Diplomat at Arms (29 page)

            "Let's
get back to D'ong," Retief suggested. "And this is a top quality
Groaci Hoob-flavored stick I'm smoking."

            "Um.
Let us place our fingering pieces on the table. Naturally I recognize that
Terra, like Groac, must interest itself in Grote, the latter lying as it does
directly athwart the trade lanes to the Inner Arm. But Groac, I assure you,
does not intend to be out-maneuvered and left in the cold
favorable-treatmentwise. Thus my appointment today with the Minister. Not that
its any of your business—or Freddy's either."

            "But
where is he?"

            "Alas,
he failed to turn up, the upstart! I, the Ambassador Extraordinary and Minister
Plenipotentiary of the Groacian state, stood up by this petty functionary of a
petty world. Intolerable!"

            "Doesn't
sound like Minister D'ong," Retief said. "He's very sensitive to the
feelings of others, and punctual to a fault"

            "Bale!
Like all inferior life-forms, a category which includes all non-Groaci, and
between us, quite a number of the latter, he's not to be relied on in matters
of great import. And now that we've established such a delightful rapport, I
really must be off for a few moments to attend to a number of trivial
administrative details of the kind that plague even the great." He entered
the elevator, chair and all, and the doors closed on him.

            Retief
sipped his Pepsi and studied the room. To the left of the bar he saw a panel
apparently identical with that in the elevator. He put his glass on the desk
and went across to it. The buttons were of various sizes and colors. Retief
turned his back to the panel and carefully leaned against it, depressing all
the buttons simultaneously. Bells rang, a siren wailed, lights flashed, and the
sprinkler system went into operation. In addition, the bar slowly slid aside,
including the mirrored back-bar, revealing a softly-lit room, garishly paneled
in gilt panels of deeply carved wood, carpeted with an oriental rug in puce and
magenta, with mauve curlicues. At the far side, D'ong sat in an over-stuffed
chair, eating popcorn from a greasy paper bag, his eyes fixed on a small screen
on which Roy Rogers' face grimaced while the sound track moaned of love on the
range.

            "Come
in, Retief," D'ong called rather absently. "Join our group. You know
General Fith."

            The
latter emerged shyly from an alcove, averting his eyes from the screen.

            "Gosh,
Retief, how'd you get old scooter-butt to tell you how to open up the secret
chamber and all?" he said. "You must have something on the old boy. As
a part of his Exequatur ceremony, he had to swear a great oath in Urg's blood
he'd never tell."

            "We
reached an accommodation." Retief said. "He left the room and I
risked blowing up the building."

            "Figures,"
Fith said, picking at his earplugs. "Shucks, Retief, I'm kind of glad you
dropped in, in spite of various old injuries. You know, Yish had the complete
Columbian Exposition issue, as used in the early Terry-

            Luna
mail service. Genuine top-notch Groaci forgeries, with Luna surcharges and the
works."

            "Too
bad about the collection," Retief said. "Maybe you fellows should
have considered that before you set out to starve, flood, and burn out the
South Squeemans."

            "I
had nothing to do with that. I was just a civilian at the time, doing my job
and keeping my buccal orifice shut."

            "Like
me," Retief said, and turned his attention to D'ong. "Mr. Minister,
the US cavalry has arrived. Are you ready to go?"

            "Heck,
no, Retief, we're just getting to the good part, where Roy mounts his wench and
rides off into the wasteland."

            "I
think maybe you've got Trigger and Dale confused, D'ong."

            "I
confess I pay little attention to names. But how I admire the
savoir faire
of
the cowbeomen, who, in times of strife, think first of love. Always they and
their faithful mates couple joyously as they dash off across the plains, hero
and villain alike! Silly of me to be so sentimental, I know, but nostalgia is
such sweet sadness—how it reminds me of my honeymoon with C'lunt, so long
ago."

            "That's
understandable, of course. Sort of."

            "One
would have to truly know dear C'lunt to empathize fully. He's
such
a
darling."

            "He?"

            "Didn't
I explain? C'lunt is my first husband.'*

            "Then
you're a female. I owe you an apology, or something. I assumed you were a
male."

            "Me,
a male? That's ridiculous, Retief. After all, our Grotesque males are only
seven inches in height."

            "Ah,
that makes things clearer. But I don't think I've ever met a male Grotesque
socially."

            "Oh,
no. They don't mingle with civilized folk. All they do is jump up and down and
screech—and now and then go for a nice ride in the desert, of course."

            "Why
do they jump up and down and scream?"

            "They
say it pisses them off to be only seven inches tall."

            "I
still think you're misinterpreting something."

            "What
matter, Retief? The message of art transcends all barriers, eh?"

            "Very
probably. Nice cell you have here."

            "You
like it? Frankly, Retief, when I was first escorted here so enthusiastically by
my welcoming committee (Ambassador Shiss is
so
thoughtful) it was rather
plain."

            "Too
bad Ambassador Smallfrog didn't think of having you assaulted and dragged
inside the Terry Embassy. I see he missed making a few points thereby."

            "I
take no offense, Retief. No doubt it was merely an oversight on his part."

            "You
say the room was plain when you arrived." Retief studied the golden
cherubs and nymphs gamboling across the walls. "They redecorated in a
hurry to your specs?"

            "Not
they, I," D'ong said with shy pride. "General Fith explained that
there'd be a slight delay before His Excellency the Groacian Ambassador could
see me— about ten years or so. Accordingly, I set about brightening things up a
bit. Bare stone is rather austere for a ten-year wait, don't you think?"

