"Oh, why, hello, honey. Are you having fun?"
"Oh, yes, mummy."
Mary Jane looked at the crewman. "Well, Bob," she said, "I guess we'll just have to go some place else."
"Well, git hout er come in, but shut that door! That noise out there is a-tearin' off my haid!"
The crewman called Bob dragged the woman called Mary Jane out of the room. She pulled the door closed behind her.
"Well, children," Martha said, "we ought to get back to my story. Now, King Farko, as you will remember, received a special dispensation...."
Nestir locked his door when the separation bell sounded.
Having done that, he proceeded to fix himself a meal. It was a simple one, consisting only of what material he had been able to steal from the steward's department the previous night.
As he ate, he reflected upon his course of action. It was, he could see, going to be difficult to justify at the Reward. But he had been a priest, and because of that he was reasonably well grounded in theological dialectics.
The Festival, of course, was a fine thing. But it had its weak points. Chief among them being that the Casting Off was left to inexperienced hands, and certainly, if there was ever a time when experience was required, then the Casting Off was that time. One should be Cast Off at leisure; suffering long and deliciously. A state hero, for instance, honored by being Cast Off by one of the King's Guards, certainly died the best death imaginable.
In the present case, although the death as Sole Survivor was to come at the hands of the first mate (who really lacked the training for such a position of trust), it would be the best Casting Off available. For the first mate could follow instructions, and Nestir had written the instructions.
Nestir intended to remain in the stateroom all day; the hunt would go merrily along without him.
When the assembly bell rang, he would still remain in his stateroom.
Then, late at night, he would leave. He would slip down to the first mate's stateroom and determine from him where the premature Sole Survivor slept. Then he would find him and Cast him Off in his sleep. And Nestir would be the actual Sole Survivor.
Nestir could justify his conduct by virtue of the little known theological clause:ego bestum alpha todas. A decision handed down by the High Court of the Prophet (Malin vs the Estate of Kattoa: T & C, '98) nearly a hundred years previously.
Nestir had, in his hip pocket, a small vial of slow-acting poison. He would drink it just before Casting the man Off. Then were he not handled the next day by the first mate, he would die the Outcast death, by his own hand.
He did not doubt his ability to convince Them at the Reward. It would be difficult, but it was not beyond his ability. Certainly, if no one took the opportunity of Casting him Off as he sat behind the locked door of his room, it wasn't Nestir's fault.
The bosun pushed the ventilator grill away and jumped out of the shaft even before it hit the carpet.
He landed catlike, his knees bending springily to absorb the shock. He landed directly behind Nestir and pushed the little man against the wall.
Nestir struggled out of the wreckage of the chair.
"How ... why ... why...?" he said.
"Ah-ha," the bosun said. "Fooled ja, didn't I?"
The bosun was carrying a thin rapier.
"Let's discuss this," Nestir said. "One must go about these things slowly."
"Sorry," the bosun said.
"My God," said Nestir, "you can't Cast me Off just like that: without any suffering!"
"Sorry," the bosun said. "Don't have all day. Spend all day with you, and then what? The more people I can Cast Off before the assembly bell, the better chance I'll have to be the Sole Survivor."
"Have you no compassion, man? Can you turn aside from the course of the gentle Prophet?"
"Sorry," the bosun said again, sincerely. "I can't stand here all day discussing it."
"Ah, me," said Nestir as the bosun drew back from the thrust, "who would have thought that I would be trapped by a religious fanatic?"
"Must look out for myself, you know," said the bosun.
IX
Helen said, "I thought maybe I hit you too hard."
"No," John said. "Fortunately not." He had just opened his eyes.
He was strapped tightly to the bed. "I appreciate what you're doing," he said. "I know you want to be sure I'm Cast Off right. But honey, do you think it was fair to jump the bell on me like that?"
"Well," she said, "that's what you intended to do to the captain."
He grinned ruefully. "Darn it. I did look forward to Casting him Off."
"Oh, well," his wife said, "I guess we can't have everything."
"True, my dear," said John. "It was very thoughtful of you."
"I wanted to be sure that my husband had the best."
"I know you did."
"Well," she said. "I guess I may as well begin."
"Yes," he said.
"Have you any suggestions, honey?"
"No," he said. "I'll leave it all up to you."
"All right." She walked to the dresser and picked up a pair of pliers. She crossed to him.
She had already removed his shoes while he was unconscious.
"I think," she said, "I'll take the big toe first."
"Whatever you like, my dear."
After a moment, she said, "My, I didn't know it was going to be so hard to pull a few little old toenails."
After she had finished with his left foot, she poured alcohol over it.
Then she had to wait for him to regain consciousness.
"Honey?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"You didn't scream very much."
"That's all right," he said. "You're doing fine."
