The bearded human nodded at the thin one. "Go ahead, Patch."
"Well, Mr. John, I appreciate the offer, but I'm getting a little old for the road. On the Baraboo between planets isn't bad, but trouping on the surface is wearing me down."
Mr. John shook his head. "Hate to lose you. You're the best fixer in the business."
"Was, Mr. John. Was." The thin man shook his head. "I hate to go off and leave you with Arnheim & Boon on the warpath, but retirement is the only thing left in the cards for me."
"Are you certain everything is worked out?"
The Patch nodded. "Easiest fix I ever put in." He shrugged and held out his hands. "These guys are real punks."
Mr. John clasped his hands over his belly amd smiled. "Sure you won't miss the show?"
"I'll miss it, but I think the work will be interesting. It's no circus, but there's plenty need for a fixer."
O'Hara stood and held out his hand. "Good luck, and send a note along when you can."
The thin man shook Mr. John's hand, then he turned and left the wagon. Divver stood up and approached the bearded man's desk. "My name is Divver-Sehin Tho. I've come about the advertisement."
The Governor looked off into the distance for a moment, then turned his eyes in Divver's direction. His eyes were bright blue under shaggy, white brows. "Divver-Sehin Tho. Well, that won't last long. Know English, do you?"
"Yes..." The "Pendiian looked toward the door, then back at the Governor. "If you don't mind my asking, just what is a fixer?"
"Legal adjuster. Keeps us out from under permits, coppers, local politicos. I don't know if I'll ever be able to replace him." He leaned forward and stroked his short-cropped white beard. "Know anything about the law, how to spread sugar where it does the most good?"
The Pendiian shrugged. "Not a thing. I came about the advertisement. You wanted someone who could read, write, and speak English. This is my function in the Bureau of Regret."
"Hmmm." The Governor leaned back in his chair. "What's your name again?"
"Divver-Sehin Tho."
"Ummm." The Governor stroked his beard again. "See here, Divver, what I had in mind was a... man. A human."
"That seems pretty narrow-minded. A goodly number of the creatures I saw out there on the lot hardly look human!"
O'Hara laughed, then nodded. "We do come in a variety of sizes and shapes."
"I had particular reference to the one with two heads."
"Oh, Na-Na is with the kid show. All the same, she's human." The Governor leaned forward. "What I need is someone to keep the route book for the show. O'Hara's Greater Shows was the first circus to take to the star road. Now, even though that was only two years ago, there must be thirty companies flying around right now calling themselves circuses. Most of them come from non-Earth planets, but even the ones from Earth are nothing but flying gadget shows." The Governor stabbed a finger in Divver's direction. "I don't ever want this company to forget what a real circus is."
Divver held out his hands. "What has this to do with your route book?"
The Governor leaned back in his chair, spread open his coat, and stuck his thumbs behind thick, yellow suspenders. "Now, Spivvy, a route book is a show's log of the season. It works just like a ship's log. It has daily entries that tell where we are, what's happening, and what kind of shape we're in." O'Hara pulled one of his thumbs out from under a suspender and used the forefinger on the same hand to point at Divver. "But, I want more out of my route book man... or creature. I want to keep the book just like a running history. I need someone to write the history that this show will make. How does that sound?"
Divver rubbed his bumpy chin, then held out a hand. "I'm curious to know what happened to the former occupant of this position."
"Killed. In a clem on Masstone at the end of last season." O'Hara frowned. "I've been keeping it since, but I'm not doing the job the way I want." He studied the Pendiian, then nodded. "You Pendiians have good eyesight, I hear."
Divver frowned, lowered his voice, and leaned forward. "I must tell you that I have grave doubts about this position."
"What kind of doubts?"
"Among others, I fought against humans during the Revolution. Would I be placed in a position where I might be subjected to hostility?"
The Governor laughed and shook his head. "No. Place your mind at rest, Skivver. The purpose of a show is to entertain, not be political. See, we have to appeal to everyone, and so we stay out of politics." O'Hara snapped his yellow suspenders. "That's one principle that's set in concrete." He grabbed a coat lapel with each hand and looked through his shaggy brows at the ceiling. "An alien working the route book..." He nodded. "... that just might be the ticket." The Governor looked at Divver. "You'd be putting down the kind of detail a trouper would take for granted, and that's just the kind of stuff I don't want to lose—"
The door opened and the Boss Canvasman stuck in his head. "Mr. John, my gang is back from the polls. I'm putting them on the spool wagons for the rest of the day."
"All the repairs on the old rag completed? I don't want anything to hold up tomorrow's opening."
"All done. Is the road clear yet?"
O'Hara shook his head. "Seen that fellow with the sweet tooth on the lot?"
"Yeah. He's been rubbering around the lot for the past few minutes." Duckfoot turned his head and looked over his shoulder. "Here he comes now." The Boss Canvasman stood in the doorway until a voice spoke up with a thick Pendiian accent.
"I am here to see the owner."
Duckfoot stepped aside and held out a hand in O'Hara's direction. "There is himself." Duckfoot left laughing, then the Pendiian climbed the steps and walked inside.
The Pendiian looked at Divver, frowned, then performed the shallow quarter-bow indicating the greeting of a superior to an inferior. Divver barely cocked his head in return. The newcomer studied Divver a moment longer. "I am Mizan-Nie Crav, code-enforcement officer for the municipality of Westhoven."
"Divver-Sehin Tho."
Crav turned to O'Hara, then looked back at Diwer. "Might I ask why you are here?"
"You might." Divver's steam was up. A haze over the subject of sugar and Crav's sweet tooth began lifting. Crav was holding up the show's permits until credits exchanged hands. Divver suspected that Crav was wondering whether the Pendiian in O'Hara's wagon was an investigator.
"Then, why are you here?"
"It is none of your concern."
O'Hara chuckled. "Now, now, Skivvy, that's no way to talk to a high municipal official." The Governor turned and faced Crav. "Skivvy here is applying for a job. What's on your mind, Crab?"
"That's Crav, Mister O'Hara." The officer folded his arms and looked down his lumpy nose at the Governor. "I see by the posters and banners stuck and hung all over the town that you intend to conduct your parade and opening show as scheduled."
O'Hara nodded "True. Very observant." The Governor turned to Divver. "I always said you Pendiians have sharp eyes." He looked back at Crav.
"Mister O'Hara, I thought we had an understanding."
O'Hara held out his hands and shrugged. "What can I do, Crag? Those tackspitters and bannermen are just plain thick. I've explained bribes, crooks, and such to them time and again, but they just don't seem to get it."
Crav squinted. "As I said before, O'Hara: There will be no parade and no show unless... certain conditions are met." The officer turned, marched to the door, then faced the Governor. "Set one foot on a Westhoven street or let one cuslomer into your tent, and I'll arrest the lot of you!"