"No. I can do it myself."
"We will help you," the interpreter insisted firmly. His eyes bored into the Earthling, as though daring him to refuse again.
Sheckly's mouth felt dry once more. "Where's Harding?" he demanded. "Where's the other Earth man? What have you done with him?"
The interpreter looked at the leader, who nodded. The interpreter said gravely, "It is too bad. It is the season for the shedding of skins. At the shedding feast last night—"
"The shedding of skins!" Sheckly said, remembering the pile he'd seen at one corner of the village; "those translucent things were your cast-off skins." He recalled that some reptiles back on Earth had regular seasons of shedding. That intelligent creatures should do it made him feel slightly sick.
"Your friend joined us last night," the serpentman went on. "But he could not shed properly, so—"
Sheckly felt his blood turn to ice.
"—so we helped him."
"You what?"
"We helped him out of his skin," the serpentman went on calmly. "We try to help those who are friends with us. Your friend had trouble getting his skin off, but with our help—"