Aristotle was a fat man, bald, piggy eyed, clad in a white robe similar to those worn by the professional classes, soiled down the front by dropped cigar ash and liquor spillage. He was smoking a cigar now, speaking around it as he addressed the prisoners who stood before his wide, littered desk, supported by the Amazon usherettes.
"You . . ." he snarled. "You . . . Offworlders by the look of you . . . At an entertainment such as mine some riotous behavior is tolerated, but not riotous behavior with . . . firearms." With a pudgy hand he poked disdainfully at the two automatic pistols that had been placed on his desk. "I suppose you'll try to tell me—and the police, when they get here, and the magistrate when you come up for trial—that you didn't know that on this world civilians are not allowed to carry such weapons, by order of the Archon. You know now."
"But this . . ." Jason waved feebly toward Brasidus. "But this is the . . ."
The Archon raised a warning hand, glared at his bodyguard.
"And this is what, or who?" demanded the showman disdainfully. "Some petty tradesman enjoying a night on the tiles with his offplanet friends, at their expense, no doubt. Showing them the sights, as long as they're doing the paying. And, talking of the foreigners, which of them started the gunplay?"
"This one," said the Amazon supporting Paulus, giving him a friendly cuff as she spoke.
"So it was you," growled Aristotle. "And now, sir, would you mind satisfying my curiosity before the police come to , collect you? What possessed you to pull a gun in a public place and, even worse, to interrupt a highly skilled act by two of my performers?"
"That . . . That boomerang thing . . . It was coming straight at the Commodore. I did my best to protect him."
"The Commodore? You mean the gentleman with the jug handle ears? I do have a distinguished clientele, don't I? I know of only one visiting Commodore on New Sparta at this time, and he is a guest of the Archon. He'd be too much of a stuffed shirt to sample the pleasures of the Street of the Haetaeri."
"Little you know," said a familiar female voice.
Aristotle shifted his attention from the prisoners to somebody who had just come into the office. "Oh, Miss Pruin . . ." he said coldly. "I do not think that you were invited to sit in on this interview."
"I invited myself," said Fenella. "After all, news is news."
Grimes managed to turn his head to look at her. She had changed very little, if not at all. Her face with rather too much nose and too little chin, with teeth slightly protuberant, the visage of an insatiably curious animal but perversely attractive nonetheless. She grinned at him.
"Do you know these people?" he demanded.
"Not all of them, Aristotle. But the gentleman with the jug handle ears is Captain Grimes, although I believe that he did, briefly, hold the rank of Company Commodore with the Eldorado Corporation. That was when he commanded a pirate squadron . . . ."
"Privateers," Grimes corrected her tiredly. "Not pirates."
She ignored this. "And the lady is Commander Maggie Lazenby, one of the scientific officers of the Federation Survey Service. Both she and Captain—sorry, Commodore—Grimes were on this planet many years ago and were involved in the troubles that led to the downfall of the old regime."
"Oh. That Grimes," said Aristotle. His manner seemed to be softening slightly. "But I still am entitled to an explanation as to why his friend ruined the Shirl and Darleen act."
"The boomerang," insisted Paulus, "was coming straight at the Commodore. It could have taken his head off."
"It would not," said two familiar female voices speaking in chorus. Shirl and Darleen, light robes thrown around their bodies, had come into the office which, although considerably larger than a telephone booth, was getting quite crowded. "It would not."
"It would not," Aristotle agreed. "Surely you know what that part of the act signified?"
"The boomerang," explained Shirl (or was it Darleen?), "would have stopped and turned just short of you, returning to my hand. It was a signal to you that you were to follow it—after the show, of course. I thought that everybody knew."
"It was announced," said Aristotle. "Just as it was announced that any boxer who succeeded in knocking down Shirl or Darleen would be entitled to her favors."
"It was not announced," said Grimes.
"It was not announced," said Jason and Paulus, speaking together.
"Well, it should have been," admitted Aristotle. "But all of my regular customers know of the arrangement."
"We are not regular customers," said Brasidus.
"But that, sir, does not entitle your friends to brandish and discharge firearms in my auditorium." He raised and turned his head. "Come in, Sergeant, come in! I shall be obliged if you will place these persons under arrest. No, not Commodore Grimes and Commander Lazenby, they are guests of the Archon. But the other three. Charge them with discharging firearms, illegally held firearms at that, in a public place."
"If you would please tell me who is which . . ." said the Sergeant tiredly.
He looked at Grimes. "Oh, I recognize you, sir. Your photograph was in the Daily Democrat. But which of the ladies am I supposed to take in?"
He stood there in his military style uniform (but black instead of brown leather, stainless steel instead of brass), removing his plumed helmet so that he could scratch his head. The two constables, reluctant to enter the crowded office, remained outside the now open door.
"Just the men, Sergeant," Aristotle told him impatiently. "Just the men."
"All right." The Sergeant grabbed Brasidus by the arm that was not held by an Amazon usherette. "Come on, you. Come quietly, or else."
"But that is the Archon," objected Paulus in a shocked voice. He tried to break away from restraint so that he could come to his master's aid. "Take your paws off the Archon!"
"And I'm Zeus masquerading as a mere mortal!" The Sergeant pulled Brasidus towards the door. "Come on!"
"He is the Archon," stated Grimes.
