aid of inexpensive paneling and carpet, had made of the sixth a suitably ambassadorial entrance to the ship and its elevator. Beyond these smooth walls and this dropped ceiling, the rest of the upper center hold continued, no doubt, to echo and to reek, but Hradec had no need to concern himself with that.
The oval door to the outside world stood open, as it always did in good weather. Hradec went up the one gradual ramp and down the other and there he was on the dock, with the stranger a bit to his left, looking sullen. Hradec approached him and, with one of his stock, amiable opening gambits, said, "You will probably be surprised to hear that you are no longer in the United States of America."
The fellow, naturally, looked at him as though he were a lunatic, possibly dangerous. "Is that right," he said.
"That is very right," Hradec told him, with his faint but friendly smile. "Embassies and missions of foreign nations on American soil legally exist in their own countries. Our law and our flag, not yours.
Therefore, this is not America." With a sweeping gesture, he concluded,
"Welcome to Votskojek!"
"Oh, yeah?" The man looked up at the ship, seeming not that impressed.
"That's what it says on the back of this thing," he commented, and jabbed a thumb in the ship's direction. "That's the whole country?"
"No, no," Hradec said, delighted at the response, thinking of fellow diplomats over at the UN he could share this anecdote with. "We are the United Nations mission, or soon shall be, and the embassy." He drew himself to attention. "I am Hradec Kralowc, the ambassador." Extending a hand, he said, "And you--?"
The man seemed to have to think a minute before remembering his name; he must have really disliked that boat ride. Then he grabbed Hradec's hand, pumped it, and said, "Diddums."
Hradec blinked. "Diddums?"
Diddums blanched, then recovered. "It's Welsh," he said.
"Ah," Hradec said. "And the first--"
"John. John Diddums."
"Well, uh… John. May I call you John?"
"I was just gonna get a cab."
"I take it, John," Hradec went on, "you didn't much care for the motion on that small boat."
"Don't remind me," John Diddums said, and pressed a hand to his stomach.
"I feel the same way," Hradec said. "Believe it or not, I came here all the way from Odessa on that thing"--jabbing his own thumb at the ship--"and it was horrendous."
"Boy, I don't doubt it," John Diddums said.
"Along the way," Hradec said, "I learned a wonderful cure, just the thing to make that discomfort go away. Have you a few moments?"
John Diddums seemed surprised. "You want me to go on that thing?"
"It doesn't move," Hradec assured him. "Not like a small tugboat, at any rate. Frankly, I have nothing to do till the ballet this evening. Come aboard and I'll fix you the restorative and you can tell me about yourself."
"Ballet?"
Never had Hradec heard so much blunt suspicion packed into one small word. To deal with that problem once and for all, "I'll be having supper with one of the featured ballerinas after the performance," he explained. And then, just in case that explanations wasn't enough, he explained further: "Ballerinas are girls."
"Everybody knows that," John Diddums said.
Feeling vaguely irritated, and not entirely sure why, "In any case,"
Hradec said, "come aboard."
It wasn't supposed to be this easy. Dortmunder walked around the ship, the very sweet drink in his hand that Hradec had given him to settle his stomach, and Hradec showed him everything. Everything. He even saw the bone.
Has anybody before ever had the householder help case the joint?
The tour started in the kitchen, where Hradec concocted--Well, no. The tour started in a small, loud, evil-smelling elevator that took them up from the motel lobby-looking entrance to where the kitchen was off to the right down a narrow, long hall. That was where Hradec got out a big glass and a lot of sty-fund a Cuisinart and made this magic elixir of his that was supposed to settle
The oval door to the outside world stood open, as it always did in good weather. Hradec went up the one gradual ramp and down the other and there he was on the dock, with the stranger a bit to his left, looking sullen. Hradec approached him and, with one of his stock, amiable opening gambits, said, "You will probably be surprised to hear that you are no longer in the United States of America."
The fellow, naturally, looked at him as though he were a lunatic, possibly dangerous. "Is that right," he said.
"That is very right," Hradec told him, with his faint but friendly smile. "Embassies and missions of foreign nations on American soil legally exist in their own countries. Our law and our flag, not yours.
Therefore, this is not America." With a sweeping gesture, he concluded,
"Welcome to Votskojek!"
"Oh, yeah?" The man looked up at the ship, seeming not that impressed.
"That's what it says on the back of this thing," he commented, and jabbed a thumb in the ship's direction. "That's the whole country?"
"No, no," Hradec said, delighted at the response, thinking of fellow diplomats over at the UN he could share this anecdote with. "We are the United Nations mission, or soon shall be, and the embassy." He drew himself to attention. "I am Hradec Kralowc, the ambassador." Extending a hand, he said, "And you--?"
The man seemed to have to think a minute before remembering his name; he must have really disliked that boat ride. Then he grabbed Hradec's hand, pumped it, and said, "Diddums."
Hradec blinked. "Diddums?"
Diddums blanched, then recovered. "It's Welsh," he said.
"Ah," Hradec said. "And the first--"
"John. John Diddums."
"Well, uh… John. May I call you John?"
"I was just gonna get a cab."
"I take it, John," Hradec went on, "you didn't much care for the motion on that small boat."
"Don't remind me," John Diddums said, and pressed a hand to his stomach.
"I feel the same way," Hradec said. "Believe it or not, I came here all the way from Odessa on that thing"--jabbing his own thumb at the ship--"and it was horrendous."
"Boy, I don't doubt it," John Diddums said.
"Along the way," Hradec said, "I learned a wonderful cure, just the thing to make that discomfort go away. Have you a few moments?"
John Diddums seemed surprised. "You want me to go on that thing?"
"It doesn't move," Hradec assured him. "Not like a small tugboat, at any rate. Frankly, I have nothing to do till the ballet this evening. Come aboard and I'll fix you the restorative and you can tell me about yourself."
"Ballet?"
Never had Hradec heard so much blunt suspicion packed into one small word. To deal with that problem once and for all, "I'll be having supper with one of the featured ballerinas after the performance," he explained. And then, just in case that explanations wasn't enough, he explained further: "Ballerinas are girls."
"Everybody knows that," John Diddums said.
Feeling vaguely irritated, and not entirely sure why, "In any case,"
Hradec said, "come aboard."
It wasn't supposed to be this easy. Dortmunder walked around the ship, the very sweet drink in his hand that Hradec had given him to settle his stomach, and Hradec showed him everything. Everything. He even saw the bone.
Has anybody before ever had the householder help case the joint?
The tour started in the kitchen, where Hradec concocted--Well, no. The tour started in a small, loud, evil-smelling elevator that took them up from the motel lobby-looking entrance to where the kitchen was off to the right down a narrow, long hall. That was where Hradec got out a big glass and a lot of sty-fund a Cuisinart and made this magic elixir of his that was supposed to settle
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