
I complain about it? Just get lost, is all."

            Retief came forward again to
face the bull-necked spaceman squarely. "Mr. Magnan is merely trying to
establish his
bona fides,
Captain," he explained. "He has a
right to be here. Naturally, he's rather confused, as are we all, by the
chaotic situation."

            "I ain't
confused!" Sol barked. "I built this here closet, and I guess I can
say who's got business in it!"

            Magnan peered over Retief s
shoulder to interject. "We're no longer
in
your confounded closet,
sir!" He came around his bigger colleague to expand on his thesis:
"Clearly, we're out here in the woods, uncon-fined. Your house is perhaps
some miles from here!"

            "Then where
are
we
at, huh?" Sol jeered. "We went inna closet, right? And we ain't come
out, so
you
figger it, pal!"

            "When you so rudely
slammed the door in my face, sir," Magnan yelped, "the closet and
presumably the room behind it disappeared! I saw them! I mean, I didn't see
them! You know what I mean!"