“Ah, the Ampassador is twints?” the Pope inquired, moving toward the approaching pair.
“No, that’s Mrs. Straphanger,” Retief said. “If I were Your Arrogance I’d ditch that saucer; she’s fierce when aroused.”
“Ah, the edernal female, ever conzerned with food gonzervation.” The Pope tossed the crust of the plate back of a flowering bush.
“Ah, there, Ampassador Strakhumper!” he bellowed. “And your charming cow! She will be litterink zoon, I trust?”
“Littering? How’s that?” Straphanger stared around in confusion.
“I azzume you keep your cows pregnant?” the Pope boomed. “Or possibly thiz one is over-aged. But no matter; doubtless she was a gread broducer in her day.”
“Well, I never!” Mrs. Straphanger snapped, bridling.
“By the way,” Ai-Poppy-Googy went on, “I hate to disguss finanzes over food, zo I suggesd we deal with the proplem of an abbrobriate kift ad once. I am of gourse quite brebared to vorget the drivial misuntersdandink with the former ampassator ant agcepd any zum in egzess of one million gredits withoud quibblink.”
“One million credits?” Straphanger babbled. “Gift?”
“Of gourse, if you wish to avoid aguirink a reputation as a piker, an egstra million would not be taken amiss.”
“A million credits of Corps funds? But . . . but whatever for?”
“Ah, ah,” the Pope waggled an admonitory tactile member. “No pryink into Hoogan internal matters!”
“Oh, no, indeed, Your Arrogance! I only meant . . . what’s the occasion? For the gift, I mean.”
“It’s Tuesday.”
“Oh.”
The Pope nodded placidly. “Luggy you didn’t throw thiz affaire on Wentsday; thad’s douple gifd day.” He plucked a glass from a tray offered by a bearer, emptied the contents on the lawn, nipped a chip from the edge with his polished metallic teeth, munched thoughtfully.
“Lackink in flavor,” he commented.
“My best crystal,” Mrs. Straphanger gasped. “All the way from Brooklyn, yet, and like a goat he’s eating it!”
“A koat?” The Pope eyed her suspiciously. “I don’t belief I know the term.”
“It’s a . . . a sort of gourmet,” Straphanger improvised. Sweat was glistening on his forehead. “Known for its discriminating tastes.”
“Now, about the matter of a bension,” the Pope continued. “I zee no neet of oztentation. A mere thousant a day would suvvize as a token of Corps esteem.”
“A thousand what a day?” the Ambassador inquired around a frozen diplomatic grin which exposed old-fashioned removable dentures.
“Gredits, of gourse. And then there is the matter of zupzidies to Hoogan industry; zay fifty thousand a month. Don’d give a thoughd to atminisdration; just make the cheggs payable to me perzonally—”
“Hoogan industry? But I was given to understand there are no industries here on Hoog—”
“That’s why we reguire a zupzity,” the Pope said blandly.
Straphanger hitched his smile in place with an effort.
“Your Arrogance, I’m here merely to establish friendly relations, to bring Hoog into the mainstream of Galactic cultural life—”
“What coult be frientlier than money?” the Pope inquired in a loud, final-sounding voice.
“Well,” Straphanger conceded, “we might arrange a loan—”
“An oudright krant is zo much zimpler,” the Pope pointed out.
“Of course, it would mean extra staff, to handle the administrative load.” Straphanger rubbed his hands together, a speculative gleam in his eye. “Say twenty-five for a start—”
The Pope turned as a medium-sized Hoog in tight black-and-silver vestments came up, growled in his ear, waving a rubbery arm toward the house.
“What?” the Pope exploded. He swiveled on Straphanger. “You are harporink tapoo greatures! Givink aid and gomfort to untesirable elements? Sharink your zubstanze with minions of the Opposition?”
“Your Arrogance!” Straphanger’s voice quavered against the rising roar of the outraged cleric. “I don’t understand! What did that fellow say?”
The Pope bawled commands in Hoogan. His escort scattered, began beating the bushes rimming the garden. The Ambassador trotting at his side, the guest of honor strode to the laden refreshment tables, began stuffing in fragile china, muttering to himself.
“Your Arrogance,” Straphanger panted. “If I could just have some explanation! I’m sure it’s all just a ghastly mistake! What are these men searching for? I assure you—”
“Out of the gootnezz of my heard, I welgomed you to Hoog!” the Pope roared. “As a great gompliment to you, I abzorbed your language! I was even ready to agzept cash, the zubreme chesture! And now I find that you openly gonzort with the enemies of the Kods!”