"All right," she said. "If you're satisfied. I guess I may as well start on the other foot.... Oh, John?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Would you like for me to fix you a cup of tea before we go on?"
"I don't think so. But it's a nice thought."
"Honey?"
"Yes?"
"You asked what that fuel oil was for, remember?"
"Yes."
"Well, when I finish this," she said, "I'm going to pour it over you and light it."
"Helen," he said, "I married one of the ... cleverest ... women ... in the ... system."
"There," she said, "I thought I'dneverget that one."
The captain got very cramped, sitting there. It was late. He expected it was about time for the assembly bell to ring.
He stood up.
No one had come down his corridor all day, and he felt very pleased with his acumen in selecting it.
There wasn't nearly as much noise as there had been earlier; people were thinning out. He hoped there wouldn't be many left in the fight for the assembly.
He heard, interrupting his reverie, a thin, shrill shriek, drifting down the corridor from his left. Then, looking, he saw a crewman running toward him.
He tightened his grip on his infantry sword.
Then he relaxed. It was all right.
The man had no arms.
The crewman came to a stop in front of him.
"Oh? Captain. Good afternoon, sir."
"Good afternoon. Careful there. You'll get blood on my uniform."
"Sorry, sir."
"How are things going, back there?"
"Pretty slow ... last ... couple hours."
"Getting pretty weak, eh?"
"Yes, sir. Mind if ... I ... sit down?"
"Not at all. Make yourself at home."
"Thank ... you, sir." He sat down. "My," he said, "I'm tired."
"Loss of blood, probably. Listen, old fellow. Do you think you've about quit suffering, now?"
"Oh, yes," the crewman said. "Scarcely feel ... a thing any more. Numb."
"Well, in that case, no sense in keeping you from your Reward."
"Not ... a bit."
The captain drew back his huge sword.
"See ... you ... around," the crewman said.
The sword whistled down.
The captain wiped the sword on the crewman's blouse. His legs were still stiff. He needed a little exercise. He began to walk toward the dead end of the corridor, keeping a weather eye behind him.
"... Bombs away!"
The crewman hurtled onto his shoulders from the steampipe above.
The captain fell flat, and his sword went skittering away, rattling loudly on the steel deck.
"Umph!" he said.
"Boy!" the crewman said, "I shore thought you'dnevercome back down here."
The captain was stunned. He could feel the crewman lashing his hands together behind him.
"What were you doing up there?" the captain said at length.
"I clumb up there when I a-hyeared ya a-comin' like a herd o' elephants. I thought ta come down here an' wait hit out 'til th' assembly bell."
"My intentions exactly," the captain said, testing his bonds. There was no escape from them. "Your voice sounds familiar."
"Yeah. Hit should. I'm Henderson, th' officers' messman."
"Lord give me strength," the captain said.
"Now, iffen you'll jest roll over on yer back, Captain."
"What for, my boy?"
"I kinda thought that first off I'd like ta pour this little bottle of hydrofluoric acid on ya."
"That's very clever," the captain said. Then he reconsidered. "For a crewman, that is."
X
The first mate looked over at the bosun.
"Uncomfortable?"
"Yes," the bosun said.
"Fine, I thought you'd be." He took out his penknife and began to whittle on a piece of wood.
After a while he said, "You haint mindin' me puttin' hit off this away?"
"No," the bosun said, "suit yourself."
The first mate sent a shaving skittering with his knife blade. "Shucks," he said, "there hain't really no hurry."
The bosun raised his head from his chest and shook the hair out of his face. "Not really, when you consider it," he said.
"Yep, that's right." The first mate began to work on the point of the stick; he sharpened it down to needle fineness, and then he carefully cut in the barb. "Hain't very strong wood; them barbs are cut against the grain, an' they're liable ta split off when I try ta pull 'em out."
"I hope not," the bosun said.
The first mate said, "Yep, I'm shore afraid they're a-gonna do jest that little trick."
"Look," said the bosun, "this hair's gettin' in my eyes. I wunder if you'd mind kinda snippin' it off?"
"Not a-tall," the first mate said.
He walked over to the bosun, grabbed a handful of hair and sawed it off with the penknife.
"That better?"
"It shore is. Thanks."
"Not a-tall."
The first mate threw down the stick on the table. "Really should uv cut that before."
"I suppose so," the bosun said.
"'Course I warn't hable to see what uz in th' priest's mind."
"No, that's true," the bosun agreed.
The first mate walked over and picked up the typewritten instructions.
"You're a-gonna get a fine Castin' Off," he said.
"I should," the bosun said. "It ain't everybody can be th' Sole Survivor."
"That's true," the first mate said. "Well," he said after a minute, "I jest guess I know them there instructions fine as anything. I suspect we may as well start, iffen hits agreeable ta you."
"I'm ready," the bosun said.
