have some ideas."
"I'm a trailboss, not a technician," Pimli said mildly, but he was already moving toward the door. "However, since I've notiiing better to do-"
"Maybe it's just the end coming on," Finli said, pausing in the doorway. "As if there could be any just about such a thing."
"Maybe that's it," Pimli said equably, "and a walk in the morning air can't do us any ha-Hey! Hey, you! You, there! You Rod! Turn around when I talk to you, hadn't you just better!"
The Rod, a scrawny fellow in an ancient pair of denim biballs (the deeply sagging seat had gone completely white),
obeyed. His cheeks were chubby and freckled, his eyes an engaging shade of blue even though at the moment alarmed.
He actually wouldn't have been bad-looking except for his nose, which had been eaten away almost completely on one side, giving him a bizarre one-nostril look. He was toting a basket. Pimli was pretty sure he'd seen this shufflefoot bah-bo around the ranch before, but couldn't be sure; to him, all Rods looked alike.
It didn't matter. Identification was Finli's job and he took charge now, pulling a rubber glove out of his belt and putting it on as he strode forward. The Rod cringed back against the wall, clasping his wicker basket tighter and letting go a loud fart that had to have been pure nerves. Pimli needed to bite down on the inside of his cheek, and quite fiercely, to keep a smile from rising on his lips.
"Nay, nay, nay!" the Security Chief cried, and slapped the Rod briskly across the face with his newly gloved hand. (It did not do to touch the Children of Roderick skin to skin; they carried too many diseases.) Loose spit flew from the Rod's mouth and blood from the hole in his nose. "Speak not with your ki'box to me, sai Haylis! The hole in thy head's not much better, but at least it can give me a word of respect. It had better be able to!"
"Hile, Finli O'Tego!" Haylis muttered, and fisted himself in the forehead so hard the back of his head bounced off the wall-bonk!'That did it: Pimli barked a laugh in spite of himself.
Nor would Finli be able to reproach him with it on their walk to Damli House, for he was smiling now, too. Although Pimli doubted that the Rod named Haylis would find much to comfort him in that smile. It exposed too many sharp teeth. "Hile,
Finli O'The Watch, long days and pleasant nights to'ee, sai!"
"Better," Finli allowed. "Not much, but a little. What in hell's name are you doing here before Horn and Sun? And tell me what's in thy bascomb, wiggins?"
Haylis hugged it tighter against his chest, his eyes flashing with alarm. Finli's smile disappeared at once.
"You flip the lid and show me what's in thy bascomb this second, cully, or thee'll be picking thy teeth off the carpet."
These words came out in a smooth, low growl.
For a moment Pimli thought the Rod still would not comply, and he felt a twinge of active alarm. Then, slowly, the fellow lifted the lid of the wicker basket. It was the sort with handles, known in Finli's home territory as a bascomb. The Rod held it reluctantly out. At the same time he closed his sore-looking, booger-rimmed eyes and turned his head aside, as if in anticipation of a blow.
Finli looked. For a long time he said nothing, then gave his own bark of laughter and invited Pimli to have a peek. The Master knew what he was seeing at once, but figuring out what it meant took a moment longer. Then his mind flashed back to popping the pimple and offering Finli the bloody pus, as one would offer a friend left-over hors d'oeuweat the end of a dinnerparty.
In the bottom of the Rod's basket was a litde pile of used tissues. Kleenex, in fact.
"Did Tammy Kelly send you to pick up the swill this morning?"
Pimli asked.
The Rod nodded fearfully.
"Did she tell you that you could have whatever you found and fancied from the wastecans?"
He thought the Rod would lie. If and when he did, the Master would command Finli to beat the fellow, as an object-lesson in honesty.
But the Rod-Haylis-shook his head, looking sad.
"All right," Pimli said, relieved. It was really too early in the day for beatings and howlings and tears. They spoiled a man's breakfast. "You can go, and with your prize. But next time, cully, ask permission or you'll leave here