A bearded goat eyed the Boyar Chef sardonically, jaw working.
“Look at that long-nosed son of a—!” The goat gave a derisive bleat and took another mouthful of ripe grain.
“Did you see that?” Georges yelled. “They’ve trained the son of a—”
“Chin up, Georges,” Retief said. “We’ll take up the goat problem along with the rest.”
“I’ll murder ’em—!”
“Hold it, Georges. Look over there . . .”
A hundred yards away a trio of brown-cloaked horsemen topped a rise, paused dramatically against the cloudless pale sky, then galloped down the slope toward the car, rifles bobbing at their backs, cloaks billowing out behind. Side by side they rode, through the brown-golden grain, cutting three narrow swaths that ran in a straight sweep from the ridge to the air car where Retief and the Chef d’Regime hovered, waiting.
Georges scrambled for the side of the car. “Just wait till I get my hands on the son of a—”
Retief pulled him back. “Sit tight and look pleased, Georges. Never give the opposition a hint of your true feelings. Pretend you’re a goat lover—and hand me one of your cigars.”
The three horsemen pulled up in a churn of chaff and a clatter of pebbles. Georges coughed, batting a hand at the settling dust. Retief peeled the cigar unhurriedly, sniffed at it, thumbed it alight. He drew at it, puffed out a cloud of smoke, and glanced casually at the trio of Aga Kagan cavaliers.
“Peace be with you,” he intoned in accent-free Kagan. “May your shadows never grow less.”
The leader of the three, a hawk-faced man with a heavy beard, unlimbered his rifle, fingered it, frowning ferociously.
“Have no fear,” Retief said, smiling graciously. “He who comes as a guest enjoys perfect safety.”
A smooth-faced member of the threesome barked an oath, leveled his rifle at Retief.
“Youth is the steed of folly,” Retief said. “Take care that the beardless one does not disgrace his house.”
The leader whirled on the youth, snarled an order; he lowered the rifle, muttering. Blackbeard turned back to Retief.
“Begone, interlopers,” he said. “You disturb the goats.”
“Provision is not taken to the house of the generous,” Retief said. “May the creatures dine well ere they move on.”
“Hah! The goats of the Aga Kaga graze on the lands of the Aga Kaga.” The leader edged his horse close, eyed Retief fiercely. “We welcome no intruders on our lands.”
“To praise a man for what he does not possess is to make him appear foolish,” Retief said. “These are the lands of the Boyars. But enough of these pleasantries. We seek audience with your ruler.”
“You may address me as `Exalted One,'” the leader said. “Now dismount from that steed of Shaitan—”
“It is written, `If you need anything from a dog, call him `sir,’ ” Retief said. “I must decline to impute canine ancestry to a guest. Now you may conduct me to your headquarters.”
“Enough of your insolence—!” The bearded man cocked his rifle. “I could blow your heads off—”
“The hen has feathers, but it does not fly,” Retief said. “We have asked for escort. A slave must be beaten with a stick; for a free man, a hint is enough.”
“You mock me, pale one. I warn you—”
“Only love makes me weep,” Retief said. “I laugh at hatred.”
“Get out of the car!”
Retief puffed at his cigar, eyed the Aga Kagan cheerfully. The youth in the rear moved forward, teeth bared.
“Never give in to the fool, lest he say, `He fears me,'” Retief said.
“I cannot restrain my men in the face of your insults,” the bearded Aga Kagan roared. “These hens of mine have feathers—and talons as well!”
“When God would destroy an ant, he gives him wings,” Retief said. “Distress in misfortune is another misfortune.”
The bearded man’s face grew purple.
Retief dribbled the ash from his cigar over the side of the car.
“Now, I think we’d better be getting on,” he said briskly. “I’ve enjoyed our chat, but we do have business to attend to.”
The bearded leader laughed shortly. “Does the condemned man beg for the axe?” he inquired rhetorically. “You shall be allowed audience with the Aga Kaga, then. Move on—and make no attempt to escape, else my gun will speak you a brief farewell.”
The horsemen glowered, then at a word from the leader, took positions around the car. Georges started the vehicle forward, following the leading rider. Retief leaned back and let out a long sigh.
