Read Online Reward for Retief by Keith Laumer - Free Book Online Page B

this
general?" Retief asked. "I don't remember hearing of him."
     
                "He died young,"
Magnan admitted.
     
                "It appears the
question is academic," Retief notified the skittish Budget and Fiscal
Officer, as they turned to see a swarm of armed locals boiling up from the
ceremonial main staircase, improvised weapons gripped in an improbable number
of hard, purplish-gray fists, which they shook aloft in a manner universally
recognizable as other then cordial. Above them, hand-made placards bobbed,
crudely lettered in Standard: get terry and sardon for the sardonic . As well
as one hastily chalked card demanding: hand
over retief!
     
                "Great
Heavens, Retief!" Magnan blurted. "The cheeky fellows intend to
violate the Chancery itself! I'd best notify his Ex at once—" He broke off
and ducked as a rusty iron spear wrenched from the fence outside came hurtling
toward him, to crash noisily on the terrazo behind him. Retief caught the next
one, reversed it, and swung it in a whistling arc which sent out one bold
agitator reeling back among his associates, who paused in their heading advance
to gather round him curiously.
     
                "Not friendly clobber
local citizen," one called in his squeaky voice. "Violate ancient
Sardonic code of hospitality!"
     
                "Be off with you,
sir," Magnan returned briskly, "before I report you to the
authorities!" He ducked a well-aimed spitoon.
     
                "Rots o' ruck,
Terry!" came the reply. "We are the authorities! Anyways,
Chief Smudge is, which this Retief gave him a sore foof-organ where he can't be
up here to arrest youse his ownself! Now hold still so I can get my placement
right this time!" The spokesman pegged a medium-sized rock which Retief
returned sharply, wielding his iron spear like a Louisville Slugger. The noisy
mob split to allow the missile to pass through, to impact at last against the
rump of a fleeing comrade, who yelled and accelerated his pace. At the top of the
staircase, Retief grabbed Magnan and draped him over the ornate bannister which
ran up the center of the broad steps, down which he slid, straight through the
throng. Then Retief shouldered his spear and took a position astride the
handrail, to slide quickly down to the lobby, where Magnan lay in a heap after
his abrupt descent, surrounded by the throng, through which Retief had cut a
swath in his arrival. Chief Smudge sulked near the ruined gate. Bill stood by,
keeping an eye on him.
     
                "Retief!" Magnan
called feebly over the din from above. "I think I'm still alive!"
     
                "See if you can
move," Retief suggested, and gave him a hand up.
     
                "I seem to be quite
intact," Magnan reported. "By a miracle. It was quite unwarranted of
you, Retief, to manhandle me in that undignified fashion!"
     
                "Would you have
preferred to be pillar-handled?" Retief inquired, indicating the yelling
throng on the staircase, the bolder of which were beginning to descend
cautiously toward the isolated Terrans.
     
                "Nice going, sir,"
Bill congratulated Retief on his ploy. "Left them pillars
flatfooted."
     
                "All right, you
bums," Chief Smudge called to his troops. "This here one is that
Retief I told you about, and you seen what he done to my foof-nodes, so put the
arm on the miscreant without no more horsing around!" He backed away
hastily as Bill made a sudden move in his direction, but continued his
exhortations from beyond the iron grill, now propped up and hanging by one
hinge.
     
                "Don't let him get
away! No, not that one, the big one!" He broke off and humped away
as Bill reached through the bent latticework and grabbed at one of the alien's
short arms. Then the mob reached the Marine and pinned him, by sheer weight of
numbers, against the abused gate,