Reward for Retief (38 page)

            "Help!" he yelled,
his voice having an echoic quality inside the heavy casque.

            What he saw through the
visor was far from encouraging: swirling fog, wisps of vapor, layer on layer,
growing more opaque with each bound of his mighty steed.

            "I'll be killed!"
he yelped.

           
that is hardly a wise position to adopt while immersed in a
malleable extra-spatial, non-temporal, infravuggish anomaly
,
the Voice commented casually.

            " 'Adopt' my aunt
Prissy!" Magnan yelled furiously. "I happen to be caught in an
avalanche of misfortune, swept along like a drop in a tidal wave, and you
natter of 'adopting a position' as if I had deliberately chosen this grotesque
form of self-destruction! Why don't you do something helpful, instead of giving
redundant advice!"

           
very well
,
came the silent reply
. I
shall do what I can to rationalize your
seemingly irrational situation.

           
At that moment,
the fog seemed to thin ahead, then Magnan burst through a final wispy veil of
mist into a sunlit glade, a smooth-clipped lawn surrounded by the giant oak
trees of an apparently impenetrable forest. A faded 'Reward for Retief poster
was tacked to one of the biggest oaks. Then, from the black shadows before him,
a black shape stirred. A gigantic black horse emerged from the darkness, on his
back an equally gigantic man in glittering black armor, bearing on his sable
shield a griffon or in sinister chief, a bend gules, and in dexter base a human
skull proper.

            "The Black Knight of
Farbelow!" Magnan realized at once, not knowing how he knew. Even as he
thought frantically, "I've got to get out of here immediately," he
settled himself in the saddle, set his feet firmly in the stirrups, gripped his
lance, adjusting its angle to just below the horizontal, and put spurs to his
mount. The black knight seemed to pivot lazily to face him squarely, then
appeared to grow larger with astonishing rapidity as he charged to meet Magnan's
attack. How big, sharp and close his lance-point seemed! Before Magnan had time
for further thought, the shock came, the lance vibrated under his arm and
shattered, but Lord Farbelow, looming gigantic, was tottering in his saddle,
the stump of his lance tossed aside. Magnan was only dimly aware of a great
pain in his ribs as he fought to retain his seat; then the black charger was
past. There was a great
crash!,
and Magnan wheeled his sturdy
Lippenzaner and looked back to see Farbelow lying on his back, while the black
horse cantered away. The fallen knight raised himself to his elbows, lifted his
visor to reveal the face of Counselor of Embassy Sidney Overbore, his eyes
unfocused, and a trickle of blood dribbling from his nose.

            "Gosh, Sir,"
Magnan babbled. "I didn't mean—"

            "I crie thee mercie,
Sir Knight," the fallen warrior blurted dazedly. "Spare me, and I
shall make my devoir as thy vassal before all men on Lordsday next!"

            "Gee," Magnan
persisted, heedlessly. "I only; I mean, I wasn't ..."

            The man on the ground tossed
his dented shield from him. "Bother this bootless quest for chivalric
honors," he grunted, then caught Magnan's eyes. "And what boots it
for
thy
honor, sirrah, to slay a helpless man?"

            Magnan abruptly realized
that he had drawn his unconscionably heavy sword from its jeweled sheath. At
the third try, he returned the great slab of edged steel to its place.
"Gee, sir, I hope you didn't think—" he started, then changed his
mind.

            "Arise, Sir
Knight," he commanded, "and let me not again have report of your
terrorizing your subordinates!"

            "Sure, sir,"
Farbelow/Overbore hastened to agree, as he clambered heavily to his feet, his
gleaming black grenouilliers stained with brown earth and green grass, at which
he brushed noisily with a steel-encased hand.

            "Throw down your
baldric," Magnan ordered. "Place your helm beside it. Retrieve your
horse and begone!"

            The black knight hastened to
comply, at the same time edging toward the nearest clump of bushes. Magnan
heaved a great sigh and relaxed slightly.

            "Tis well yon varlet
brast his spear," he muttered to his attendant angel. "Else I'd have
gone down over my horsetail instead of he. Whew! That was dreadful! And
now
what
do I do?"

            As if in reply, a feminine
voice called 'Help!' from the shadowy woods. Magnan scrambled down from the
big, smelly white horse and hurried over to assist Gaby through the last
barrier of brush and out onto the smooth-mowed lawn, where shafts of sunlight
striking through the forest canopy made patches of vivid green against black
shadow.

            "Oh, Benny," the
girl breathed. "How brave! How noble! I saw it all. Twas soothing to my
wounded pride to see the great bully brought low by my paladin!" His reply
was muffled by her enthusiastic kiss. He struggled free, protesting.

            "Really, my child, this
is most unseemly! What in the world happened to you? What did that great ugly
brute do ...?"

            "Fear not, my brave
one," she quickly reassured him. "My virtue is just as good as it was
before. The bum didn't even take off his armor!"

            "Come," Magnan
urged, taking one hand, "let's find a way out of this gloomy woods."

            "No sweat, Ben,"
she replied. "We're only a few rods from Transfer Point Sixteen."

            "B-but ..." Magnan
stammered. "Where have you been? What happened to you? You went to the
back of the cave, and—and after that, in Boss's office ..."

            "And you came to my
rescue, Benny," she supplied.

            "That was cute. I was
just admiring the scenery, until old Blackie came along. He had big idears, the
jerk."