Standing on the sidelines of the verbal fray, Retief glanced around the garden, spotted a fountain in the shape of a two-headed Hoogan dwarf with oversized teeth and belly. He moved over to it, turned and surveyed the gesticulating group at the table. There was a tug at his sandal-lace. He looked down. Two bright eyes at the ends of wire-like stalks stared up appealingly from a clump of grass. He glanced around; all eyes were on the Pope.
“Are you looking for me?” Retief asked softly.
“Right!” a squeaky voice piped. “You’re a hard man to have a quiet chat with, Mr. Ahh.”
“Retief.”
“How do, Retief. My name’s Jackspurt. The boys appointed me spokesmen to tell you Terries about what’s going on. After all, I guess us Spisms got a few rights, too.”
“If you can explain what’s going on in this filbert factory, I’ll be forever in your debt, Jackspurt. Speak your piece.”
“It’s the Hoogans; they don’t give us a minute’s peace. Talk about persecution! Do you know those psalm-singing hippos are blaming us for everything from sour milk to loss of potency? It’s getting where it’s not safe to take a stroll after sundown—”
“Hold on, Jackspurt. Maybe you’d better fill me in one some background. Who are you? Why are the Hoogans after you? And where did you learn to speak Terran with that flawless enunciation of consonants?”
“I used to be a mascot on a Terry trader; I stowed away when she landed here for emergency repairs. It was a good life; but after a while I got homesick for good old Hoog—you know how it is—”
“You’re a native of this charming world?”
“Sure—us Spisms have been around longer than the Hoogs. And we got along for thousands of years with no trouble: the Hoogs took the surface, and we settled in nice and comfy underground. Then they got religion and it’s been Hell ever since . . .”
“Hold on, Jackspurt: I always heard that religion exercised a beneficent influence on those fortunate enough to possess it.”
“That depends on which side you’re on.”
“That’s a point.”
“But I haven’t given you the big picture yet. These Hoogan priests launched a full-scale propaganda campaign: painted up a lot of religious art with pictures of Spisms poking pitchforks at Hoogs, and pretty soon it got so even the average Hoog in the street started jumping and making X’s in the air and mumbling spells everytime one of us came up for a breath of fresh air. The next thing we knew, it was full-scale war! I’m telling you, Retief, us Spisms are in bad shape—and it’s gonna get worse!”
A guard was working his way toward the ogre fountain.
“Jiggers, the gendarmes,” Retief said. “You’d better get out of sight, Jackspurt. They’re beating the bushes for you. Why don’t we continue this later—”
The Spism whisked back under cover. “But this is important, Retief!” Jackspurt’s voice emanated from the brush. “The boys are counting on me—”
“Shhh! Watch me and take your cue . . .” Magnan had turned and was eyeing Retief suspiciously. He stepped to his junior’s side.
“Retief, if you’re mixed up in this mix-up . . .”
“Me, Mr. Magnan? Why, I just arrived this afternoon the same time you did—”
“Magnan!” Straphanger’s voice cut through the hubbub. “The Pope informs me that some sort of demonic creature was seen here on the Embassy grounds this evening! Of course we know nothing about it, but His Arrogance has drawn the unfortunate implication that we’re consorting with denizens of the netherworld!” He lowered his voice as Magnan drew close. “Superstitious poppycock, but we’ve got to play along; you and the others spread out and go through a show of looking for this mythical imp. I’ll pacify His Arrogance.”
“Certainly, Mr. Ambassador. But . . . ah . . . what if we find it?”
“Then you’re an even greater idiot than I suspect!” Straphanger twisted his working smile into position and turned back to the Pope.
“Retief, you start along there,” Magnan indicated the front of the house. “I’ll go poke about in the bushes. And whatever you do, don’t turn up anything—like that ghastly creature we encountered upstairs—” A startled look spread across his face. “Good lord, Retief! Do you suppose—?”
“Not a chance. I picture something more like a medium-sized dragon.”
“Still . . . perhaps I’d better mention it to the Ambassador . . .”
“And confirm the Pope’s opinion? Very courageous of you. Mind if I stick around and watch?”
“On the other hand, he’s a busy man,” Magnan said hurriedly. “After all, why bother him with trivia?” He hurried off to take up a position near the Pope and make a show of stooping and peering among the conifer-like hedges. Retief sauntered back to the table, deserted now except for a lone Hoogan bearer at the far end gathering empties onto a wide tray and tossing damp paper napkins into a capacious waste paper receptacle. Retief picked up an empty sandwich plate said hsst!; the Hoogan looked up as Retief tossed the plate. The Hoogan dropped the big paper bag and caught the tossed crockery.