snarling buck-toothed two-hundred-pound hulk, and Corporal Hassanavitch, a rat-faced gypsy. These ten bastards were marched to the guardhouse adjacent to the garrison and locked in. In taking leave of them I gave Sergeant Gonzales a bottle of anise-flavored
'Siiii, Senor Capitan.'
At the prison I summoned the resident clergymen to a small interrogation room. I was seated behind a desk examining papers, armed partisans ranged behind me. Kelley, in accordance with his clerical costume, had left his gun in a corner.
'Gentlemen, this is father Kelley from Ireland.' Kelley smiled and nodded unctuously.
I studied a file in front of me, drumming my fingers on the desk. I looked up.
'Father Gomez?'
'I am Father Gomez.' A plump face, near-sighted yellowish eyes behind spectacles, a cruel absentminded expression.
'Father Domingo?'
'I am Father Domingo.' A thin sour face, autos-da-fe smoldering in sulfurous gray eyes.
'You are officers of the Inquisition?' I inquired midly.
'We are clergymen. Priests of God,' said Domingo, glaring at me. He was not used to being on the receiving end.
'You are dogs of the Inquisition. Sent here from Lima. You urged that our companion Captain Strobe be burned as a heretic instead of hanged as a pirate. You were overruled by Bishop Gardenas and Father Herera. No doubt you are biding your time to revenge yourself on these honest men for their humanity.'
Without more ado I drew my double-barreled pistol and shot them both in the stomach. Placing the smoking pistol on the desk, I snapped my fingers.
'Father Kelley! Extreme unction!'
The other clergymen gasped and turned pale. However, they could not conceal their relief when I told then that as decent clergymen they had nothing to fear. I reloaded my pistol as Kelley delivered his bogus unction.
'Well, I think you gentlemen could do with a drink.' I poured for each a small glass of anise spirits containing four grains of opium.
Sitting on a balcony overlooking the bay, sipping a rum punch as the sun went down, I reflected that the exercise of power conveys a weird sensation of ease and tranquility. (I wonder how many of the ten men in the guardhouse will be alive tomorrow. It amuses me to think of them cutting each other's throats over a bottle of poisoned spirits.)
The summary dispatching of the two Inquisitors was based on a precept long used by the Inquisition itself, which is in fact the way they were able to maintain their power despite widespread opposition and hatred. Brutal sanctions against a minority from which one is generically exempt cannot but produce a measure of satisfaction in those who are spared such treatment. 'As decent clergymen you have nothing to fear.' Thus the burning of Jews, Moors, and sodomites produces a certain sense of comfort in those who are not Jews, Moors, or sodomites:
Any body of men will be found to contain ten to fifteen percent of incorrigible troublemakers. In fact, most of the misery on this planet derives from this ten percent. It is useless to try and reeducate them, since their only function is to harm and harass others. To maintain them in prisons is a waste of personnel and provisions. To addict them to opium takes too long, and in any case they are not amenable to useful work. There is but one sure remedy. In future operations, as soon as these individuals are discovered, either by advance intelligence or by on-the-spot observation, they will be killed on any pretext. In the words of the Bard, 'Only fools do those villians pity who are punished ere they have done their mischief.'
Today Hans is the City
