“Tell us what, Beer-Guts?” inquired the center grandfather.
“Well, now,” said Gulark-ay, scuffing the earth with one sandal toe, and turning red in the face. “Nobody likes Little Bite better than I do, but it’s a fact, he’s getting old.”
“Something wrong with that?” inquired the center grandfather, sharply.
“No—no,” said Gulark-ay. “Nothing wrong with it at all. But you know, Little Bite doesn’t say much; but I happen to know he’s been wanting to leave his job here and get back to his home on that other world, for a long time.”
“What,” said the center grandfather, “has all that got to do with us?”
“Well, Little Bite, he wanted to go home. But his people back there, they wanted him to stay here. Well, some little time ago he figured maybe he better just mess things up here a little; and then his people back home would send someone else out to do the job right and he could quit. Well now,” said Gulark-ay, “I don’t blame him. A Shorty his age, with nothing but real people twice his size around him all the time, it’s not the sort of thing that would bother me, myself. But I can see how something like that would be for someone his size—like asking a kid to go out and do a full day’s work in the fields, same as a man. And, of course, around here he doesn’t have his machines and gadgets to make life easier for him. So, as I say, I don’t blame him; all the same I wouldn’t have done what he did. Didn’t seem right.”
Gulark-ay stopped to mop his face with a corner of his robe.
“Sure is thirsty, standing out here talking like this,” he said. “I could go for a drink.”
He got a good laugh from the crowd. But the grandfathers did not join in.
“What do you mean—‘done what he did?’ What did Little Bite do?” demanded the center grandfather.
“Well, he just thought he’d kick up a little ruckus by mixing into the Terror’s business. Then Terror—any real person would have figured on it, of course—took off with Greasy Face and it got a whole lot more serious than Little Bite had bargained for. So he had to call in the Half-Pint there. Well, now, the truth is, the Half-Pint never saw Greasy Face before in his little life. It’s all a story about him wanting her back from the Terror, like a real man might.”
The center grandfather turned. His eyes focused on Joshua Guy.
“Little Bite?” he said.
“I’m right here,” said Joshua, standing up.
“Is what the Beer-Guts Bouncer’s telling us, the truth?”
Joshua brushed some pine needles from a fold in his jacket with a casual flick of his hand.
“With all due respect to the grandfathers of Clan Hollows, and the people of Clan Hollows,” he said, “I am a guest in Humrog, and a representative of the Shorty people. Accordingly, to dignify the Beer-Guts Bouncer’s accusation by taking any notice of it would be beneath my official dignity.”
Joshua smiled winningly at the Clan Hollows grandfathers.
“Accordingly,” he said, “I must refuse to discuss it.”
And sat down.
CHAPTER 16
There was a moment’s dead silence and then the closest thing to a collective gasp that John had ever heard uttered by Dilbians. Being the type of people they were, it was more grunt than gasp—rather the sort of sound that comes from a punch in the stomach.
Then, a knowing babble arose.
The grandfathers sat back on their bench, looking grim. The center grandfather consulted to his left and to his right. Then he addressed the assemblage.
“Quiet down!”
They quieted, eagerly listening.
“Beer-Guts,” said the center grandfather, to Gulark-ay. “You said Half-Pint here never even knew about Greasy Face until Little Bite got in touch with him. Then maybe you can tell us just why he’d come chasing after her, wanting to fight the Terror.”
“He didn’t,” said Gulark-ay.
“He what?”
“Half-Pint,” said Gulark-ay, “never even knew he’d have to fight the Terror, maybe, to get Greasy back. Little Bite never let on that might happen. If he had, he’d never have got Half-Pint to go after her. You don’t think any Shorty would seriously consider tangling bare-handed with—what was it One Man said?—even a toothless old grandmother. Half-Pint wouldn’t have been willing at all.” He threw a grin at John. “He’s not willing now. Find out for yourself. Ask him.”
“Hey—” said the Hill Bluffer, shooting suddenly to his feet.
“Sit down!” said the center grandfather.
“Are you giving the government mail orders?” roared the Bluffer.
“Yes, I’m giving the government mail orders!” snapped the center grandfather. “On Clan Hollows ground, in full Clan Hollows meeting, I’m giving the government mail order. Sit down!”
The Bluffer, growling, sat down.
The grandfathers went into session together. They talked for a minute or two, then sat back. The center grandfather spoke out.
“Here’s the decision of the grandfathers,” he said. “With all respect to One Man and others, this whole business smells a little too fishy to your grandfathers. Accordingly, it’s our ruling that Greasy Face be sent back with Little Bite, and Half-Pint along with them. No affair of honor to be allowed between the Terror and the Half—”
“NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME!” thundered the Hill Bluffer, rising like a stone from a catapult. “Clan Hollows or no Clan Hollows. Grandfather or no grandfathers. And if the Beer-Guts Bouncer doesn’t like it, he knows where to find the government mail, any time. You think this Shorty here isn’t willing to tangle with the Terror?”
“Sit down!” yelled the center grandfather.
“I won’t sit down!” the Bluffer yelled back. “None of you know the Half-Pint. I do. Not willing! Listen, when a bunch of drunks at Brittle Rock tried to make him do tricks like a performing animal, he fooled them all and got away. Then Boy Is She Built tried to drop him over a cliff. Does he look dropped? On our way here the bridge at Knobby Gorge was rucked up out of our reach. He climbed up a straight cliff with nothing to hang on to, to get it down and let us over after the Terror.”
The Bluffer swung around and flung out a pointing arm at the chief axman.
“And what happened when you and four of the boys tried to take us in just outside the valley here? Who wanted to help me clean up on the five of you? And who didn’t have any doubts about the two of us being able to do it, either?” He glared at the chief axman. “Huh?”
He swung around back to John.
“How about it, Half-Pint?” he roared. “The hell with the Clan Hollows and their grandfathers! The hell with anybody but you and me and the Terror? You want to be delivered or not? Say the word!”
John heard the Bluffer, and the swelling roar of the crowd rising behind him. All this time he had been sitting with one thumb rubbing pensively back and forth along the top edge of his belt buckle, listening to what was being said, and thinking deeply. He had time to figure out what was behind most of what was happening; and when the Bluffer had leaped up just now and gone into his impassioned speech, it had rung a bell clear and strong inside John Tardy.