The first mate took his penknife and tested the edge with his thumb. "Shore is sharp," he said. "Ought ta be. I jest got done a-honin' hit."
He walked over to where the bosun was hanging.
"Well," he said. "No time like the present."
He raised the knife.
"Jest a minute," he said. "I think I'll get me some music on the radio. You don't mind?"
"No," said the bosun. "Not a bit."
The first mate walked to the hyperspace radio and flicked on the dial. After fiddling with it for some time, he picked up a symphony being broadcast from Kque. "There," he said, "that's th' kind uv music I shore do like ta hear."
The music welled out and filled the room with sound.
"Shore is purty," the bosun said.
The first mate walked back to him.
"Guess I'll start on your back," he said. He reached up and ripped the bosun's shirt off.
Then, when the back was laid bare, he made a very shallow cut running the length of the shoulders from armpit to armpit.
"Be kinda hard ta get started," he said.
He put the penknife in the incision and began to pry the skin loose. "Gonna take me a long time ta get a hand holt," he said. "Course onct I do, hit'll be as easy as skinnin' a skunk."
"Take yer time," the bosun said.
"Aim to."
The music turned quiet and sounded of the rippling brooks on far Corazon; it reflected the vast meadows of Nid and the giant, silver-capped mountains of Muri. A cello picked up the theme and ran it, in rich notes, over the whole surface of the dead world, Astolath. A whining oboe piped of the sweet winds from Zoltah; and the brass beat out the finny rhythm of the water world of Du.
"'Scuse me," the first mate said. He laid down the penknife and walked to the radio. With a flick of his wrist, he cut it off.
"What uz th' matter with hit?" the bosun asked.
"Didn't ja notice?" said the first mate. "Th' third fiddle was sour."
"Guess I wasn't listenin' close enough," said the bosun.
The first mate returned to his work. "May as well get on with it," he said.
He raised the penknife again.
Martha threw the door open. "Here!" she said. She swung Joey around in front of her by the left ear. "I'm going to have to leave him in here with you, where he won't get into trouble."
The first mate laid aside the penknife.
"Martha," he said, "I jest plain don't like kids."
"I'm sorry," she said, "But I just can't keep him with the rest of the children. I just can't."
"Whatud he do?" the bosun asked.
"Do? Let me tell you," Martha said. "First, he...."
"I didn't," Joey said.
"I haint got no all day ta listen ta ya, woman," the first mate said.
"Well. The worst of it was with little Jane. Do you know what he tried to do to her?"
"No, and I shore don't care," said the first mate testily.
"Well, first he got her down under the table; and then he sat on her; and if I hadn't stopped him, he would have pounded her brains out against the deck."
"My, my," said the bosun.
"That hain't a-tall nice."
"Grownups do it," Joey said.
"That's entirely different," the bosun said.
"No, it ain't. You just don't like me, that's all."
"Little Jane wasn't ready," Martha said. "She hasn't had a chance to do her duty."
"It don't matter," Joey said.
"Little boy," said the bosun, "do you know where people go who talk that way?"
"I don't care," Joey said.
"You see? I'll simply have to leave him in here with you."
"All right," the first mate agreed reluctantly. "Now, little boy," he said, "you hain't a-gonna bother me, hear? I'm very busy. You jest go over there and watch."
"Yes," said the bosun.
Martha said, "Well, I better get back to the other children."
She left and the first mate turned back to his job.
"What's he crying for?" Joey asked.
"'Cause it hurts," the first mate explained.
"You missed somethin' there in th' back," Joey said.
"Why did you try to choke that little girl?" the mate asked.
"'Cause I wanted to."
"Well," the first mate said, "that's why I left that little patch o' skin."
"Oh," said Joey.
He stood up and walked around the bosun.
"What're ya gonna do next?" he asked.
"Be still," said the bosun.
"I bet I know," Joey said. "I'll bet you're gonna take that little stick over there an' stick it in him."
"That shore ... is right," the bosun said proudly.
"Can I, huh?"
"No," the first mate said.
"Why not? All ya gotta do is...." He picked up the stick and lunged at the bosun.
The first mate tripped him and took the stick away from him.
"Let him alone," the bosun said to Joey. "He's doin' jest fine."
"Thankee," said the first mate.
Martha came back.
"Is he bothering you? We could put him in the ice with the new crew," she said.
"Fine," the first mate said.
"Oh, no," Joey said. "You gotta catch me first." He began to back away from Martha.
She took a step toward him.
He turned and started to run.
"Thought so," she said. She had been holding one hand behind her. It contained a plastic ash-tray. She caught him squarely between the ears with it, and he went down.
"Good heave, Martha!" the first mate said.
She walked over to Joey, picked him up and started to the door.
At the door she paused.
"What did you say you wanted for supper, Fontelroy?"
"Two aigs," he said.