“Wondered that, did you, Law-Twister?” said One Punch. “It crossed my mind earlier you might wonder about it. No real reason why the Clan meeting couldn’t be held right away, I guess. Only, who’s going to suggest it?”
“Suggest it?” Mal said.
“Why, sure,” said One Punch. “Ordinarily, when a Clan has a Grandfather, it’d be up to the Grandfather to suggest it. But Clan Water Gap doesn’t have a Grandfather right now, as you know.”
“Isn’t there anyone else to suggest things like that if a Grandfather isn’t available?” asked Mal.
“Well, yes.” One Punch gazed thoughtfully away from Mal, down the village street. “If there’s no Grandfather around, it’d be pretty much up to one of the grandpas to suggest it. Only—of course I can’t speak for old Forty Winks or anyone else—but I wouldn’t want to be the one to do it, myself. Might sound like I thought I had a better chance of being elected Grandfather now, than I would two weeks from now.”
“So,” said Mal. “You won’t suggest it, and if you won’t I can see how the others wouldn’t, for the same reason. Who else does that leave who might suggest it?”
“Why, I don’t know, Law-Twister,” said One Punch, gazing back at him. “Guess any strong-minded member of the Clan could speak up and propose it. Someone like Gentle Maiden, herself, for example. But you know Gentle Maiden isn’t about to suggest anything like that when what she wants is for Iron Bender to try and take you apart as soon as possible.”
“How about Iron Bender?” asked Mal.
“Now, he just might want to suggest something like that,” said One Punch, “being how as he likes to do everything just right. But it might look like he was trying to get out of tangling with you—after all this talk by the Bluffer, here, about how tough Shorties are. So I don’t expect Bender’d be likely to say anything about changing the meeting time.”
Mal looked at the tall Dilbian who had brought him here.
“Bluffer,” he said, “I wonder if you—”
“Look here, Law-Twister,” said the Hill Bluffer severely. “I’m the government postman—to all the Clans and towns and folks from Humrog Valley to Wildwood Peak. A government man like myself can’t go sticking his nose into local affairs.”
“But you were ready to tangle with Iron Bender yourself, a little while ago—”
“That was personal and private. This is public. I don’t blame you for not seeing the difference right off, Law-Twister, you being a Shorty and all,” said the Bluffer, “but a government man has to know, and keep the two things separate.”
He fell silent, looking at Mal. For a moment neither the Bluffer nor One Punch said anything; but Mal was left with the curious feeling that the conversation had not so much been ended, as left hanging in the air for him to pick up. He was beginning to get an understanding of how Dilbian minds worked. Because of their taboo against any outright lying, they were experts at pretending to say one thing while actually saying another. There was a strong notion in Mal’s mind now that somehow the other two were simply waiting for him to ask the right question—as if he had a handful of keys and only the right one would unlock an answer with the information he wanted.
“Certainly is different from the old days, Postman,” said One Punch, idly, turning to the Bluffer. “Wonder what Mighty Grappler would have said, seeing Shorties like the Law-Twister among us. He’d have said something, all right. Had an answer for everything, Mighty Grappler did.”
An idea exploded into life in Mal’s mind. Of course! That was it!
“Isn’t there something in Mighty Grappler’s laws,” he asked, “that could arrange for a Clan meeting without someone suggesting it?”
One Punch looked back at him.
“Why, what do you know?” the oldster said. “Bluffer, Law-Twister here is something to make up stories about, all right. Imagine a Shorty guessing that Mighty Grappler had thought of something like that, when I’d almost forgotten it myself.”
“Shorties are sneaky little characters, as I’ve said before,” replied the Bluffer, gazing down at Mal with obvious pride. “Quick on the uptake, too.”
“Then there is a way?” Mal asked.
“It just now comes back to me,” said One Punch. “Mighty Grappler set up all his laws to protect the Clan members against themselves and each other and against strangers. But he did make one law to protect strangers on Clan territory. As I remember, any stranger having a need to appeal to the whole Clan for justice was supposed to stand beside Grappler’s stone—the one we showed you on the way in—and put his hand on it, and make that appeal.”
“Then what?” asked Mal. “The Clan would grant his appeal?”
“Well, not exactly,” said One Punch. “But they’d be obliged to talk the matter over and decide things.”
“Oh,” said Mal. This was less than he had hoped for, but still he had a strong feeling now that he was on the right track. “Well, let’s go.”
“Right,” said the Bluffer. He and One Punch turned and strolled off up the street.
“Hey!” yelled Mal, trotting after them. The Bluffer turned around, picked him up, and stuffed him into the saddle on the postman’s back.
“Sorry, Law-Twister. Forgot about those short legs of yours,” the Bluffer said. Turning to stroll forward with One Punch again, he added to the oldster, “Makes you kind of wonder how they made out to start off with, before they had flying boxes and things like that.”
“Probably didn’t do much,” offered One Punch in explanation, “just lay in the sun and dug little burrows and things like that.”
Mal opened his mouth and then closed it again on the first retort that had come to his lips.
“Where you off to with the Law-Twister now, One Punch?” asked a graying-haired Dilbian they passed, whom Mal was pretty sure was either Forty Winks or Grandpa Tricky.
“Law-Twister’s going up to the stone of Mighty Grappler to make an appeal to the Clan,” said One Punch.
“Well, now,” said the other, “guess I’ll mosey up there myself and have a look at that. Can’t remember it ever happening before.”
He fell in behind them, but halfway down the street fell out again to answer the questions of several other bystanders who wanted to know what was going on. So it was that when Mal alighted from the Bluffer’s back at the stone of Mighty Grappler, there was just he and the Bluffer and One Punch there, although a few figures could be seen beginning to stream out of the village toward the stone.
“Go ahead, Law-Twister,” said One Punch, nodding at the stone. “Make that appeal of yours.”
“Hadn’t I better wait until the rest of the Clan gets here?”
“I suppose you could do that,” said One Punch. “I was thinking you might just want to say your appeal and have it over with and sort of let me tell people about it. But you’re right. Wait until folks get here. Give you a chance to kind of look over Mighty Grappler’s stone, too, and put yourself in the kind of spirit to make a good appeal… Guess you’ll want to be remembering this word for word, to pass on down the line to the other clans, won’t you, Postman?”
“You could say I’ve almost a duty to do that, One Punch,” responded the Bluffer. “Lots more to being a government postman than some people think…”
The two went on chatting, turning a little away from Mal and the stone to gaze down the slope at the Clan members on their way up from the village. Mal turned to gaze at the stone, itself. It was still inconceivable to him that even a Dilbian could lift and carry such a weight ten paces.
Certainly, it did not look as if anyone had ever moved the stone since it had been placed here. The two ends of the iron rod sticking out from opposite sides of it were red with rust, and the grass had grown up thickly around its base. That is, it had grown up thickly everywhere but just behind it, where it looked like a handful of grass might have been pulled up, recently. Bending down to look closer at the grass-free part of the stone, Mal caught sight of something dark. The edge of some indentation, almost something like the edge of a large hole in the stone itself—