Read Online Galactic Diplomat by Keith Laumer - Free Book Online

curtain, paused, then started toward him
on skittery legs—
    With a yell, Magnan dived for the door, flung it wide.
    “Guards! Help! Goblins! Spooks!” His voice receded along the
hall, mingling with the clank of accouterments, the slap of wide Hoogan feet.
    The intruder hesitated at the outcry, dithered for a moment,
then emitted a cry like a goosed fairy, fumbling with two of its limbs at
something attached to its back. Beyond the door, Magnan’s voice supplied a
shrill counterpoint to the rumble of Hoogan questions.
    “Then
get someone who speaks Terran!” he yelped. “At this moment my associate is
being savaged by the monster!”
    Retief crossed quickly to the window, pulled the drapes aside
and unlatched a panel, letting in a draft of damp night air.
    “This way out, fellow,” he said. “You’d better be going
before the cops arrive.”
    The fluff-ball darted across the room, came to a shaky stop
before Retief, made quick motions. A folded square of paper fell to the floor
at Retief’s feet. Then the creature sprang for the opening and was gone as
Hoogan feet clumped at the door.
    “Where
Spism?” a heavy voice demanded in thick Terran. A conical Hoogan head in a
flaring helmet swiveled to scan the room. Behind the guard, Magnan craned for a
view.
    “Where is the beast?” he shrilled. “It was at least four feet
high, and its tusks were four inches long at the very least!”
    The Hoogan advanced into the room, pointed to the open window
with his broad-headed seven-foot pike.
    “It was a mouse after all,” Retief said. “It got away.”
    “You let Spism ko?”
    “Shouldn’t I have?” Retief inquired mildly, pocketing the
folded paper.
    “Spism pad imp from nether rechions; might bite Terry, get
blood boisonink.”
    “I think you’re being impertinent,” Magnan said sharply,
“biting Terrans is perfectly safe—”
    The Hoogan turned to him, pike lowered ominously.
    “You will gome with me,” it ordered. “The benaldy for
consortink with minions of Unterworlt is poilink in oil.”
    “Here,”
Magnan said, backing. “Stand back, my man—”
    The Hoogan reached for Magnan with a long, snaky hand; Retief
stepped up behind him, selected a spot, and struck a sharp blow with bunched
fingertips. The guard stumbled, fell past Magnan and hit chin first with a
resounding slam. His pike shattered against the wall.
    “Retief!” Magnan gobbled. “What are you thinking of? You’ve
laid hands on a member of the Papal Guard!”
    “I had the distinct impression this fellow hooked a toe on
the rug and fell down. Didn’t you notice?”
    “Why, you know very well—”
    “Just before he reached you, Mr. Magnan.”
    “Ah . . . why,
yes, now that you mention it, he did trip,” Magnan’s tone was suddenly brisk.
“Nasty fall. I rushed up to support him, but alas, too late. Poor fellow.
Served him right, the brute. Shall we go through his pockets?”
    “Why?”
    “You’re right; there isn’t time. That crash was doubtless
heard throughout the palace—”
    A second Hoogan appeared at the open door, his helmet bearing
the fanged angel indicative of officer rank. He eyed the fallen pikeman.
    “You addacked this one?” he demanded.
    Magnan glanced at the victim as though noticing him for the
first time. “He seems to have fallen down,” he observed brightly.
    “Against rules to gill Hoogan,” the captain said ominously.
    “He . . . ah . . . broke
his spear,” Magnan pointed out helpfully.
    “Very bad crime, defile ceremonial spear,” the captain said
sternly. “Require burification ceremony. Very expensive.”
    Magnan fumbled in a money pouch at one hip. “I’d love to
contribute a little something—”
    “Ten Hoogan gredits, forget whole thing. For eggstra five
dispose of body—”
    The felled Hoogan stirred, mumbled, sat up.
    “Ha!”
the captain said. “Look like no teal. Put for another eggstra
five . . .” He lifted a short, ugly club from his belt.