            Magnan looked about
nervously, saw only the big black Percheron grazing at the edge of the wood.
"Where is he?" he inquired vaguely. "If he should come
back—"

            "I know, Benny. You'd
have it to do all over again; but he ain't coming back, honey," Gaby
reassured him, while running a finger along his profile. "I seen you brast
a spear on his lunch. He'll be back in there, heaving, till dark." She
cast a glance at the sun, just above the treetops. "And that won't be
long; maybe a hour. We better get clear o' the woods 'fore dark. C'mon."
She took his gauntleted hand and tugged it. He went along dazedly.

            "I suppose," he
said, as if judiciously (27-b), "that we may as well. Waiting won't
help."

            "Don't go wasting that
27 on me, Ben," Gaby chided gently. "Just be candid,
spontaneous-like. Be yourself. If waiting around here for Blackie makes you
nervous, hell, it would anybody."

            "Me? Nervous?"
Magnan inquired with a ghastly parody of a chuckle. He strode ahead, tugging
the girl along.

            "Hey!" she
protested. "The transfer point's yonder!" She pointed off the way Sir
Farbelow had staggered. Magnan allowed her to turn him. They pushed into the
thick underbrush.

            "Damn this armor!"
Magnan blurted. "It's heavy hot. Wait a minute." He halted and began
to fumble with the fastenings of his cuirass.

            "Not that way,
silly," Gaby said, brushing his hands aside. "You got to do the
gorget first." She demonstrated. "A body'd think you never had on a
suite of proof before ..." she mused.

            "Well," Magnan
started, "actually, that is, how silly, my dear. Now just get these
confounded greaves .loose if you will, and we'll be off."

            "Why, Benny!" Gaby
cried. "Embroidered long-johns! That's real sporty!"

            Magnan at once turned away
in response to an obscure impulse toward modesty, then, remembering the
ludicrous trap-door seat, kept turning, executing a clumsy pirouette.

            "Aw, Benny," Gaby
exclaimed. "Yer full o' surprises! I never knowed you could dance and
all!" As she spoke the sound of a five-man combo sprang up from an
invisible source, playing
I Wont Dance.

           
" 'Can't
make me'," he murmured in consonance with the music. " 'Never gonna
dance, only gonna love ...' "

            Gaby seized his arm and
snuggled up to it. "Ben," she sighed, "yer so romantic and all
..."

            "Nonsense, my
girl," Magnan replied severely, disengaging his arm. "Now, we've no
time for dalliance; we must get back and tell the others!"

            "What others?"
Gaby asked, releasing her grip reluctantly. "Tell 'em what?"

            "Why, as to that,"
Magnan temporized. "The Ambassador, for one. Heavens! He has no idea of
the dangers lurking here in the boondocks! But, come to think of it,
he's
likely
involved!"

            "This here ain't the
boondocks, Benny," Gaby objected. "Them's yonder." She pointed
vaguely. "What's that got to do with anything, anyways?"

            "Though the Counselor's
errand in the bush was, undeniably, venal and treacherous in the extreme,"
Magnan orated, "nonetheless, it is one's duty to warn him of hidden
danger."

            "What dangers was them,
Benny?" Gaby cooed. "Old Blackie was the only danger in these parts,
and you trimmed him down to size. If he didn't dirty his underwear, he's got a
bad case o' constipation!"

            Magnan recoiled.
"Gabrielle, how gross!" he objected. "Surely you're aware that
there are matters to which a lady doesn't allude!"

            "I don't know how to
allude," she pointed out. "Anyways, I ain't no lady. I'm what you
call a
grisette,
that's 'little gray' in Standard, means a chippy, you
know, I ain't never claimed different, Ben; I thought you knew it and liked me
anyways!"

            "I
do,
I
do," Magnan hastened to reassure her, as her tears started. "Do don't
cry," he urged, confusedly.

            "Cry if I wanta,"
she sobbed. "Aw, heck! It ain't nothing like Eddie said!"

            "Eh?" Magnan came
back sharply. "Would that be Dirty Eddie, otherwise known as Looie
Segundo?"

            "Sure! 'Dirty' is
right!" she snarled, turning on Magnan. "I shoulda known—you and yer
white horse—just more o' his tricks!"

            "I assure you,
Gaby," Magnan stated firmly, "that I am not a part of anyone's
tricks. I am Benjamin O. Magnan, late of Caney, Kansas, and a Foreign Service
Officer of Class One in the Terran Foreign Service, a Consul General of Career
in the Terran Consular Service, and a Career Minister in the Terran Diplomatic
Service, now assigned as Deputy Counselor and Budget and Fiscal Office to the
Terran Mission to Goldblatt's Other world, or Sardon as it's officially
listed."

            "See? Three people at
once," Gaby retorted. "Come off it, Benny—or whatever your name
really is—show yourself—if there
is
any self—or are you just something
Eddie thought up to tease me? Even if you're nothing at all, you musta had a
good laugh at the way I come on to you—" She paused to resume sobbing.

            "Good lord,"
Magnan remarked. "What in the world can I do to convince you that I'm a
real, live human, from Terra itself?"

            "See?" Gaby
challenged hody. "You can't just be humern, you got to come on like a
pure-breed from Terra—if there really is any such place and it ain't just a
myth!"

            "I assure you, my
child," Magnan tried again, "I give you my solemn assurance that I am
not only a true Terran, but an official representative of Terra in her contacts
with other worlds!"