by Keith Laumer
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 a prod from a knife point, Retief moved off down the walk, two of the escort behind him and Magnan, another going ahead to scout the way.
Magnan moved closer to Retief.
“Say,” he said in a whisper. “That fellow in the lead; isn’t he the one who spilled the drink? The one you took the blame for?”
“That’s him, all right. He doesn’t seem nervous any more, I notice.”
“You saved him from serious punishment,” Magnan said. “He’ll be grateful; he’ll let us go.”
“Better check with the fellows with the knives before you act on that.”
“Say something to him,” Magnan hissed, “Remind him.”
* * * *
The lead man fell back in line with Retief and Magnan.
“These two are scared of you,” he said, grinning and jerking a thumb toward the knife-handlers. “They haven’t worked around the Nenni like me; they don’t know you.”
“Don’t you recognize this gentleman?” Magnan said.
“He did me a favor,” the man said. “I remember.”
“What’s it all about?” Retief asked.
“The revolution. We’re taking over now.”
“Who’s ‘we’?”
“The People’s Anti-Fascist Freedom League.”
“What are all the knives for?”
“For the Nenni; and for all you foreigners.”
“What do you mean?” Magnan gasped.
“We’ll slit all the throats at one time. Saves a lot of running around.”
“What time will that be?”
“Just at dawn; and dawn comes early, this time of year. By full daylight the PAFFL will be in charge.”
“You’ll never succeed,” Magnan said. “A few servants with knives! You’ll all be caught and killed.”
“By who, the Nenni?” the man laughed. “You Nenni are a caution.”
“But we’re not Nenni—”
“We’ve watched you; you’re the same. You’re part of the same blood-sucking class.”
“There are better ways to, uh, adjust differences,” Magnan said. “This killing won’t help you, I’ll personally see to it that your grievances are heard in the Corps Courts. I can assure you that the plight of the downtrodden workers will be alleviated. Equal rights for all—”
“These threats won’t work,” the man said. “You don’t scare me.”
“Threats? I’m promising relief to the exploited classes of Petreac!”
“You must be nuts,” the man said. “You trying to upset the system or something?”
“Isn’t that the purpose of your revolution?”
“Look, Nenni, we’re tired of you Nenni getting all the graft. We want our turn. What good would it do us to run Petreac if there’s no loot?”
“You mean you intend to oppress the people? But they’re your own group.”
“Group, schmoop. We’re taking all the chances; we’re doing the work. We deserve the payoff. You think we’re throwing up good jobs for the fun of it?”
“You’re basing a revolt on these cynical premises?”
“Wise up, Nenni. There’s never been a revolution for any other reason.”
“Who’s in charge of this?” Retief said.
“Shoke, the head chef.”
“I mean the big boss. Who tells Shoke what all to do?”
“Oh, that’s Zorn. Look out, here’s where we start down the slope. It’s slippery.”
“Look,” Magnan said. “You.”
“My name’s Illy.”
“Mr. Illy, this man showed you mercy when he could have had you beaten.”
“Keep moving. Yeah, I said I was grateful.”
“Yes,” Magnan said, swallowing hard. “A noble emotion, gratitude. You won’t regret it.”
“I always try to pay back a good turn,” Illy said. “Watch your step now on this sea-wall.”
“You’ll never regret it,” Magnan said.
“This is far enough,” Illy motioned to one of the knife men. “Give me your knife, Vug.”
The man passed his knife to Illy. There was an odor of sea-mud and kelp. Small waves slapped against the stones of the sea-wall. The wind was stronger here.
“I know a neat stroke,” Illy said. “Practically painless. Who’s first?”
“What do you mean?” Magnan quavered.
“I said I was grateful. I’ll do it myself, give you a nice clean job. You know these amateurs; botch it up and have a guy floppin’ around, yellin’ and spatterin’ everybody up.”
“I’m first,” Retief said. He pushed past Magnan, stopped suddenly, drove a straight punch at Illy’s mouth.
* * * *
The long blade flicked harmlessly over Retief’s shoulder as Illy fell. Retief whirled, leaped past Magnan, took the unarmed servant by the throat and belt, lifted him and slammed him against the third man. Both scrambled, yelped and fell from the sea-wall into the water.
Retief turned back to Illy. He pulled off the man’s belt and strapped his hands together.
Magnan found his voice.
“You…. we…. they….”
“I know,” Retief said.
“We’ve got to get back,” Magnan said, “Warn them!”
“We’d never get through the rebel cordon around the palace. And if we did, trying to give an alarm would only set the assassinations off early.”
