by Kris Neville
“But then, on the other hand . . .”
“Dear, will you hand me a cigarette?”
“Sure.”
He shook out a cigarette, lit it off his and handed it to her.
“So what do you think?”
“It doesn’t matter, dear,” she said.
“Oh, but it does matter,” John insisted. “I think it’s very important.” He snubbed out his cigarette. “It’s all the little details that one should take into account. Can’t be too careful about something like that.”
He rolled over on his back again. “I’m hungry,” he said.
“I really thought they should have served breakfast,” Helen said.
“Well, it wouldn’t be right to leave all those dirty dishes for the second crew.”
“I mean just sandwiches.”
“Yes,” he said, “they could have made up some sandwiches. I think, though, I’d settle for a cup of tea.”
“I could brew you some on the hot plate.”
“It’s too much bother,” John said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”
“No. If you’ll get up and put the water on.”
“All right,” he said.
He threw his legs over the side, fumbled with his feet for the house slippers, padded to the hot plate, put the water on, and came back to bed.
“We’ve still got an hour before the bell,” he said.
“Are you going to shave?”
“I don’t think so; not today,” he said.
“By the way, honey; what’s in that can over there?”
“Fuel oil,” she said.
“What’s it for?”
“You’d be surprised,” she said.
After a while, the water began to sizzle against the sides of the pan.
“Time to get up,” she said. She crawled over her husband, slipped into a robe, and proceeded to brew the tea.
“It’s not much of a breakfast, John.”
“Say,” he said, “where’s my bottle of alcohol for the captain.”
“I set it over by the medicine cabinet, out of the way.”
“I wonder if it’ll be enough?” he mused.
“I hope so,” she said. “Are you going to get up, or must I serve you this tea in bed? I will if you want me to.”
“I’ll get up,” he said. He got up.
“Let’s take it in the nook to drink,” he said.
“Can’t.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“One of the legs is off the table.”
“If you’d told me, I’d fixed it.”
“Never mind,” she said.
THEY each drank two cups of tea; and then each dressed for the Festival.
After that, they sat in silence, awaiting the bell to signal the start of the Festival.
“I’m going to hurry out,” John said at length, “as soon as the bell rings, so I can stand outside the captain’s door and get him when he comes out.”
“That’s not fair, John,” she said. “You’re supposed to wait for the second bell before you can even start to Cast anyone Off.”
“I know,” said John, “but this way, I’ll be sure to get the captain.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m certainly glad you have that attitude.”
He asked, after more silence, “What are you going to do?”
“I think I’ll stay here for a little while,” she said.
“Yes, that might—”
The bell rang soundingly throughout the ship.
“Time to go,” John said. He grabbed his saber. “Where’s the alcohol?”
“In there,” she said.
He skidded into the bathroom, pocketed the alcohol, and started for the door.
“John!”
“Huh?”
“Aren’t you even going to kiss me good-by?”
“Oh, sure. Forgot.” He crossed to her, bent down and kissed her. She put her left arm around his neck. With her right hand, she located the table leg she had placed behind her pillow.
John drew away and half turned. “Good—”
She hit him in the left temple with the table leg. He went down like a poleaxed steer.
She laughed happily.
VIII
WHEN the bell sounded for the people to separate, preparatory to the hunt proper, the captain got up and buckled on his huge infantry sword. He had spent most of the night sharpening it.
He had after long hours of considering, decided that there was only one honorable course left to him. He would defend himself.
For if he were the Sole Survivor of the hunt, he would be Cast Off properly by the first mate. Otherwise . . .
The possibility that it might be done by a crewman was staggeringly humiliating. He would salvage his honor from that final indignity at all costs.
Of course, if he were captured by an officer, it would be a different matter entirely; he would surrender and submit like the gentleman he was. But a crewman . . .
He took the sword out of the scabbard and rubbed his thumb along the side of it.
He swung it, and it whistled in the air crisply, pleasingly.
He grasped it firmly in his right hand and walked to the door. He threw open the door and jumped back and away.
But it was safe; there was no one outside.
He stepped into the corridor.
Empty.
He looked both ways. He listened.
Then he began to run, swiftly, silently, on his toes.
At the first intersection, he stopped and surveyed the crossing corridor.
To his left, almost at the far bend, he saw a crewman; however, the man was not looking in his direction, and the captain felt that he could be reasonably safe from detection if he crossed quickly enough. He sprinted across the open space.
On the other side, he stopped and waited. After several minutes of silence, he knew that he could safely continue.
He ran for a long distance.
Finally, safely down in the second level, he slowed to a walk. He was breathing heavily; it was very loud, and his footsteps echoed hollowly.
He was alone down there. He could tell that.
At the Jonson bend, he breathed a sigh of relief. Ahead was the empty corridor that led to the dead end, Forward. He could see down it, clear to the bulkhead. And as he knew it would be, it was devoid of life and movement.