            "Agreed."
As Retief and D'ong chatted, Fith had edged silently toward the open door. He
slipped silently through and the heavy panel swung shut and sealed with a
complex
click!
like the door to a bank vault.

            "Oh-oh,"
D'ong said. "I guess you're stuck in here with me, now, Retief."

            "Looks
that way," Retief said calmly.

-

            "Curious,"
Ambassador Smallfrog said mildly, lolling back in his hip-o-matic. "If we
weren't on the twenty-eighth floor, Magnan, I'd swear I saw that chap
F'Lin-lin—you know the one I mean, Ambassador K'Yip-yip's driver—sullen sort of
fellow—peering in at the window just now. You don't suppose the Yill are
somehow involved in this matter, do you, Ben?"

            "Gracious,
I shouldn't wonder, Mr. Ambassador. After my harrowing experience, my head's
still awhirl."

            "Um.
Mustn't brood, Magnan. Pity we can't send a squad of Marines over there to
search the Groaci compound from ridge-pole to refuse pits and catch the scamps
red-handed—but of course, to violate a friendly Embassy would be
unthinkable."

            "Let's
think about it anyway," Magnan suggested. "It seems Retief didn't
find the place too hard to burgle."

            "Surely
you jest," Smallfrog said icily. "As convention-abiding bureaucrats,
we have no choice but to chalk one up for Shiss and his boys, after which we
can rest on our oars until morning when Shiss arrives to express regrets to the
Grotian Foreign Office. A pity poor D'ong must meanwhile be submitted to
durance vile. And all just because he's such a dear, lovable chap, too. I
suppose he naively revealed the magic tea bag to" Shiss just as casually
as he did to us. Magnan, do you believe in magic?"

            "No,
of course not, but it happened all the same."

            "Good.
I thought maybe I was hallucinating. Did D'ong do a little levitating and
possible resuscitate a few dozen frozen and boiled shrimp?"

            "Gosh,
sir, that's impossible!"

            "Of
course. I didn't suggest it's possible. I merely point out it happened. But
these trivia are quite outside our interest cluster. I assigned you the task of
ferreting out the secret of the four-cup tea bag. Nothing was said about parlor
tricks."

            "But
where's Retief?" Magnan queried his chief impetuously. "We can't just
forget the whole matter and abandon him to his fate in a Groaci dungeon."

            "I
suppose you're right, Ben. In spite of the fact that the fellow clearly exceeded
instructions in going so far as to attempt something actually constructive,
certain small-minded critics of the corps might indeed adopt a negative, or
even antagonistic attitude were it known he disappeared forever under such
unconventional circumstances."

            "Quite.
And all for naught. We still don't have the secret of the magic tea bag,"
Magnan mourned.

            "Harrumph.
You must avoid use of the word 'magic,' Ben. Once again, you risk laying this
Mission—and even myself—or yourself, that is—open to criticism. I think
miraculous tea bag communicates the essentials without the undignified
connotations of the other term."

            "Gosh,
yes, Your Excellency. I was just thinking how you go right to the heart of a
matter, side-stepping the pitfalls that trap lesser bureaucrats."

            "To
be sure, Ben. Still, one can't help wondering what. Shiss is doing with the
fellow."

            Magnan
yelped and grabbed for suddenly flying papers as the French windows swung
suddenly open. Retief stepped into the room and handed Magnan a sheet he had
caught. Magnan yelped and retreated behind a chair.

            "Retief!
Goodness knows you've had His Excellency and myself on tenterhooks wondering
what happened to you. And here you are, safe and sound. Heavens! You could at
least give a person warning before, uh, just appearing out of nowhere like
that!"

            "Not
out of nowhere; precisely, Ben." Ambassador Smallfrog corrected gently.
"He came in through the window, quite obviously. Take a chair, Retief. You
realize, of course, there'll be an entry in your file regarding your rather
excessive zeal in invading a friendly Embassy. Ambassador Shiss has just been
on to me about it. Seemed quite agitated."

            "I
was held up a few minutes getting D'ong back to her office," Retief
explained.

            "Thank
goodness she's—you did say 'she,' Retief?— Safe!" Magnan gushed. "Oh,
for a cup of tea right now," he sighed. "Having tasted that delicious
brew this morning has quite revived my old addiction."

            "See
what I can do," Smallfrog said grumpily. "Wouldn't mind a dish
myself." He poked the phone control.

             "George,
three cups of strong tea in my office at once," he commanded.

            "Just
make that hot water," Retief suggested and placed a puckered tea bag on
the Ambassadorial blotter.

            "Retief,
you've got it!" Magnan cried. "I mean you see what comes of following
my instructions precisely. After he was once inside, of course," he added
confidingly to Smallfrog.

            "These
details hardly matter now, my boy," His Excellency said jubilantly,
phoning in the new order. "Good to know poor old D'ong is back safely in
the Foreign Office," he continued. "See here, Magnan: D'ong will
surely feel grateful to the Terran Embassy for release, if the beggar has any
human feelings at all. Now's the time to scoot over with a most-favored-nation
treaty all ready for signature."

            "Certainly,
sir! Retief and I can have it back, taped and sealed, in a trice!" Magnan
glanced around, looking puzzled. "Goodness, where
is
he?" he
inquired vaguely, as he shifted to look behind him at the empty room.

            Smallfrog
waved a casual hand at the curtains blowing at the open windows. "Oh he
just stepped out," he said. "That fellow F'Lin-lin was hanging about
out there, you'll recall. Forget these trivia. Ah, here's our hot water
now."