He heard faint sounds. He said, “If you’ve a better way of getting out of being hanged than apologizing, I’d like to join you. I have an idea that there are persons of larger views than… ah… the humans on Sord Three. I refer to that brilliantly intellectual race, the uffts. With their cooperation—”
He definitely heard faint sounds. There had been voices before he arrived at Thistlethwaite’s cage. He waited hopefully.
“Look here!” snapped Thistlethwaite, “I’m the senior partner in this business! You signed a contract leavin’ all decisions to me an’ you doin’ only astrogatin’! You leave this kinda business to me! I’ll tend to it!”
There was a slight scraping noise. An ufft came out from behind the pile of vision-sets. Other uffts appeared from other places. The first ufft said, “You said you are to be hanged. Would you be interested in a deal with us? We can do all sorts of jail deliveries, strikes, sabotage, spying and intelligence work, and we specialize in political demonstrations.” The ufft grew enthusiastic. “How about a public demonstration against hanging visitors from other worlds? Mobs shouting in the streets! Pickets around the Householder’s home! Chanted slogans! Marching students! And demonstrators lying on the ground and daring men to ride unicorns over them! We can—”
“Can you guarantee results?” asked Link politely.
“It’ll be known all over the planet!” said the ufft proudly. “Public opinion will be mobilized! There’ll probably be sympathetic demonstrations at other Households. There’ll be indignation, meetings! There’ll be petitions! There’ll be—”
“But what,” asked Link as politely as before, “just what will be the actual physical result? Will Thistlethwaite be released? And I’m supposed to be hanged too. Will I be pardoned? What will Harl actually do in response to all these demonstrations?”
“His name will go down in history as among the most despicable of all tyrants who tried to keep us uffts in bondage!”
“Not in human histories,” said Link. “Not in histories written by men! Actually, Harl will go his placid way and hang Thistlethwaite and me. And I hate to say it, but our ghosts won’t get the least bit of comfort out of even the most violent of public reactions after the event.”
The ufft made no reply.
“I have a thought,” said Link. “Everybody has a weakness. You have yours, Harl has his, I have mine. Hart’s is that he is hell on manners. Fix things so he’ll be unmannerly if he doesn’t pardon both of us, and he’ll be like putty. If Thistlethwaite apologizes elaborately enough, pleading ignorance of the local customs—”
Thistlethwaite protested bitterly, “Apologize for a straight business proposal? A sound business transaction? I offered to pay him liberal—”
“Exactly the point,” said Link. “Exactly!”
“Mobs in the streets, shouting to shame him,” said the first ufft, enthusiastically. “Pickets around his house, chanting slogans! Uffts lying in the streets, daring men to ride over them.”
“No,” said Link patiently. “Thistlethwaite apologizes. He didn’t know the local customs. He asks Harl to forgive him and permit him to make a guest-gift of the clothes and the stun rifle Harl has already taken. No expense there! Then he asks Harl to instruct me in local etiquette so he can observe it in future contacts with Harl, whom he hopes to make his guide, mentor, friend, and most intimate companion when he has made himself worthy of Harl’s friendship.”
“I won’t do it!” raged Thistlethwaite ferociously. “I won’t do it! I’m goin’ to run this in a businesslike way! That ain’t business!”
“It’s sense,” observed Link.
“You’re fired!” bellowed Thistlethwaite. “You’re fired! You ain’t a junior partner any more! Your contract with me says I can heave you out any time I want! You’re heaved! I’m runnin’ this my way!”
Link looked at him earnestly, but the little man glared furiously at him. Link shrugged and went away. He returned to the garden, where Harl paced up and down and up and down, and where his sister again watered a row of not over-prosperous plants.
“Thistlethwaite,” said Link untruthfully, “had an unhappy childhood, practically surrounded by people with the manners, morals, and many of the customs of uffts. It warped his whole personality. He is aware that he ought to apologize for having insulted you. But he’s ashamed. He feels that he should be punished. Also he feels that he should make reparation. At the moment he is struggling between a death-wish and an inferiority complex. He will offer no more insults unless the struggle goes the wrong way.”
Harl scowled.
“But there is a reasonable probability,” added Link, “that he will end up by making the spaceship and its cargo his guest-gift to you. That would get you out of an unpleasant dilemma. It would be very mannerly to accept it. You’d have the ship and your manners in getting it would be above reproach.”
Harl said suspiciously, “How much time is he likely to take?”
“When were you planning to hang us?” asked Link.
“After the fellas get back,” said Harl. “They may be a while having their suppers. Then I was figurin’ we’d have the hangin’ by torch-light. It’ll make a right interestin’ spectacle, flamin’ torches an’ such and a hangin’ by their light. My fellas will talk about it for years!”
“Just take it easy,” advised Link. “Don’t hurry things. He’ll come around before anybody gets too sleepy to appreciate his hanging!”
He hoped it was true. It ought to be. But Harl paced up and down.
“I wouldn’t want to do anything unmannerly,” he said grudgingly. “All right. I’ll give him until hangin’ time.” Then he seemed to rouse himself. “Thana, you pick the stuff for supper and I’ll get it duplied while you ask Link questions about the things you want to know.”
The girl plucked half a dozen lettuce plants. A handful of peas. She examined the apples on the tree and picked one. It was a small and scrawny apple. Link saw a worm-hole near its stem. She handed the vegetation to her brother. Then she said to Link:
“I’ll show you.”
He followed her. She went into the building, and they were in the great hall with the canopied chair. She led the way across the hall and into a smaller room. It was lined with shelves, and ranged upon them were all the objects a Householder could desire or feel called on to supply to his retainers. There were shelves of tools, but only one of each. There were shelves of cloth. Much of it was incredibly beautiful embroidery, but it was age-yellowed and old. There were knives of various shapes and sizes, plates, dishes, and glassware, bits of small hardware, and sandals, purses, and neckerchiefs, although these last categories were in poor condition indeed. In general, there was every artifact of a culture which had made vision-sets and now was used floating wicks in oil for illumination.
Link suddenly knew that this was in a sense the treasury of the Household. But there was only one of each object on display.
Thana pulled out a drawer and showed Link an assortment of rocks and stones of every imaginable variety. She searched his expression and said, “When you make a stew, you put in meat and flour and what vegetables you have. That’s right, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so,” agreed Link. He was baffled again by his surroundings and, of all possible openings for a conversation, the subject she’d just mentioned.
“But,” said Thana uncomfortably, “it doesn’t taste very good unless you put in salt and herbs. That’s right too, isn’t it?”
“I’m sure it is,” said Link. “But—”
“Here’s a knife.” It was in the drawer with the rocks. She handed it to him. It was a perfectly ordinary knife; good steel, of a more or less antique shape, with a mended handle. It had probably had a handle of bone or plastic which by some accident had been destroyed, so someone had painstakingly fitted a new one of wood. She reached to a shelf and picked up another knife. She handed it to Link, too.
He looked at the pair of them, at first puzzled and then incredulous. They were identical. They were really identical! They were identical as Link had never seen two objects before. There was a scratch on the handle of each. The scratches were identical. There was a partly broken rivet in one, and the same rivet was partly broken in precisely the same fashion in the other. The resemblance was microscopically exact! Link went to a window to examine them again, and the grain of the wooden handles had the same pattern, the same sequence of growth- rings, and there was a jagged nick in one blade, and a precise duplicate of that nick in the other. Perhaps it was the
