The challenger spun away in a screeching shrill of music. Retief caught his eye for an instant as he passed.
And then the dancer stood rigid before the brocaded table—and the music stopped off short as the sabre slammed down before a heavy Yill in ornate metallic coils. The challenged Yill rose and raised a fist. The other ducked his head, put his hands on his helmet. Coins rolled. The dancer moved on.
Twice more the dancer struck the table in ritualistic challenge, exchanged gestures, bent his neck and passed on. He circled the broad floor, sabre twirling, arms darting in an intricate symbolism. The orchestra blared shrilly, unmuffled now by the surf-roar of conversation. The Yill, Retief noticed suddenly, were sitting silent, watching. The dancer was closer now, and then he was before Retief, poised, towering, sabre above his head.
The music cut, and in the startling instantaneous silence, the heavy sabre whipped over and down with an explosive concussion that set dishes dancing on the table-top.
The Yill’s eyes held on Retief’s. In the silence, Magnan tittered drunkenly. Retief pushed back his stool.
“Steady, my boy,” Ambassador Spradley called. Retief stood, the Yill topping his six foot three by an inch. In a motion almost too quick to follow, Retief reached for the sabre, twitched it from the Yill’s grip, swung it in a whistling cut. The Yill ducked, sprang back, snatched up a sabre dropped by another dancer.
“Someone stop the madman!” Spradley howled.
Retief leaped across the table, sending fragile dishes spinning.
The other danced back, and only then did the orchestra spring to life with a screech and a mad tattoo of high-pitched drums.
Making no attempt to following the weaving pattern of the Yill bolero, Retief pressed the other, fending off vicious cuts with the blunt weapon, chopping back relentlessly. Left hand on hip, Retief matched blow for blow, driving the other back.
Abruptly, the Yill abandoned the double role. Dancing forgotten, he settled down in earnest, cutting, thrusting, parrying; and now the two stood toe to toe, sabres clashing in a lightning exchange. The Yill gave a step, two, then rallied, drove Retief back, back——
And the Yill stumbled. His sabre clattered, and Retief dropped his point as the other wavered past him and crashed to the floor.
The orchestra fell silent in a descending wail of reeds. Retief drew a deep breath and wiped his forehead.
“Come back here, you young fool!” Spradley called hoarsely.
Retief hefted the sabre, turned, eyed the brocade-draped table. He started across the floor. The Yill sat as if paralyzed.
“Retief, no!” Spradley yelped.
Retief walked directly to the Admirable F’Kau-Kau-Kau, stopped, raised the sabre.
“Not the chief of state,” someone in the Terrestrial mission groaned.
Retief whipped the sabre down. The dull blade split the cloth and clove the hardwood table. There was utter silence.
The Admirable F’Kau-Kau-Kau rose, seven feet of obese gray Yill. Broad face expressionless to any Terran eyes, he raised a fist like a jewel-studded ham.
Retief stood rigid for a long moment. Then, gracefully, he inclined his head, placed his finger tips on his temples.
Behind him, there was a clatter as Ambassador Spradley collapsed. Then the Admirable F’Kau-Kau-Kau cried out and reached across the table to embrace the Terrestrial, and the orchestra went mad.
Gray hands helped Retief across the table, stools were pushed aside to make room at F’Kau-Kau-Kau’s side. Retief sat, took a tall flagon of coal-black brandy pressed on him by his neighbor, clashed glasses with The Admirable and drank.
IV
Retief turned at the touch on his shoulder.
“The Ambassador wants to speak to you, Retief,” Magnan said.
Retief looked across to where Ambassador Spradley sat glowering behind the plain tablecloth.
“Under the circumstances,” Retief said, “you’d better ask him to come over here.”
“The ambassador?” Magnan’s voice cracked.
“Never mind the protocol,” Retief said. “The situation is still delicate.” Magnan went away.
“The feast ends,” F’Kau-Kau-Kau said. “Now you and I, Retief, must straddle the Council Stool.”
“I’ll be honored, Admirable,” Retief said. “I must inform my colleagues.”
“Colleagues?” F’Kau-Kau-Kau said. “It is for chiefs to parley. Who shall speak for a king while he yet has tongue for talk?”
“The Yill way is wise,” Retief said.
F’Kau-Kau-Kau emptied a squat tumbler of pink beer. “I will treat with you, Retief, as viceroy, since as you say your king is old and the space between worlds is far. But there shall be no scheming underlings privy to our dealings.” He grinned a Yill grin. “Afterwards we shall carouse, Retief. The Council Stool is hard and the waiting handmaidens delectable. This makes for quick agreement.”
Retief smiled. “The king is wise.”
“Of course, a being prefers wenches of his own kind,” F’Kau-Kau-Kau said. He belched. “The Ministry of Culture has imported several Terry—excuse me, Retief—Terrestrial joy-girls, said to be top-notch specimens. At least they have very fat watchamacallits.”
“The king is most considerate,” Retief said.
“Let us to it then, Retief. I may hazard a fling with one of your Terries, myself. I fancy an occasional perversion.” F’Kau-Kau-Kau dug an elbow into Retief’s side and bellowed with laughter.
Ambassador Spradley hurried to intercept Retief as he crossed to the door at F’Kau-Kau-Kau’s side.
“Retief, kindly excuse yourself, I wish a word with you.” His voice was icy. Magnan stood behind him, goggling.
“Mr. Ambassador, forgive my apparent rudeness,” Retief said. “I don’t have time to explain now——”
“Rudeness!” Spradley barked. “Don’t have time, eh? Let me tell you——”
“Lower your voice, Mr. Ambassador,” Retief said.
Spradley quivered, mouth open, speechless.
“If you’ll sit down and wait quietly,” Retief said, “I think——”
“You think!” Spradley spluttered.
* * * *
“Silence!” Retief said. Spradley looked up at Retief’s face. He stared for a moment into Retief’s gray eyes, closed his mouth and swallowed.
“The Yill seem to have gotten the impression I’m in charge,” Retief said, “We’ll have to keep it up.”
“But—but—” Spradley stuttered. Then he straightened. “That is the last straw,” he whispered hoarsely. “I am the Terrestrial Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary. Magnan has told me that we’ve been studiedly insulted, repeatedly, since the moment of our arrival. Kept waiting in baggage rooms, transported in refuse lorries, herded about with servants, offered swill at table. Now I and my senior staff, are left cooling our heels, without so much as an audience while this—this multiple Kau person hobnobs with—with—”
Spradley’s voice broke. “I may have been a trifle hasty, Retief, in attempting to restrain you. Blaspheming the native gods and dumping the banquet table are rather extreme measures, but your resentment was perhaps