“We can’t just….”
“We’ve got to go to the source; this fellow Zorn. Get him to call
it off.”
“We’d be killed! At least we’re safe here.”
Illy groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up.
“On your feet, Illy,” Retief said.
Illy looked around. “I’m sick,” he said.
“The damp air is bad for you. Let’s be going.” Retief pulled the man to his feet. “Where does Zorn stay when he’s in town?” he demanded.
“What happened? Where’s Vug and….”
“They had an accident. Fell in the pond.”
Illy gazed down at the restless black water.
“I guess I had you Nenni figured wrong.”
“Us Nenni have hidden qualities. Let’s get moving before Vug and Slug make it to shore and start it all over again.”
“No hurry,” Illy said. “They can’t swim.” He spat into the water. “So long, Vug. So long, Toscin. Take a pull, at the Hell Horn for me.” He started off along the sea wall toward the sound of the surf.
“You want to see Zorn, I’ll take you to see Zorn,” he said. “I can’t swim either.”
III
“I take it,” Retief said, “that the casino is a front for his political activities.”
“He makes plenty off it. This PAFFL is a new kick. I never heard about it until maybe a couple months ago.”
Retief motioned toward a dark shed with an open door.
“We’ll stop here,” he said, “long enough to strip the gadgets off these uniforms.”
Illy, hands strapped behind his back, stood by and watched as Retief and Magnan removed medals, ribbons, orders and insignia from the formal diplomatic garments.
“This may help some,” Retief said, “if the word is out that two diplomats are loose.”
“It’s a breeze,” Illy said. “We see cats in purple and orange tailcoats all the time.”
“I hope you’re right,” Retief said. “But if we’re called, you’ll be the first to go, Illy.”
“You’re a funny kind of Nenni,” Illy said, eyeing Retief, “Toscin and Vug must be wonderin’ what happened to ’em.”
“If you think I’m good at drowning people, you ought to see me with a knife. Let’s get going.”
“It’s only a little way now,” Illy said. “But you better untie me. Somebody’s liable to stick their nose in and get me killed.”
“I’ll take the chance. How do we get to the casino?”
“We follow this street. It twists around and goes under a couple tunnels. When we get to the Drunkard’s Stairs we go up and it’s right in front of us. A pink front with a sign like a big Luck Wheel.”
“Give me your belt, Magnan,” Retief said.
Magnan handed it over.
“Lie down, Illy,” Retief said.
The servant looked at Retief.
“Vug and Toscin will be glad to see me,” he said. “But they’ll never believe me.” He lay down. Retief strapped his feet together and stuffed a handkerchief in his mouth.
“Why are you doing that?” Magnan asked. “We need him.”
“We know the way. And we don’t need anyone to announce our arrival. It’s only on three-dee that you can march a man through a gang of his pals with a finger in his back.”
Magnan looked at the man. “Maybe you’d better, uh, cut his throat,” he said.
Illy rolled his eyes.
“That’s a very un-Nenni-like suggestion, Mr. Magnan,” Retief said. “If we have any trouble finding the casino, I’ll give it serious thought.”
There were few people in the narrow street. Shops were shuttered, windows dark.
“Maybe they heard about the coup,” Magnan said. “They’re lying low.”
“More likely, they’re at the palace picking up their knives.”
They rounded a corner, stepped over a man curled in the gutter snoring heavily and found themselves at the foot of a long flight of littered stone steps.
“The Drunkard’s Stairs are plainly marked,” Magnan sniffed.
“I hear sounds up there,” Retief said. “Sounds of merrymaking.”
“Maybe we’d better go back.”
“Merrymaking doesn’t scare me,” Retief said. “Come to think of it, I don’t know what the word means.” He started up, Magnan behind him.
* * * *
At the top of the long stair a dense throng milled in the alley-like street.
A giant illuminated roulette wheel revolved slowly above them. A loudspeaker blared the chant of the croupiers from the tables inside. Magnan and Retief moved through the crowd toward the wide-open doors.
Magnan plucked at Retief’s sleeve. “Are you sure we ought to push right in like this? Maybe we ought to wait a bit, look around….”
“When you’re where you have no business being,” Retief said, “always stride along purposefully. If you loiter, people begin to get curious.”
Inside, a mob packed the wide, low-ceilinged room, clustered around gambling devices in the form of towers, tables and basins.
“What do we do now?” Magnan asked.
“We gamble. How much money do you have in your pockets?”
“Why…a few credits.” Magnan handed the money to Retief. “But what about the man Zorn?”
