Magnan stepped to a tall glass door, eased it open, and poked his head through the heavy draperies. As he moved to draw back, a voice was faintly audible. Magnan paused, his head still through the drapes.
“What’s going on there?” Zorn rasped. He and Retief stepped up behind Magnan.
” . . . breath of air,” Magnan was saying.
“Well, come along, Magnan!” Ambassador Crodfoller’s voice snapped.
Magnan shifted from one foot to the other, then pushed through the drapes.
“Where’ve you been, Mr. Magnan?” The ambassador’s voice was sharp.
“Oh . . . ah . . . a slight accident, Mr. Ambassador.”
“What’s happened to your shoes? Where are your insignia and decorations?”
“I—ah—spilled a drink on them. Maybe I’d better nip up to my room and slip into some fresh medals.”
The ambassador snorted. “A professional diplomat never shows his liquor, Magnan. It’s one of his primary professional skills. I’ll speak to you about this later. I had expected your attendance at the signing ceremony, but under the circumstances I’ll dispense with that. You’d better depart quietly through the kitchen.”
“The kitchen? But it’s crowded . . . I mean . . .”
“A little loss of caste won’t hurt at this point, Mr. Magnan. Now kindly move along before you attract attention. The agreement isn’t signed yet.”
“The agreement . . .” Magnan babbled, sparring for time, “very clever, Mr. Ambassador. A very neat solution.”
The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly, blaring a fanfare.
Zorn shifted restlessly, his ear against the glass. “What’s your friend pulling?” he rasped. “I don’t like this.”
“Keep cool, Zorn. Mr. Magnan is doing a little emergency salvage on his career.”
The music died away with a clatter.
” . . . my God.” Ambassador Crodfoller’s voice was faint. “Magnan, you’ll be knighted for this. Thank God you reached me. Thank God it’s not too late. I’ll find some excuse. I’ll get off a gram at once.”
“But you—”
“It’s all right, Magnan. You were in time. Another ten minutes and the agreement would have been signed and transmitted. The wheels would have been put in motion. My career would have been ruined . . .”
Retief felt a prod at his back. He turned.
“Double-crossed,” Zorn said softly. “So much for the word of a diplomat.”
Retief looked at the short-barreled needler in Zorn’s hand.
“I see you hedge your bets, Zorn.”
“We’ll wait here until the excitement’s over inside. I wouldn’t want to attract any attention right now.”
“Your politics are still lousy, Zorn. The picture hasn’t changed. Your coup hasn’t got a chance.”
“Skip it. I’ll take up one problem at a time.”
“Magnan’s mouth has a habit of falling open at the wrong time.”
“That’s my good luck I heard it. So there’ll be no agreement, no guns, no fat job for Tammany Zorn, hey? Well, I can still play it the other way. What have I got to lose?”
With a movement too quick to follow, Retief’s hand chopped down across Zorn’s wrist. The needler clattered to the ground as Retief’s hand clamped on Zorn’s arm, whirling him around.
“In answer to your last question,” Retief said, “your neck.”
“You haven’t got a chance, double-crosser,” Zorn gasped.
“Shoke will be here in a minute. Tell him it’s all off.”
“Twist harder, mister. Break it off at the shoulder. I’m telling him nothing.”
“The kidding’s over, Zorn. Call it off or I’ll kill you.”
“I believe you. But you won’t have long to remember it.”
“All the killing will be for nothing. You’ll be dead and the Rotunes will step into the power vacuum.”
“So what? When I die, the world ends.”
“Suppose I make you another offer, Zorn?”
“Why would it be any better than the last one?”
Retief released Zorn’s arm, pushed him away, stooped and picked up the needler.
“I could kill you, Zorn; you know that.”
“Go ahead.”
Retief reversed the needler and held it out.
“I’m a gambler too, Zorn. I’m gambling you’ll listen to what I have to say.”
Zorn snatched the gun and stepped back. He looked at Retief. “That wasn’t the smartest bet you ever made, but go ahead. You’ve got maybe ten seconds.”
“Nobody double-crossed you, Zorn. Magnan put his foot in it; too bad. Is that a reason to kill yourself and a lot of other people who’ve bet their lives on you?”