He sat down to wait out the long day.
He scratched his chin.
He would have nothing to do until the closing bell. At which time he would be forced to go to the assembly area.
As would anyone else, according to the rules of the Festival as laid down by Nestir, who had not yet been sent to his Reward.
That would be a dangerous time. For then there would be no esthetic consideration. It would be a fight amongst all assembling for the final honor of Sole Survivor. One could expect no mercy: clean, quick sword stroke, no more. No suffering at all.
It was not a pleasant prospect. But to be the coveted Sole Survivor compensated for the risk.
The captain laid the sword across his lap and petted it.
He would fight. And no crew member need expect to be the man Cast Off by the first mate; that was to be the captain’s fate.
The second bell called to the ship shrilly.
The hunt was on!
MARTHA and the first mate assembled the children in the large, comfortable hospital. The steward’s department had fixed them all a lunch. The children were silent, for the angry brow of the first mate was a complete damper on their usual animal spirits. There was no holiday happiness.
The children moved around and fell into little, shifting groups. Several of them began to game at marbles, but the first mate broke it up before it degenerated into a fist fight.
“Well, there goes the hunting bell,” Martha said.
“Yes,” the mate said, “hit do, don’t hit.”
“I think they could have a regular nurse for this sort of thing,” Martha said.
“Shhhh. Listen. I thought I heard someone scream.”
“Yep,” the mate said. “I was sure afraid uv hit; won’t be able to heyar myself think all day long. I’m a-tellin’ ya, Martha, if these young uns start a-actin’ up, too, I’m jest a-gonna take a knife an’ split this here haid open, Reward or no Reward.”
“That’s not a nice way to talk,” Martha said.
“No, hit hain’t. But I’m a-sayin’ hit.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Martha said. “I’ll call all the children together and tell them nursery stories. That oughta keep them quiet. And you go over there and lay down where there won’t be anyone to bother you.”
“All right, Martha, an’ I shore do thankee.”
The first mate made his way to the farthest bed, sat down, took off his shoes, and stretched out on it. He reached up and felt his head tenderly.
“Children,” Martha called. “Oh, children! I want you all to come over here.”
Reluctantly, the children obeyed her.
“That’s right,” she said. “Now. You all sit down and make yourselves comfortable, and be still as mice so my husband can sleep, and I’ll tell you stories. And then, after a while, we’ll eat the nice lunch the steward fixed for us, and we’ll all have the bestest time.”
“I don’t like you,” one of the little boys said.
“Little boy,” Martha said, “I don’t like you, either.”
“Oh,” the little boy said.
“Now,” Martha said, “I’m going to tell you the wonderful story about a very pretty Princess and a very pretty Prince: Once upon a time, there was a land called Zont. It sank long ago under the big, salty sea of Zub . . .”
“My name’s Joey,” the little boy said.
“Well, Joey,” Martha said, “do you see that long, steel rod over there, where we hang clothing from?”
“Uh-huh.”
“If you don’t shut your little mouth, I’ll hang you on it by your thumbs.”
“Betcha ya won’t,” one of the little girls said.
“ONCE upon a time,” Martha said, “there was this handsome Prince and pretty Princess. But the father of the Princess, King Exaltanta, was a heathen and did not believe in the Prophet. Now. When a true believer, kind King Farko, captured King Exaltanta’s kingdom, the deposed king hid his daughter in the deepest dungeon.
“Now when the fair Prince, who was the son of King Farko, and whose name was William, heard of the Princess in the dungeon, he decided that he would rescue her and marry her. And after she had had one child by him, the two of them would travel to the Holy City of Meizque to participate in the Changing of the Wives and the Festival there.
“Well, it so happened that King Farko got a special dispensation from the Great Priest to send the members of Exaltanta’s family to their Reward without their consent. As he prepared the ceremonies—they were to be very simple: for, after all, the royal household members weren’t true believers, and would consequently need to spend a million years (at least) as Outcasts before entering into their Reward, anyhow—as he prepared the ceremonies . . .”
“But does everyone get a Reward? Even people who don’t believe?” a little girl asked, wide eyed.
“Nearly everyone, my child. The Prophet was not a cruel man. Of course, people who try to Cast themselves Off never, never, never get a Reward. But others, everybody else, all get theirs. It’s only a question of how long they have to wait. Sometimes, as when they’re unbelievers, it may be a long, long, long time, but . . .”
“I know that,” Joey said.
Martha looked up at him and sighed; she stood up. “Come with me, dear,” she said.
At that moment, the door flew open with a loud bang.
The first mate, who had been asleep, sat bolt upright on the bed. “God damn hit!” he screamed. “My haid!”
“Oh,” said a crew member, who was dragging a woman by the hair, “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know you were in here. I just came in to Cast Mary Jane Off in privacy.” He waved an odd-looking instrument at Martha by way of amplification.
“Hello, mummy,” one of the smaller girls said to the woman.
“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?”