“A purple cutaway is conspicuous enough, without ignoring the tables,” Retief said. “We’ve got a hundred credits between us. We’ll get to Zorn in due course, I hope.”
“Your pleasure, gents,” a bullet-headed man said, eyeing the colorful evening clothes of the diplomats. “You’ll be wantin’ to try your luck at the Zoop tower, I’d guess. A game for real sporting gents.”
“Why…ah…” Magnan said.
“What’s a zoop tower?” Retief asked.
“Out-of-towners, hey?” The bullet-headed man shifted his dope-stick to the other corner of his mouth. “Zoop is a great little game. Two teams of players buy into the pot. Each player takes a lever; the object is to make the ball drop from the top of the tower into your net. Okay?”
“What’s the ante?”
“I got a hundred-credit pot workin’ now, gents.”
Retief nodded. “We’ll try it.”
The shill led the way to an eight-foot tower mounted on gimbals. Two perspiring men in trade-class pullovers gripped two of the levers that controlled the tilt of the tower. A white ball lay in a hollow in the thick glass platform at the top. From the center, an intricate pattern of grooves led out to the edge of the glass. Retief and Magnan took chairs before the two free levers.
“When the light goes on, gents, work the lever to jack the tower. You got three gears. Takes a good arm to work top gear. That’s this button here. The little knob controls what way you’re goin’. May the best team win. I’ll take the hundred credits now.”
Retief handed over the money. A red light flashed on, and Retief tried the lever.
It moved easily, with a ratcheting sound. The tower trembled, slowly tilted toward the two perspiring workmen pumping frantically at their levers. Magnan started slowly, accelerated as he saw the direction the tower was taking.
“Faster, Retief,” he said. “They’re winning.”
“This is against the clock, gents,” the bullet-headed man said. “If nobody wins when the light goes off, the house takes all.”
“Crank it over to the left,” Retief said.
“I’m getting tired.”
“Shift to a lower gear.”
The tower leaned. The ball stirred, rolled into a concentric channel. Retief shifted to middle gear, worked the lever. The tower creaked to a stop, started back upright.
“There isn’t any lower gear,” Magnan gasped. One of the two on the other side of the tower shifted to middle gear; the other followed suit. They worked harder now, heaving against the stiff levers. The tower quivered, moved slowly toward their side.
“I’m exhausted,” Magnan gasped. He dropped the lever, lolled back in the chair, gulping air. Retief shifted position, took Magnan’s lever with his left hand.
“Shift it to middle gear,” Retief sai
d. Magnan gulped, punched the button and slumped back, panting.
“My arm,” he said. “I’ve injured myself.”
The two men in pullovers conferred hurriedly as they cranked their levers; then one punched a button and the other reached across, using his left arm to help.
“They’ve shifted to high,” Magnan said. “Give up, it’s hopeless.”
“Shift me to high,” Retief said. “Both buttons!”
Magnan complied. Retief’s shoulders bulged. He brought one lever down, then the other, alternately, slowly at first, then faster. The tower jerked, tilted toward him, farther…. The ball rolled in the channel, found an outlet—
Abruptly, both Retief’s levers froze.
The tower trembled, wavered and moved back. Retief heaved. One lever folded at the base, bent down and snapped off short. Retief braced his feet, took the other lever with both hands and pulled.
There was a rasp of metal friction, and a loud twang. The lever came free, a length of broken cable flopping into view. The tower fell over as the two on the other side scrambled aside.
“Hey!” Bullet-head yelled. “You wrecked my equipment!”
Retief got up and faced him.
“Does Zorn know you’ve got your tower rigged for suckers?”
“You tryin’ to call me a cheat or something?”
The crowd had fallen back, ringing the two men. Bullet-head glanced around. With a lightning motion, he plucked a knife from somewhere.
“That’ll be five hundred credits for the equipment,” he said. “Nobody calls Kippy a cheat.”
* * * *
Retief picked up the broken lever.
“Don’t make me hit you with this, you cheap chiseler.”
Kippy looked at the bar.
“Comin’ in here,” he said indignantly, looking to the crowd for support. “Bustin’ up my rig, callin’ names….”
“I want a hundred credits,” Retief said. “Now.”
“Highway robbery!” Kippy yelled.
“Better pay up,” somebody called.
“Hit him, mister,” someone else said.
A broad-shouldered man with graying hair pushed through the crowd and looked around. “You heard ’em, Kippy. Give,” he said.
The shill growled but tucked his knife away. Reluctantly he peeled a bill from a fat roll and handed it over.
The newcomer looked from Retief to Magnan.