"Come, come, sir. This lout is nothing like Brasidus. I did duty in the Palace Guard before the Lady Ellena had us replaced by her Amazon Corps. I've a good memory for details—have to in my job. His hair and beard are light brown, just starting to go gray. Besides—" he laughed—"Ellena would never allow him to come to a dive like this."
"My establishment is not a dive!" expostulated Aristotle indignantly.
"Isn't it? Then what's it doing on this street?" He called to the constables. "Come in, you two, and grab the other two lawbreakers."
"There'll be some room for us after you get out," muttered one of the men.
The Sergeant twisted Brasidus' right arm behind his back. It must have been painful.
"Take your hands off me!" growled Brasidus. "Take your hands off me, or I'll have you posted to the most dismal village on all of New Sparta, Sergeant Priam. I am the Archon."
Priam laughed. "So you think you can fool me by saying my name? Every petty crook in the city knows it."
"He is the Archon," said Grimes.
"He is the Archon," stated Maggie.
"He could just be," said Fenella. "There are techniques of disguise, you know. I've used them myself."
"Call the Palace," Brasidus ordered Aristotle. "The Lady Ellena will identify me."
The showman pressed buttons at the base of the videophone on his desk. Only he could see the little screen but all of them could hear the conversation.
"May I speak to the Lady Ellena, please?"
"Who is that?" demanded an almost masculine female voice, probably that of the duty officer of the Amazon Guard.
"Aristotle, of Aristotle's Arena."
"What business would you have with the Lady Ellena?"
"None of yours, woman. I want to speak to her, is all."
"Well, you can't."
"It is my right as a citizen."
"You still can't. She's out."
"She's still at her meeting," said Brasidus.
"What meeting?" demanded the Sergeant.
"Of the Women's Branch of the New Hellas Association"
"You seem to know a lot about her movements," muttered the police officer. He looked as though he were beginning to wonder what sort of mess he had been dragged into. If this scruffy helot were indeed the Archon . . . But surely (so Grimes read his changing expressions) that was not possible. "Get the New Hellas bitches on the phone," he ordered Aristotle. "Get the number of their meeting hall from the read-out."
Aristotle obliged.
Then, "May I talk with the Lady Ellena, please?"
"She is addressing the meeting still," came the reply in a vinegary female voice.
"This is important."
"Who are you?"
Before he could answer the Sergeant had pushed his way round to the showman's side of the desk.
"This is Sergeant Priam of the Vice Squad. This is official police business. Bring the Lady Ellena to the telephone at once."
"What for?"
"For the identification of a body."
There was a little scream from the New Hellas lady.
"Bring him round here," ordered the Sergeant, "so that he can look into the video pick-up. And then we shall soon know one way or the other."
Two of the Amazon usherettes obliged.
There was some delay, and then Grimes heard Ellena's voice.
"Is this the body that I'm supposed to identify? But, firstly, he's alive . . ."
"I didn't say a dead body, Lady."
"And secondly, I wouldn't know him from a bar of soap."
"It's me," said Brasidus.
"And who's 'me'? I most certainly don't know you, my man, and I most certainly do not wish to know you."
But she did not terminate the conversation.
"Have you any alcohol?" Brasidus asked Aristotle.
"Do you expect me to give you a free drink after all the trouble you have caused?"
"Not for drinking. And, in any case, I will pay you for what I use. Some alcohol, please, and some tissues . . ."
Grudgingly the showman produced a bottle of gin from a drawer and, from another, a box of tissues. He demanded—and received—a sum far in excess of the retail price of these articles. Everybody watched as the Archon applied the gin-soaked tissue to his beard which, after a few applications, returned to its normal color.
"So," said the Lady Ellena, "it is you. I did recognize the voice, of course. But where are you calling from? A police station? And why do you wish me to identify you?"
"I'm at Aristotle's Arena . . . ."
"Oh. Another of your incognito slumming expeditions. And you got yourself into trouble. Really, my dear, you carry the concept of democracy too far. Much too far. For a man of your standing to frequent such a haunt of iniquity . . . I suggest that you order the Sergeant to furnish you with transport back to the Palace. At once."
"You had better not come with me," said Brasidus as Grimes and Maggie made to follow him and his police escort from the office. "The Lady Ellena regards spacemen as a bad influence. And as for the rest of you . . ." The note of command was strong in his voice. "As for the rest of you, I shall be greatly obliged if no word of tonight's adventure gets out. I am requesting, not ordering—but, even so, I could have your Arena closed, Aristotle, and your performers deported, just as you, Fenella Pruin, could also be deported, after a spell in one of our jails. I am sorry, John and Maggie, that we shall not be able to enjoy the rest of the evening together, but there will be other times. Jason will run you back to the Palace at your convenience.
"A good night to you all."
He was gone, accompanied by the deferential policemen.
"Could we have our pistols back?" asked Paulus.
"Help yourself," said Aristotle.
"Another good story that I am not allowed to use," grumbled Fenella Pruin. "At least, not on this world. But the evening need not be a total disaster." She turned to Grimes. "Perhaps an interview, John? I am staying at the New Sparta Sheraton . . . ."
"And we," said Shirl and Darleen, "are staying at the Hippolyte Hotel."
"And I," said Maggie sweetly, "saw him first. Come along, John. We'll find a place for a quiet drink or two before we return to the Palace."
"I'm supposed to be running you back," said Jason sullenly.
"So you are. Come with us, then. But you will sit at a separate table. Don't look so worried. We'll pay for your drinks."