Miss Braswell jumped up from a long, low Yalcan couch, her mouth open for a scream, cut off as she recognized Retief in the gloom.
“Why—Mr. Retief—”
“Shhh.” He crossed to her. A length of rope was tied firmly to her ankle and looped around a massive clay sculpture. She was barefooted, and her brown hair was in a state of mild disarray; there was a streak of dirt along one cheek.
“What in the world is it all about?” she whispered. “I was just about to buy the darlingest hand-decorated chamber pot, when all of a sudden a whole bunch of these nasty little creatures popped out of nowhere waving their eyes at me—”
“How many are in the building now?” Retief attacked the heavy knots in the rope.
“Heavens, I have no idea. It’s been pretty quiet for the last hour.” She giggled. “That tickles. I tried to untie it, but I only broke a fingernail.”
The knot yielded and Retief tossed the rope aside.
“Do you feel equal to a short climb?”
Miss Braswell came close to Retief. “Whatever you say, Mr. Retief,” she murmured.
“Where are your shoes?”
“I kept kicking them when they were tying me up, so they took them. Ugh! Those creepy, damp hands!”
“If we should get separated, head for the Legation. Mr. Magnan is holding the fort.”
“You mean—these awful little Groaci are there, too?”
“Haven’t you heard? They’re colonizing the place.”
“Why, the nerve!”
There was a sudden hiss of nearby voices. Retief flattened himself against the wall just inside the door. Miss Braswell whirled and sat on the chaise lounge. There was the soft clap of Groaci feet. A small figure stepped into the room.
“Ah, young woman,” a soft Groaci voice hissed. “Time to be going along.”
“Where?” the girl demanded loudly.
“To more comfortable quarters in more attractive surroundings—”
“If it wasn’t so ridiculous, I’d think you were on the make, you sticky little monster. Keep away from me!”
“You mammals are all alike,” the Groaci whispered. “But it’s pointless to flaunt those ugly udders at me, my girl . . .” Two more Groaci had followed the first, who signaled. “To make fast its arms,” he snapped. “Mind its talons—”
Miss Braswell jumped up and swung an open-handed slap that sent the flimsy alien reeling back; Retief stepped quickly behind the other two, cracked their heads together sharply, thrust them aside and chopped a hand across the leader’s neck.
“Time to go,” he breathed. At the window, he glanced out, then swung a leg over the sill. “It’s easy; just hang on with your toes.”
Miss Braswell giggled again. “It’s so sort of sexy, being barefooted, isn’t it?”
“That depends on what’s attached to the feet,” Retief said. “Hurry up, now. We’re in enemy territory.”
“Mr. Retief,” she said from above, “do you think I flaunt my ah . . .”
“Certainly not, Miss Braswell. They flaunt themselves.”
There was a sudden drumming from the shadows of the arcade across the way.
“It just occurred to my friend Tish to use a little initiative,” Retief called softly. He dropped to the street a few feet below. “Jump—I’ll catch you.”
The thumping continued. Miss Braswell squealed and let go, slammed against Retief’s chest. He set her on her feet. “The Groaci have good ears. Come on—” They dashed for the nearest dark alley as a squad of armed Groaci Peace-keepers rounded a corner. There was a weak shout, a clatter of accouterments as the four aliens broke into a run. Gripping Miss Braswell’s hand, Retief dashed along the narrow way. Ahead, a wall loomed, blocking the passage. They skidded to a halt, turned to face the oncoming pursuers.
“Get to the roof,” Retief snapped. “I’ll slow them down—!”
Between Retief and the Groaci, a six-foot-long grating set in the pavement suddenly dropped open with a clank of metal. The leading Groaci, coming on at a smart clip, plunged over the edge, followed an instant later by the second. Retief brought his light up, shone it in the eyes of the other two as the third Groaci reached the pitfall, dropped from sight. As the last of the four faltered, sensing something amiss, the long, sinuous form of a Yalcan native glided from a door set in the wall, gave the Groaci a hearty push, dusted both sets of hands, and inclined its head in a gracious nod.
“Ah, Retief-Tic—and Braswell Ticcim! What jolly surprise! Please do honor to enter humble abode for refreshing snort before continuing!”
“Nice timing, Oo-Plif,” Retief said. “I thought you’d be off to the festival by now.”
