Behind the bar, Cholly looked up and saw. "Here, now!" he cried, and the whole tavern fell silent. "We'll have no violence in this house!"
"That's up to him," the former slob growled. "Come along to the General nice and peaceablelike, and there won't be no trouble."
Rod frowned. "The General?"
"Aye. You're under arrest."
Rod stood very still. The sergeant grinned.
"Not quite what I had in mind," Yorick muttered.
"Wherefore are we arrested?" Gwen asked.
The sergeant shrugged. "That's for the general to say. Are you coming peaceably, or not?" The glint in his eye said he hoped "not."
Rod sighed and capitulated. "Sure. I always cooperate with the authorities."
"Well, almost always," Yorick muttered.
"Converse with the General was enjoyable," Gwen agreed.
Behind her, most of the soldiers' faces broke into slow, sly grins.
"A woman can't say anything around here without being suspect," Rod sighed. "Of course, they didn't stop to think what kind of a woman would find a masochistic general to be pleasant company."
The grins vanished; the soldiers stared in horror.
Rod nodded, satisfied. "I don't think you'll have any trouble around here, dear. Now we can go."
They might have been the dregs of military society, but they marched very nicely—all the way down the street, into the headquarters building. They came to a halt while the sergeant knocked on Shacklar's door, and the receptionist (human—it was a frontier planet; and male—it was a military prison) officially told him he could enter. Then they marched right into the office, and came to a stamping halt in front of Shacklar's desk.
The General looked up from his paperwork and smiled warmly. "Very good, Sergeant." He saluted. "Dismissed."
The ex-slob stared. "But, General… these people, they're…"
"Very pleasant conversationalists," the General assured him. "I've spoken with them already this morning. I'm sure there won't be any problem—especially with the Chief Chief available." He nodded toward a purple Wolman who stood beside his desk.
The sergeant looked the Wolman up and down, and did not seem assured. "If'n it's all the same to you, sir…"
"But I'm afraid it's not." Shacklar's tone was crisp, but polite. "That will be all, Sergeant. I thank you for your concern."
The sergeant and all his troops eyed the Wolman, Rod, and Yorick warily—and Gwen almost with alarm. But the sergeant barked, "About/ace.' For'ard harch!" dutifully. The squad pivoted with a multiple stamp, and marched out. The sergeant lingered in the doorway for one more glower, but Shacklar met his gaze, and the man turned and disappeared.
On the other hand, he didn't close the door.
Shacklar ignored it. He turned to the Gallowglasses, beaming. "A pleasure to see you again, Master Gallowglass, Mistress Gallowglass." He turned an inquiring glance to Yorick. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"
Rod gestured toward the ape-man. "Oh, this is…"
But Yorick cut him off. "AnderThal, General. But I used to be a comic actor with a two-bit rep company, so they call me…"
"… Yorick," Rod finished. He swallowed. "Uh, General—has it occurred to you that you might be in a rather dangerous position?"
"Outnumbered, you mean? And both of you with weapons?" Shacklar nodded. "I'm aware of it, yes."
"It… doesn't bother you."
"Not particularly. I'm trusting to your honor, old boy."
Rod stared. Then he said, just by way of information, "You're a fool, you know."
"I'm aware of that, too." Shacklar smiled up at him.
Yorick locked glances with Rod, and his thoughts were loud. This man is vital to the future of democracy, Major. If you so much as lay a finger on him… At which point the mental signal deteriorated into some rather gruesome graphics.
Not that Rod needed the urging. He gazed at Shacklar's warm, open countenance, and sighed. "I never kill fools before dinnertime; it's bad for the digestion." Ruefully, he was remembering a few occasions when he'd played the same gambit himself; but it had worked, he had gained trust…
… and it was working again, now.
Shacklar wasn't the only fool in the room, he decided.
A faint smile touched the corners of the General's mouth; he relaxed. "I don't believe you've met this gentleman— Chief Hwun, of the Purple tribe—and acclaimed as Chief of all the Wolman tribes."
"No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Rod tried to remember how the salute went—crossed arms, fingers touching the shoulders…
Before he could try it, the big Wolman said, "Them do-um it—this man and woman in-um funny clothes."
Rod stared.
Then he said, "Not much on courtesy, is he?"
"Uh—" Yorick glanced about, then at the General. "I know it's none of my business, but… what does the Chief think M… Mr. Gallowglass did?"
Rod caught the near slip, and gave Yorick points; he'd realized the hazards of having Shacklar think he might be entitled to give Rod orders. "Why, trespassing, of course, on Wolman land." He turned back to Shacklar. "But we cleared that up a couple of hours ago."
"Well, yes—but the Chief's now charging you with an additional transgression."
Rod frowned. "Isn't that 'double jeopardy,' or something?"
"Not at all, since it's a crime you weren't charged with before."
"What crime?"
"Murder."
Rod set a mug of ale down in front of Gwen, then turned back to the bar. "Two of whatever passes for whiskey here. Doubles."
"Done." Cholly thumped two heavy glasses down on the bar, and upended a bottle of vaguely brownish fluid over them. "So he let you loose on your own recognizance?"
"Yeah." Rod shrugged. "We just promised not to kill anybody before dawn tomorrow, and he said, 'Excellent. Why don't you have a look around the town, while you're here?'… That's enough!"
"As you will." Cholly waited a second longer, till the brownish fluid was almost up to the rims, then set the bottle down. "Yer trial's tomorrow at sunrise, then?"
"If you can call it that." Rod frowned. "Isn't that a little lenient, for a couple of suspected murderers?"
Cholly nodded. "Even here. I'd guess the General doesn't think you're guilty."
Rod nodded. "Is he hoping we'll escape, or something?"
"Where to?"
"A good point." Rod pursed his lips. "So we're just supposed to relax and enjoy life, huh?"
"That—or find evidence to clear yourselves. Hard to do that inside a cell, yer know."
Rod frowned. "It is, now that you mention it. We were planning to do something of that sort, anyway."
"Well, then." Cholly beamed. "The General knows his man, don't he? Let me know where I can help."
"Thanks. We will." Rod turned back to the table, set one of the glasses down in front of Yorick, sat himself down across from Gwen, and took a hefty swallow. Then he sat very still for a few minutes, waiting till the top of his head settled back on and the room came back into focus. When it did, he exhaled sharply. "What do they make that out of?"
"Something almost compatible with Terran biochemistry, I'm sure." Yorick looked a little defocused himself.
Rod took a deep breath, then a very cautious sip. He set the glass down gingerly, exhaled carefully, and sat back. "Now!" He looked from Yorick to Gwen and back. "You were both there; you heard everything I did. What was all that about?"
Gwen shrugged. "We chanced to be in a position suspect at a time when a man was slain, my lord."
"Yeah, but I highly doubt we were anywhere near this 'Sun-Greeting Place,' or whatever it is. Also, I don't believe in coincidences, especially not when they're so convenient."