zugchesd that the jurch should gombromize with zin?”
“Not exactly compromise,” Magnan said placatingly. “Just work
out a sort of peaceful coexistence plan.”
“Nefer will I, as arjpishob, gome oud in vafor of dogetherness
with Zatan’s Imps!”
“There, there, Your Voracity; if you’d just sit down across
the table from them, you’d find these imps weren’t bad fellows at
all . . .”
There was a soft sound from the door. Jackspurt, a jaunty,
two-foot sphere of red bristles, appeared, waving his eye-stalks exultantly. A
looming blue Spism peered over his shoulder.
“Nice going, Retief!” he called. “I see you caught one. Pitch
him down after the other one, and let’s clear out of here. This little
diversion will give us time to get clear before the smoke starts.”
“Jackspurt, do you suppose your fellows could do a fast job
of shifting a few hoses around? You’ll have to block off the sewers and feed
the smoke off in some other direction.”
“Say, that’s an idea!” Jackspurt agreed. “And I think I know
just the direction.” He gave instructions to the big blue Spism, who hurried
away.
The Archbishop had retreated to a corner, eyes goggling, his
hands describing mystic passes in the air. More Spisms were crowding into the
room now: tall blue ones, tiny darting green ones, sluggish purple
varieties—all cocking their eye-stalks at the prelate.
“Help!” he croaked weakly. “The minions of the netherworlt
are ubon me!”
Magnan drew out a chair from the table. “Just have a seat,
Your Voracity,” he said soothingly. “Let’s just see if we can’t work out a modus
vivendi suitable to all parties . . .”
“Gome to terms with the Enemy? Id will mean the ent of the
jurch!”
“On the contrary, Your Voracity; if you ever succeeded in
eliminating the opposition, you’d be out of a job. The problem is merely to
arrange matters in a civilized fashion so that everyone’s interests are
protected.”
“You may hafe somethink there,” Um-Moomy-Hooby seated himself
gingerly. “Put the nevarious agtifities of these goplins musd pe kebt unter
sdrigd gondrol—Babal gongrol, thad is.”
“Look, my boys got to make a living,” Jackspurt started.
“Zellink a vew love-botions, zerdainly,” the Archbishop said.
“And the jurch is willink to zmile at a modest draffic in aphrodisiags, dope,
and raze-drack tips. But beddling filthy menus to teen-agers, no! The zame goes
vor sdealing withoud a licenze, and the zale of algoholic peferaches, with the
eggzebtion of small amounts of broberly aged sduff for medicinal use py the
glerchy, of gourse.”
“OK, I think we can go along with that,” Jackspurt said. “But
you priests will have to lay off the propaganda from now on. I want to see
Spisms getting better billing in church art.”
“Oh, I think you could work out something lovely in little
winged Spisms with haloes,” Magnan suggested. “I think you owe it to them, Your
Voracity, after all this discrimination in the past.”
“Tevils with winks?” Um-Moomy-Hooby groaned. “It will blay
hop with our zympolisms—put I zubboze it can be tone.”
“And you’ll have to have guarantees that everything from two
feet under the surface on down belongs to us,” Jackspurt added. “We’ll leave
the surface to you, and throw in the atmosphere, just so you dedicate a few
easements so we can come up and sight-see now and then.”
“Thad zeems egwidaple,” the Archbishop agreed. “Supchegd to
vinal approfal py His Arrokanze, of gourze.”
“By the way,” Jackspurt asked casually, “who’s next in line
for the Pope’s job if anything happens to Ai-Poppy-Googy?”
“Az it habbens, I am,” Um-Moomy-Hooby said. “Why?”
“Just asking,” Jackspurt said.
A loud thumping started up from the wide floor below.
“What’s that?” Magnan yelled.
“The pumps,” the Archbishop said. “A bity so many Spisms will
tie, but it is manivesdly the will of
“Not exactly compromise,” Magnan said placatingly. “Just work
out a sort of peaceful coexistence plan.”
“Nefer will I, as arjpishob, gome oud in vafor of dogetherness
with Zatan’s Imps!”
“There, there, Your Voracity; if you’d just sit down across
the table from them, you’d find these imps weren’t bad fellows at
all . . .”
There was a soft sound from the door. Jackspurt, a jaunty,
two-foot sphere of red bristles, appeared, waving his eye-stalks exultantly. A
looming blue Spism peered over his shoulder.
“Nice going, Retief!” he called. “I see you caught one. Pitch
him down after the other one, and let’s clear out of here. This little
diversion will give us time to get clear before the smoke starts.”
“Jackspurt, do you suppose your fellows could do a fast job
of shifting a few hoses around? You’ll have to block off the sewers and feed
the smoke off in some other direction.”
“Say, that’s an idea!” Jackspurt agreed. “And I think I know
just the direction.” He gave instructions to the big blue Spism, who hurried
away.
The Archbishop had retreated to a corner, eyes goggling, his
hands describing mystic passes in the air. More Spisms were crowding into the
room now: tall blue ones, tiny darting green ones, sluggish purple
varieties—all cocking their eye-stalks at the prelate.
“Help!” he croaked weakly. “The minions of the netherworlt
are ubon me!”
Magnan drew out a chair from the table. “Just have a seat,
Your Voracity,” he said soothingly. “Let’s just see if we can’t work out a modus
vivendi suitable to all parties . . .”
“Gome to terms with the Enemy? Id will mean the ent of the
jurch!”
“On the contrary, Your Voracity; if you ever succeeded in
eliminating the opposition, you’d be out of a job. The problem is merely to
arrange matters in a civilized fashion so that everyone’s interests are
protected.”
“You may hafe somethink there,” Um-Moomy-Hooby seated himself
gingerly. “Put the nevarious agtifities of these goplins musd pe kebt unter
sdrigd gondrol—Babal gongrol, thad is.”
“Look, my boys got to make a living,” Jackspurt started.
“Zellink a vew love-botions, zerdainly,” the Archbishop said.
“And the jurch is willink to zmile at a modest draffic in aphrodisiags, dope,
and raze-drack tips. But beddling filthy menus to teen-agers, no! The zame goes
vor sdealing withoud a licenze, and the zale of algoholic peferaches, with the
eggzebtion of small amounts of broberly aged sduff for medicinal use py the
glerchy, of gourse.”
“OK, I think we can go along with that,” Jackspurt said. “But
you priests will have to lay off the propaganda from now on. I want to see
Spisms getting better billing in church art.”
“Oh, I think you could work out something lovely in little
winged Spisms with haloes,” Magnan suggested. “I think you owe it to them, Your
Voracity, after all this discrimination in the past.”
“Tevils with winks?” Um-Moomy-Hooby groaned. “It will blay
hop with our zympolisms—put I zubboze it can be tone.”
“And you’ll have to have guarantees that everything from two
feet under the surface on down belongs to us,” Jackspurt added. “We’ll leave
the surface to you, and throw in the atmosphere, just so you dedicate a few
easements so we can come up and sight-see now and then.”
“Thad zeems egwidaple,” the Archbishop agreed. “Supchegd to
vinal approfal py His Arrokanze, of gourze.”
“By the way,” Jackspurt asked casually, “who’s next in line
for the Pope’s job if anything happens to Ai-Poppy-Googy?”
“Az it habbens, I am,” Um-Moomy-Hooby said. “Why?”
“Just asking,” Jackspurt said.
A loud thumping started up from the wide floor below.
“What’s that?” Magnan yelled.
“The pumps,” the Archbishop said. “A bity so many Spisms will
tie, but it is manivesdly the will of
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