“They gambled and lost. Tough.”
“Maybe they haven’t lost yet—if you don’t quit.”
“Get to the point.”
Retief spoke earnestly for a minute and a half. Zorn stood, gun aimed, listening. Then both men turned as footsteps approached along the terrace. A fat man in a yellow sarong padded up to Zorn.
Zorn tucked the needler in his waistband.
“Hold everything, Shoke,” he said. “Tell the boys to put the knives away; spread the word fast; it’s all off.”
* * *
“I want to commend you, Retief,” Ambassador Crodfoller said expansively. “You mixed very well at last night’s affair; actually, I was hardly aware of your presence.”
“I’ve been studying Mr. Magnan’s work,” Retief said.
“A good man, Magnan. In a crowd, he’s virtually invisible.”
“He knows when to disappear, all right.”
“This has been in many ways a model operation, Retief.” The ambassador patted his paunch contentedly. “By observing local social customs and blending harmoniously with the court, I’ve succeeded in establishing a fine, friendly, working relationship with the Potentate.”
“I understand the agreement has been postponed a few days.”
The ambassador chuckled. “The Potentate’s a crafty one. Through . . . ah . . . a special study I have been conducting, I learned last night that he had hoped to, shall I say, `put one over’ on the Corps.”
“Great Heavens,” Retief said.
“Naturally, this placed me in a difficult position. It was my task to quash this gambit, without giving any indication that I was aware of its existence.”
“A hairy position indeed.”
“Quite casually, I informed the Potentate that certain items which had been included in the terms of the agreement had been deleted and others substituted. I admired him at that moment, Retief. He took it coolly—appearing completely indifferent—perfectly dissembling his very serious disappointment. Of course, he could hardly do otherwise without in effect admitting his plot.”
“I noticed him dancing with three girls each wearing a bunch of grapes; he’s very agile for a man of his bulk.”
“You mustn’t discount the Potentate. Remember, beneath that mask of frivolity, he had absorbed a bitter blow.”
“He had me fooled,” Retief said.
“Don’t feel badly; I confess at first I, too, failed to sense his shrewdness.” The ambassador nodded and moved off along the corridor.
Retief turned and went into an office. Magnan looked up from his desk.
“Ah, Retief,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. About the . . . ah . . . blasters; are you—”
Retief leaned on Magnan’s desk and looked at him. “I thought that was to be our little secret.”
“Well, naturally, I—” Magnan closed his mouth and swallowed. “How is it, Retief,” he said sharply, “that you were aware of this blaster business, when the ambassador himself wasn’t?”
“Easy,” Retief said. “I made it up.”
“You what!” Magnan looked wild. “But the agreement—it’s been revised. Ambassador Crodfoller has gone on record.”
“Too bad. Glad I didn’t tell him about it.”
Magnan leaned back and closed his eyes.
“It was big of you to take all the . . . blame,” Retief said, “when the ambassador was talking about knighting people.”
Magnan opened his eyes. “What about that gambler, Zorn? Won’t he be upset when he learns the agreement is off? After all, I . . . that is, we, or you, had more or less promised him—”
“It’s all right. I made another arrangement. The business about making blasters out of common components wasn’t completely imaginary. You can actually do it, using parts from an old-fashioned disposal unit.”
“What good will that do him?” Magnan whispered, looking nervous. “We’re not shipping in any old-fashioned disposal units.”
“We don’t need to. They’re already installed in the palace kitchen—and in a few thousand other places, Zorn tells me.”
“If this ever leaks . . .” Magnan put a hand to his forehead.
“I have his word on it that the Nenni slaughter is out. This place is ripe for a change; maybe Zorn is what it needs.”
“But how can we know?” Magnan said. “How can we be sure?”
“We can’t. But it’s not up to the Corps to meddle in Petreac’s internal affairs.” He leaned over, picked up Magnan’s desk lighter, and lit a cigar. He blew a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.
“Right?” he said.
Magnan looked at him and nodded weakly. “Right.”
“I’d better be getting along to my desk,” Retief said. “Now that the ambassador feels that I’m settling down at last.”
“Retief,” Magnan said, “tonight, I implore you: stay out of the kitchen—no matter what.”