"Yams!" Raoul echoed. "_Yams!_" "Shhh, this is fascinating. Go on, beggar." But the mud sogging over Skkiru's body was too much. The fit could be continued at a later date--and in a drier location. "Where am I?" he asked, struggling to a sitting position. "You are on Snaddra, fifth planet of the sun Weebl," Raoul began, "in--" "Weeeeebl," Skkiru corrected, getting to his feet with the older ethnologist's assistance. "What happened?" He beat futilely at the mud caught in the meshes of his metal rags. "I feel faint." "Come in and have some coffee with us," Cyril invited. This also was part of Skkiru's plan, for he had no intention of going back across that mud, if he could possibly help it. He had nothing further to say that the recorders should not hear. Bbulas might object to his associating with the Earthmen, but he couldn't do much if the association seemed entirely innocent. At the moment, Snaddra might be a theocracy, but the democratic hangover was still strong. "I would rather have some hot chocolate," Skkiru said. "That is, if you have no objection to drinking with a beggar." "My dear fellow--" Cyril put an arm around Skkiru's muddy shoulders--"we ethnologists do not hold with caste distinctions. Come in and have chocolate--with a spot of rum, eh? That'll make you right as a trivet in a matter of seconds." * * * * * It wasn't until much later, after several cups of the finest chocolate he had ever tasted, that Skkiru announced himself to feel quite recovered. "Please do not bother to accompany me to the door," he said. "I can find my own way. You do me too much honor. I would feel shamefaced." "But--" Cyril began. "No," Skkiru said. "It is--it is bad form here. I insist. I must go my way alone." "All right," Cyril agreed. Raoul looked at him in some surprise. "All right," Cyril repeated in a louder tone. "Go by yourself, if an escort would bother you. But please give the door a good bang, so the lock will catch." Skkiru slammed the door lustily to simulate the effect of departure and then he descended via the secret passage inside the hut itself, scrabbling a little because the hot chocolate seemed strangely to have affected his sense of balance. The rest of the Snaddrath were in the council chamber gloating over the loot from the potlatch. It was, as a matter of fact, a good take. "Where were you, Skkiru?" Bbulas asked, examining a jar of preserved kumquats suspiciously. "Up to no good, I'll be bound." "Oh, my poor Skkiru!" Larhgan exclaimed, before Skkiru could say anything. "How muddy and wretched-looking you are! I don't like this whole thing," she told Bbulas. "It's cruel. Being high priestess isn't nearly as much fun as I thought it would be." "This is not supposed to be fun," the Dilettante informed her coldly. "It is in dead earnest. Since the question has been brought up, however, what did happen to you, Skkiru?"