“That was close,” he said. “I was about out of proverbs.”
“You sound as though you’d brought off a coup,” Georges said. “From the expression on the whiskery one’s face, we’re in for trouble. What was he saying?”
“Just a routine exchange of bluffs,” Retief said. “Now when we get there, remember to make your flattery sound like insults and your insults sound like flattery, and you’ll be all right.”
“These birds are armed—and they don’t like strangers,” Georges said. “Maybe I should have boned up on their habits before I joined this expedition.”
“Just stick to the plan. And remember: a handful of luck is better than a camel-load of learning.”
* * *
The air car followed the escort down a long slope to a dry river bed, across it, through a barren stretch of shifting sand, to a green oasis, set with canopies.
The armed escort motioned the car to a halt before an immense tent of glistening black, before which armed men lounged under a pennant bearing a lion couchant in crimson on a field vert.
“Get out,” Blackbeard ordered. The guards eyed the visitors, drawn sabers catching sunlight. Retief and Georges stepped from the car onto rich rugs spread on the grass, followed the ferocious gesture of the bearded man through the opening into a perfumed interior of luminous shadows. A heavy odor of incense hung in the air, and the strumming of stringed instruments laid a muted pattern of sound behind the decorations of gold and blue, silver and green. At the far end of the room, among a bevy of female slaves, a large and resplendently clad man with blue-black hair and a clean-shaven chin popped a grape into his mouth, wiped his fingers negligently on a wisp of silk offered by a hand-maiden, belched loudly, and looked the callers over.
Blackbeard cleared his throat. “Down on your faces in the presence of the Exalted One, the Aga Kaga, ruler of the East and West—”
“Sorry,” Retief said firmly. “My hay-fever, you know.”
The reclining giant waved a hand languidly.
“Never mind the formalities,” he said. “Approach.”
Retief and Georges crossed the thick rugs. A cold draft blew toward them. The reclining man sneezed violently, wiped his nose on another silken scarf, and held up a hand.
“Night and the horses and the desert know me,” he said in resonant tones. “Also the sword and the guest and paper and pen—” He paused, wrinkled his nose, and sneezed again.
“Turn off that damned air-conditioner,” he snapped. He settled himself, motioned the bearded man to him; the two exchanged muted remarks. Then the bearded man stepped back, ducked his head, and withdrew to the rear.
“Excellency,” Retief said, “I have the honor to present M. Georges Duror, Chef d’Regime of the Planetary government—”
“Planetary government?” The Aga Kaga spat grape seeds on the rug. “My men have observed a few squatters along the shore. If they’re in distress, I’ll see about a distribution of goat-meat.”
“It is the punishment of the envious to grieve at another’s plenty,” Retief said. “No goat-meat will be required.”
“Ralph told me you talk like a page out of Mustapha ben Abdallah Katib Jelebi,” the Aga Kaga said. “I know a few old sayings myself. For example, `A Bedouin is only cheated once.'”
“We have no such intentions, Excellency,” Retief said. “Is it not written, `Have no faith in the Prince whose minister cheats you’?”
“I’ve had some unhappy experiences with strangers,” the Aga Kaga said. “It is written in the sands, `All strangers are kin.’ Still, he who visits rarely is a welcome guest. Be seated.”
Hand-maidens brought cushions, giggled, and fled. Retief and Georges settled themselves comfortably. The Aga Kaga eyed them in silence.
“We have come to bear tiding from Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne,” Retief said solemnly. A perfumed slave girl offered grapes.
“Modest ignorance is better than boastful knowledge,” the Aga Kaga said. “What brings the CDT into the picture?”
“The essay of the drunkard will be read in the tavern,” Retief said. “Whereas the words of kings . . .”
“Very well, I concede the point.” The Aga Kaga waved a hand at the serving maids. “Depart, my dears. Attend me later. You too, Ralph. These are mere diplomats: men of words, not deeds.”
The bearded man glared and departed. The girls hurried after him.
“Now,” the Aga Kaga said. “Let’s drop the wisdom of the ages and get down to the issues. Not that I don’t admire your repertoire of platitudes. How do you remember them all?”