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The sound of an orchestra came up suddenly, blaring a fanfare. Zorn shifted restlessly, ear against the glass. "What's your friend pulling?" he rasped. "I don't like this." "Keep cool, Zorn," Retief said. "Mr. Magnan is doing a little emergency salvage on his career." The music died away with a clatter. " My God," Ambassador Crodfoller's voice was faint. "Magnan, you'll be knighted for this.
"You what!" Magnan looked wild. "But the agreement it's been revised! Ambassador Crodfoller has gone on record...." "Too bad. Glad I didn't tell him about it." Magnan leaned back and closed his eyes. "It was big of you to take all the ... blame," Retief said, "when the Ambassador was talking about knighting people." Magnan opened his eyes. "What about that gambler, Zorn? Won't he be upset?"
"We've got to get back," Magnan said, "Warn them!" "We'd never get through the rebel cordon around the palace. And if we did, trying to give an alarm would only set the assassinations off early." "We can't just...." "We've got to go to the source; this fellow Zorn. Get him to call it off." "We'd be killed! At least we're safe here." Illy groaned and opened his eyes. He sat up.
Zorn looked at his watch. "I've got two hundred armed men in the palace. We've got about forty minutes to get over there before the rocket goes up." "You'd better stay here on this terrace out of the way until I've spread the word," Zorn said. "Just in case." "Let me caution you against any ... ah ... slip-ups, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said. "The Nenni are not to be molested " Zorn looked at Retief.
Prosper Magnan brought a few tears to the merchant's eyes, when with the frankness and naivete of a good and tender nature, he talked of what his mother must be doing at that hour, while he was sitting drinking on the banks of the Rhine. "I can see her," he said, "reading her prayers before she goes to bed.
"Your friend talks too much," he said. "I'll keep my end of it. He'd better keep his." "Nothing's happened yet, you're sure?" Magnan said. "I'm sure," Zorn said. "Ten minutes to go. Plenty of time." "I'll just step into the salon to assure myself that all is well," Magnan said. "Suit yourself," Zorn said. "Just stay clear of the kitchen, or you'll get your throat cut."
Magnan's point is a little weak," Retief said. "But you're overlooking something. You plan to murder a dozen or so officers of the Corps Diplomatique Terrestrienne along with the local wheels. The corps won't overlook that. It can't." "Their tough luck they're in the middle," Zorn muttered. "Our offer is extremely generous, Mr. Zorn," Magnan said.
You have one hundred thousand Standard-class Y hand blasters. Just the thing to turn the tide in a stalemated war fought with obsolete arms." "Good lord!" Magnan said. "Retief, are you " "I have to tell him," Retief said. "He has to know what he's putting his neck into." "Weapons, hey?" Zorn said. "And Rotune knows about it?" "Sure they know about it. It's not too hard to figure out.
"I hope he isn't going to change the spontaneous speech he plans to make when the Potentate impulsively suggests a trade agreement along the lines they've been discussing for the last two months." "Your derisive attitude is uncalled for, Retief," Magnan said sharply. "I think you realize it's delayed your promotion in the Corps." Retief took a last glance in the mirror.
I was anxious to circumvent Fould's intrigues, as the man had become most obnoxious to me, and I consequently introduced myself to the Marshal, and was one day surprised to see a hussar ride up to my door, who got down from his horse, rang the bell, and handed my astonished man-servant a letter from Magnan, in which he summoned me to his presence.
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