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elections.”
    Archambaud, also planted in the crowd, shrilled, “I suppose if they do, the big-paunched Amphibs and Giants will get twice as much as us Humans. They always do, it seems/’ There was a mutter from the crowd; approbation from the Amphibs, protest from the others.
    “That will make no difference,” said Rastignac, smiling. “The fascinating thing about this is that an Amphib can drink no more than a Human. That may be why the old man who revealed his secret to me called the drink Old Equalizer.”
    “Ah, you’re skinless,” scoffed Mapfarity, throwing the most deadly insult known. “I can out-drink, out-eat, and out-swim any Human here. Here, Amphib, give me a bottle, and we’ll see if I’m bragging.”
    An Amphib captain pushed himself through the throng, waddling clumsily on his flippers like an upright seal.
    “No, you don’t!” he barked. “Those bottles are intended for the Kings. No commoner touches them, least of all a Human and a Giant.”
    Rastignac mentally hugged himself. He couldn’t have planned a better intervention himself! “Why can’t I?” he replied. “Until I make an official presentation, these bottles are mine, not the Kings'. I’ll do what I want with them.” “Yeah,” said the Amphibs. “That’s telling him!”
    The Amphib’s big brown eyes narrowed, and his animal-like face wrinkled, but he couldn’t think of a retort. Rastignac at once handed a bottle apiece to each of his comrades. They uncorked and drank and then assumed an ecstatic expression which was a tribute to their acting, for these three bottles held only fruit juice.
    “Look here, captain,” said Rastignac, “why don’t you try a swig yourself? Go ahead. There’s plenty. And I’m sure Their Majesties would be pleased to contribute some of it on this joyous occasion. Besides, I can always make more for the Kings.
    “As a matter of fact,” he added, winking, “I expect to get a pension from the courts as the Kings’ Old Equalizer-maker.”
    The crowd laughed. The Amphib, afraid of losing face, took the bottle—which contained wine rather than fruit juice. After a few long swallows, the Amphib’s eyes became red and a silly grin curved his thin, black-edged lips. Finally, in a thickening voice, he asked for another bottle.
    Rastignac, in a sudden burst of generosity, not only gave him one, but began passing out bottles to the many eager reaching hands. Mapfarity and the two egg-thieves helped him. In a short time, the pile of bottles had dwindled to a fourth of its former height. When a mixed group of guards strode up and demanded to know what the commotion was about, Rastignac gave them some of the bottles.
    Meanwhile, Archambaud slipped off into the mob. He lurched into an Amphib, said something nasty about his ancestors, and pulled his knife. When the Amphib lunged for the little man, Archambaud jumped back and shoved a Human-Amphib into the giant flipper-like arms.
    Within a minute, the square had erupted into a fighting mob. Staggering, red-eyed, slur-tongued, their long-repressed hostility against each other released by the liquor which (heir bodies were unaccustomed to, Human, Ssassaror and Amphib fell to with the utmost will, slashing, slugging, fighting with everything they had.
    None of them noticed that every one who had drunk from the bottles had lost his Skin. The Skins had fallen off one by one and lay motionless on the pavement where they were kicked or stepped upon. Not one Skin tried to crawl back to its owner because they were all nerve-numbed by the wine.
    Rastignac, seated behind the wheel of the Jeep, began driving as best he could through the battling mob. After frequent stops, he halted before the broad marble steps that ran like a stairway to heaven, up and up before it ended on the Porpoise Porch of the Palace. He and his gang were about to take the two heavy chests off the wagon when they were transfixed by a scene before them.
    A score of dead Humans and Amphibs