The Yalcan reached inside the door, fumbled. The grating swung back in place. “I was busy with brisk trade when Five-eyes arrive,” he explained. “Decide stick around keep eye on store. Plenty time make scene at bog yet.”
Miss Braswell shuddered as she crossed the grate. “What’s down there?”
“Only good honest sewage, nice change for Five-eyes. After brisk swim, fetch up in bog, join in merry-making.”
“I thought you Yalcans were pacifists,” Retief commented, stepping inside a roughly-finished passage running parallel with the outer wall of the building.
“All Yalcan love peace. More peaceful now noisy Five-eyes enjoying swim. Besides, only open drain cover; visitors dive in of own free will.”
“I had the impression you helped that last fellow along.”
“Always try to be helpful when possible. Now for snort.”
They followed Oo-Plif along interior passages to emerge behind the bar of the darkened dram-shop, took seats at a low bench and accepted elaborate glasses of aromatic liquor.
“Oo-Plif, I’d appreciate it if you’d see Miss Braswell back to the Legation,” Retief said. “I have to leave town on an urgent errand.”
“Better stay close, Retief-Tic, come along to bog in time for high point of Voom Festival; only couple hours now.”
“I have an errand to run first, Oo-Plif; I’ve been delegated to find Minister Barnshingle and notify him that the Legation’s under siege and that he shouldn’t sign anything without reading the fine print.”
“Barnshingle Tic-Tic? Skinny Terran with receding lower mandible and abdomen like queen ripe with eggs?”
“Graphically put, Oo-Plif. He’s supposed to be hanging around a mountain somewhere, if the Groaci haven’t yet swooped down to the rescue.”
Oo-Plif was wobbling his head, now enameled in orange and green holiday colors, in the Yalcan gesture of affirmation.
“Barnshingle Tic-Tic here in city at present moment; arrive half-hour ago amid heavy escort of Five-eyes.”
“Hmmm. That simplifies matters, perhaps. I was expecting to have to steal a Groaci heli and hunt him down in the wilds. Did he seem to be a prisoner, Oo-Plif?”
“Hard to say, not get too good look. Busy helping Five-eyes find way to bog.”
“Via the sewer, I take it?”
“Sure; plenty gratings round town. Must be fifty Five-eyes in swim now; plenty company.”
“Are you sure they can swim?”
“Details, details,” Oo-Plif said soothingly. “You want go now, pay visit to Barnshingle Tic-Tic?”
“As soon as Miss Braswell’s taken care of.”
“I’m going with you,” the girl said quickly. “I wouldn’t dream of missing the excitement.”
“This system of hidden passages is certainly handy,” Retief said. “How much farther?”
“Close now. Not really hidden passages; just space in double walls. Yalcan like build plenty strong.”
They emerged into another of the innumerable alleys that characterized the town, crossed it, entered another door. Oo-Plif cautioned silence. “Place swarm with Five-eyes. We sneak up and get lie of land, find way of rescue Barnshingle Tic-Tic from rescuers.”
Five minutes later, crowded into a narrow, dusty passage in the heart of the sprawling building, Retief heard the booming tones of Barnshingle’s voice nearby, and the breathy reply of a Groaci.
“Opening in back of closet just ahead,” Oo-Plif whispered. “Get earful of proceedings there.”
Retief edged forward. Through the half-open closet door he caught a glimpse of Minister Barnshingle seated awkwardly in a low Yalcan easy chair, dressed in dusty hiking clothes. Half a dozen Groaci in vari-colored mufti surrounded him.
“—an exceedingly hairy experience, to be sure,” Barnshingle was saying. “Most gratifying to see your heli appear, Drone-master Fiss. But I don’t quite grasp the import of the present situation. Not that I’m suggesting that I’m being held against my will, you understand, but I really must hurry back to my office—”
“No need for haste, Mr. Minister,” Fiss reassured him. “Everything has been conducted with scrupulous regard for legality, I assure you.”
“But there seemed to be hundreds of your . . . ah . . . esteemed compatriots about in the streets,” Barnshingle pressed on. “And I had the distinct impression that there were a number of highly irregular activities in progress—”
“You refer perhaps to the efforts of some of our people to remove certain obstacles—”
“Breaking down doors, to be precise,” Barnshingle said a trifle snappishly. “As well as hauling away wagon-loads of merchandise from shops, the owners of which appeared to be absent.”