“Don’t you recognize this gentleman?” Magnan said. “He’s—”
“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 you foreigners.”
“What do you mean?” gasped Magnan.
“We’ll slit all the throats at one time; saves a lot of running around.”
“When 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 executed.”
“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,” 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 down-trodden workers will be alleviated. Equal rights for all.”
“Threats won’t help you,” the man said. “You don’t scare me.”
“Threats? I’m promising relief to the exploited classes of Petreac.”
“You must be nuts. 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 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 pay-off. 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 to do?”
“Oh, that’s Zorn. Look out, here’s where we start down the slope. It’s slippery.”
“Look,” Magnan said. “You. This—”
“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.”
“I always try to pay back a good turn,” Illy said. “Watch your step now on this sea-wall.”
“You’ll never regret it.”
“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, and drove a straight punch at Illy’s mouth.
The long blade flicked harmlessly over Retief’s shoulder as Illy fell. Retief took the unarmed servant by the throat and belt, lifted him, and slammed him against the third man. Both screamed as they tumbled from the sea-wall into the water with a mighty splash. Retief turned back to Illy, pulled off the man’s belt, and strapped his hands together.
Magnan found his voice. “You . . . we . . . they . . .”
“I know.”
“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.”
“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?”
“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.”
“We 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 see Zorn. I can’t swim either.”
* * ** * *
“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 people 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. But you better untie me. Somebody’s liable to notice it and start askin’ questions and get me killed.”
“I’ll take the chance. How do we get to the casino?”
“We follow this street. 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.”
The servant looked at Retief.
“Vug and Toscin will be glad to see me. 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 now and we don’t need anyone to announce our arrival.”
Magnan looked at the man. “Maybe you’d better—ah, cut his throat.”
Illy rolled his eyes.
“That’s a very un-Nenni-like suggestion, Mr. Magnan,” Retief said. “But if we have any trouble finding the casino following his directions, 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 checking out 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 . . . sounds of merrymaking.”
“Maybe we’d better go back.”
“Merrymaking doesn’t scare me. Come to think of it, I don’t know what the word means.” Retief 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 loud-speaker 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 and 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. We’ll get to Zorn in due course.”
“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.