Oh! Goodness gracious!'
Then it turned and ran, disappearing into the trees.
I thought about it a while. That Boojum, I decided, had been a Snark.
Then somebody whacked me over the head with something.
Chapter 5
I woke up and discovered that a red-hot piece of metal was buried somewhere in my head. I was lying on a low cot in a small, one-room log cabin. There was a tiny window above me; outside it was dark. I turned my head very slowly and saw two loggers?all the men seemed to dress the same here?playing a listless game of cards at a rude wooden table in the middle of the room. What looked like an oil lamp, a bit off center on the table, illuminated their bored faces. One of them, lean and tall with cynical dark eyebrows and slicked-back hair, looked over at me, then looked back and took a trick.
'He's come around.'
The other one was fair and fat and everything the first one wasn't, only worse. He glanced over. 'Should we tie him up?'
'Nah. He's wasted.'
True. I tried getting up. The shard of hot metal throbbed and I collapsed, groaning.
The skinny one chuckled. 'Weed and alcohol. My, my, my. Bad combination, that.'
I had had weed, copious alcohol, and a whomp on the head for good measure. Lethal was the word for that combination. My mouth… oh, Lord, my mouth. Septic odors arose from within it, emanating from a coating of coppery-tasting sludge at the back of my throat. There was a great ball of limy wool where my tongue should have been. I swallowed and almost heaved.
'One thing, he can hold his liquor.'
'Lucky for him. He would've choked to death on it.'
There was a chance of that happening yet. This was not a hangover. This was a catastrophic illness. My eyes were hot ball bearings turning in their sockets. They seemed to click when I moved them. I closed my eyelids, the insides of which had somehow become lined with sandpaper.
This was obviously a bad dream. It was the weed. I couldn't accept a fact that, for what seemed for the eightieth time this week, was a prisoner. I did not like these things happening at such regular intervals. For the first time in a good while, I was getting very angry.
Dammit, I wasn't that sick. I creaked up to a sitting position and swung my legs to the floor. The hot metal fragment became the flame of a plasma torch performing a curettage inside my skull. I propped my head up with both arms on my knees. Massaging my forehead, I took deep breaths and tried to will the pain away. When the throbbing subsided to mere agony, I looked up. The two of them were regarding me clinically.
'Whatever the outcome of this,' I croaked, 'I'm going to kill the both of you.'
'Easy,' the skinny one warned.
The chubby blond one laughed. 'Nasty in the morning, isn't he'?'
I sat there for a while, head in hands. Presently, nausea began to rise from my middle on a slow freight elevator. When it got to my chest I started coughing. It was the kind of cough that signals something is going to come up and can't be stopped.
The tall one was pointing at something to my right.
'Put it all in the bucket. Get one drop on the floor and you'll lick it up.'
There was a wooden bucket on the floor near the foot of the bed. I reached and dragged it over just in the nick of time. A lot of beer came up along with remnants of lunch, but it wasn't enough to exorcise the demon. Dry heaving commenced, with nothing to dredge up but my insides.
A chuckle. 'Didn't have a proper hold on that liquor after all.'
Chubby made a face. 'He's making me sick.'
'Deal, will you?'
'Something about the sound, you know? When I hear someone doing it, I?'
'Deal!'
I was sick, but I was overdoing it, not exactly knowing how the ploy would work. But it was the only card I had. 'God, my stomach,' I moaned. 'On fire…'
'Get him some water,' Chubby suggested.
'Are we playing hearts or hospital?'
'Gimme some water,' I begged. 'Please.'
They played for a while. Then Chubby glanced over again. 'Oh, let's give him some, Geof.'
I did my imitation of a sick man until Geof relented. Chubby got up and went to a sink against the far wall. On it was a long-handled pump that creaked as he worked it. He crossed the room bearing a metal cup full of water. He approached warily, watching for a sudden move. I was not up to making one. He set the cup down on the floor about a meter in front of me, and backed away.
I got unsteadily to my feet, shuffled forward, stooped, and picked up the cup. When I straightened up, I saw Geof leveling a slug-thrower at me.
'Thanks,' I rasped to Chubby.
'No trouble.'
I sat back on the cot and drank a few mouthfuls, then poured some water in my cupped palm and splashed it on my face. It felt wonderful. I drained the cup and set it on the small table beside the bed.
'Lie back down,' Geof told me, still holding the gun. 'You'll feel better. Also, I won't have to make any holes in you.'
I obeyed.
'Good,' Geof said, laying the gun on the table. 'Stay that way.'
They continued their game while I lay there thinking. I was beginning to feel the slightest bit better, but decided to continue the malingering act. After about ten minutes I sat up.
'I have to take a piss,' I announced.
Another argument ensued. Geof allowed that he didn't care if I wet my breeches. Chubby protested that it was his cot, and he damned well wasn't going to lose a perfectly good mattress. They bickered back and forth.
Finally Geof slammed the deck of cards down on the tabletop. 'All right, you take him out if you want to play nursemaid!'
Chubby rose from the table and withdrew a small biolume torch from his hip pocket.
'Wait'' Geof said. 'I'll do it. When he asks you to shake it for him, you'll probably give him the gun so you can use both hands.'
He got up and pointed the slug-thrower at me.
'All right, you. Out the door, stand on the porch and let fly'
'I gotta do more than that,' I said.
Geof scowled, thinking it over. You can't argue with nature. 'Right,' he grumbled. He took the torch from Chubby, crossed to the front door, opened it and gestured me through with the gun. 'March,' he said.
I made it seem quite an effort to get up, which it was to a degree. I hobbled to the door and went out.
Outside, he illuminated a path through the trees. I took it; Geof followed at a close distance. Perhaps a little too close for his own good. The path ended in a little grove wherein stood an outdoor facility of the kind I had not seen since we knocked down the one on our farm on Vishnu. This specimen was even more primitive. Ours had been designed so that the stored biomass could be easily retrieved for use as fertilizer and energy.
I stopped short, feigning indignation. 'I gotta use that?'
'So sorry, Your Royal Highness. Get moving.' He shoved me, then edged up until he was walking at my side, holding the.gun on me as we drew up to the door.
Geof was a tough guy, but not very bright. In fact, it seemed as though he were making it too easy for me. He stood at an angle to the door such that… Well, I'd give it a try.
He held the barrel of the gun almost to my head. 'I want the door wide open, now.'
