“Exactly.” Magnan nodded, then looked sharply at Retief.
Retief drained his glass and put it on a passing tray.
“I’m better at acting girlish when I’m well juiced,” he said. “But I can’t face another sorghum-and-soda. I suppose it would be un-Nenni-like to slip the bearer a credit and ask for a Scotch and water.”
“Decidedly.” Magnan glanced toward a sound across the room.
“Ah, here’s the Potentate now!” He hurried off.
Retief watched the bearers coming and going, bringing trays laden with drinks, carrying off empties. There was a lull in the drinking now, as the diplomats gathered around the periwigged Chief of State and his courtiers. Bearers loitered near the service door, eyeing the notables. Retief strolled over to the service door, pushed through it into a narrow white-tiled hall filled with the odors of the kitchen. Silent servants gaped as he passed, watching as he moved along to the kitchen door and stepped inside.
II
A dozen or more low-caste Petreacans, gathered around a long table in the center of the room looked up, startled. A heap of long-bladed bread knives, French knives, carving knives and cleavers lay in the center of the table. Other knives were thrust into belts or held in the hands of the men. A fat man in the yellow sarong of a cook stood frozen in the act of handing a knife to a tall one-eyed sweeper.
Retief took one glance, then let his eyes wander to a far corner of the room. Humming a careless little tune, he sauntered across to the open liquor shelves, selected a garish green bottle and turned unhurriedly back toward the door. The group of servants watched him, transfixed.
As Retief reached the door, it swung inward. Magnan, lips pursed, stood in the doorway.
“I had a premonition,” he said.
“I’ll bet it was a dandy,” Retief said. “You must tell me all about it—in the salon.”
“We’ll have this out right here,” Magnan snapped. “I’ve warned you!” Magnan’s voice trailed off as he took in the scene around the table.
“After you,” Retief said, nudging Magnan toward the door.
“What’s going on here?” Magnan barked. He stared at the men, started around Retief. A hand stopped him.
“Let’s be going,” Retief said, propelling Magnan toward the hall.
“Those knives!” Magnan yelped. “Take your hands off me, Retief! What are you men—?”
Retief glanced back. The fat cook gestured suddenly, and the men faded back. The cook stood, arm cocked, a knife across his palm.
“Close the door and make no sound,” he said softly.
Magnan pressed back against Retief. “Let’s…r-run….” he faltered.
Retief turned slowly, put his hands up.
“I don’t run very well with a knife in my back,” he said. “Stand very still, Magnan, and do just what he tells you.”
“Take them out through the back,” the cook said.
“What does he mean?” Magnan spluttered. “Here, you—”
“Silence,” the cook said, almost casually. Magnan gaped at him, closed his mouth.
Two of the men with knives came to Retief’s side and gestured, grinning broadly.
“Let’s go, peacocks,” one said.
Retief and Magnan silently crossed the kitchen, went out the back door, stopped on command and stood waiting. The sky was brilliant with stars. A gentle breeze stirred the tree-tops beyond the garden. Behind them the servants talked in low voices.
“You go too, Illy,” the cook was saying.
“Do it here,” another said.
“And carry their damn dead bodies down?”
“Pitch ’em behind the hedge.”
“I said the river. Three of you is plenty for a couple of Nenni. We don’t know if we want to—”
“They’re foreigners, not Nenni. We don’t know—”
“So they’re foreign Nenni. Makes no difference. I’ve seen them. I need every man here; now get going.”
“What about the big guy? He looks tough.”
“Him? He waltzed into the room and didn’t notice a thing. But watch the other one.”
At a prod from a knife point, Retief moved off down the walk, two of the escort behind him and Magnan, another going ahead to scout the way.
Magnan moved closer to Retief.
“Say,” he said in a whisper. “That fellow in the lead; isn’t he the one who spilled the drink? The one you took the blame for?”
“That’s him, all right. He doesn’t seem nervous any more, I notice.”
“You saved him from serious punishment,” Magnan said. “He’ll be grateful; he’ll let us go.”
“Better check with the fellows with the knives before you act on that.”
“Say something to him,” Magnan hissed, “Remind him.”
* * * *
The lead man fell back in line with Retief and Magnan.
“These two are scared of you,” he said, grinning and jerking a thumb toward the knife-handlers. “They haven’t worked around the Nenni like me; they don’t know you.”
“Don’t you recognize this gentleman?” Magnan said.
“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 all you foreigners.”
“What do you mean?” Magnan gasped.
“We’ll slit all the throats at one time. Saves a lot of running around.”
“What time 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
