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said Magnus Ridolph. “I suppose there’s no doubt that—if worse comes to worst in our little business—you will be allowed to decorate your cell at the Regional Penitentiary as you desire.”
    Everley Clark said in a thick voice, “Do you think they’ll go that far?”
    Ridolph considered. “I sincerely hope not. I don’t see how we can prevent it unless—” he held up a finger “—unless—”
    “What?” croaked Clark.
    “It is farcically simple; I wonder at our own obtuseness.”
    “What? What? For Heaven’s sake, man—”
    “I conceive one certain means by which the warriors can be persuaded to fight at Shadow Valley Inn.”
    Everley Clark’s face fell. “Oh. Well, how, then?”
    “Shadow Valley Inn or Big Square Tumble, if you like, must challenge the Kokod warriors to a contest of arms.”
    Everley Clark’s expression became more bewildered than ever. “But that’s out of the question. Certainly Holpers and See would never…”
    Magnus Ridolph rose to his feet. “Come,” he said, with decision. “We will act on their behalf.”
    Clark and Magnus Ridolph walked down Shell Strand. On their right the placid blue-black ocean transformed itself into surf of mingled meringue and whipped-cream; on the left bulked the Hidden Hills. Behind towered the magnificent stele of the Shell Strand Tumble; ahead soared the almost equally impressive stele of the Sea Stone Tumble, toward which they bent their steps. Corps of young warriors drilled along the beach; veterans of a hundred battles who had grown stiff, hard and knobby came down from the forest bearing faggots of lance-stock. At the door to the tumble, infant warriors scampered in the dirt like rats.
    Clark said huskily, “I don’t like this, I don’t like it a bit…If it ever gets out—”
    “Is such a supposition logically tenable?” asked Magnus Ridolph. “You are the only living man who speaks the Kokod language.”
    “Suppose there is killing—slaughter?”
    “I hardly think it likely.”
    “It’s not impossible. And think of these little warriors—they’ll be bearing the brunt—”
    Magnus Ridolph said patiently, “We have discussed these points at length.”
    Clark muttered, “I’ll go through with it…But God forgive us both if—”
    “Come, come,” exclaimed Magnus Ridolph. “Let us approach the matter with confidence; apologizing in advance to your deity hardly maximizes our morale…Now, what is protocol at arranging a war?”
    Clark pointed out a dangling wooden plate painted with one of the traditional Kokod patterns. “That’s the Charter Board: all I need to do is—well, watch me.”
    He strode up to the board, took a lance from the hands of a blinking warrior, smartly struck the object. It resonated a dull musical note.
    Clark stepped back, and through his nose passed the bagpipe syllables of the Kokod language.
    From the door of the tumble stepped a dozen blank-faced warriors, listening attentively.
    Clark wound up his speech, turned, scuffed dirt toward the magnificent Sea Stone stele.
    The warriors watched impassively. From within the stele came a torrent of syllables. Clark replied at length, then turned on his heel and rejoined Magnus Ridolph. His forehead was damp. “Well, that’s that. It’s all set. Tomorrow morning at Big Square Tumble.”
    “Excellent,” said Magnus Ridolph briskly. “Now to Shell Strand Tumble, then Rock River, and next Rainbow Cleft.”
    Clark groaned. “You’ll have the entire planet at odds.”
    “Exactly,” said Magnus Ridolph. “After our visit to Rainbow Cleft, you can drop me off near Shadow Valley Inn, where I have some small business.”
    Clark darted him a suspicious side-glance. “What kind of business?”
    “We must be practical,” said Magnus Ridolph. “One of the necessary appurtenances to a party at war on Kokod is a rallying standard, a sacred sapling, a focus of effort for the opposing force. Since we can expect neither Holpers nor See to provide