When it was over, Suzy slept. Spar put the rag around his eyes and tried to do the same. He was troubled by withdrawal symptoms only a little less bad than last Sleepday’s. Because of that little, he didn’t go to the torus for a pouch of moonmist. But then there was a sharp jab in his back, as if a muscle had spasmed there, and the symptoms got much worse. He convulsed, once, twice, then just as the agony became unbearable, blanked out.
Spar woke, his head throbbing, to discover that he was not only clipped, but lashed to his shroud, his wrists stretched in one direction, his ankles in the other, his hands and his feet both numb. His nose rubbed the shroud.
Light made his eyelids red. He opened them a little at a time and saw Hellhound poised with bent hind legs against the next shroud. He could see Hellhound’s great stabbing teeth very clearly. If he had opened his eyes a little more swiftly, Hellhound would have dived at his throat.
He rubbed his sharp metal teeth together. At least he had more than gums to meet an attack on his face.
Beyond Hellhound he saw black and transparent spirals. He realized he was in Crown’s Hole. Evidently the last jab in his back had been the injection of a drug.
But Crown had not taken away his eye jewelry, nor noted his teeth. He had thought of Spar as old Eyeless Toothless.
Between Hellhound and the spirals, he saw Doc lashed to a shroud and his big black bag clipped next to him. Doc was gagged. Evidently he had tried to cry out. Spar decided not to. Doc’s gray eyes were open and Spar thought Doc was looking at him.
Very slowly Spar moved his numb fingers on top of the knot lashing his wrists to the shroud and slowly contracted all his muscles and pulled. The knot slid down the shroud a millimeter. So long as he did something slowly enough, Hellhound could not see it. He repeated this action at intervals.
Even more slowly he swung his face to the left. He saw nothing more than that the hatch to the corridor was zipped shut, and that beyond the dog and Doc, between the black spirals, was an empty and unfurnished cabin whose whole starboard side was stars. The hatch to that cabin was open, with its black-striped emergency hatch wavering beside it.
With equal slowness he swung his face to the right, past Doc and past Hellhound, who was eagerly watching him for signs of life or waking. He had pulled down the knot on his wrists two centimeters.
The first thing he saw was a transparent oblong. In it were more stars and, by its aft edge, the smoky orange round. At last he could see the latter more clearly. The smoke was on top, the orange underneath and irregularly placed. The whole was about as big as Spar’s palm could have covered, if he had been able to stretch out his arm to full length. As he watched, he saw a bright flash in one of the orange areas. The flash was short, then it turned to a tiny black round pushing out through the smoke. More than ever, Spar felt sadness.
Below the transparency, Spar saw a horrible tableau. Suzy was strapped to a bright metal rack guyed by shrouds. She was very pale and her eyes were closed. From the side of her neck went a red sipping-tube which forked into five branches. Four of the branches went into the red mouths of Crown, Rixende, Phanette, and Doucette. The fifth was shut by a small metal clip, and beyond it Almodie floated cowering, hands over her eyes.
Crown said softly, “We want it all. Strip her, Rixie.”
Rixende clipped shut the end of her tube and swam to Suzy. Spar expected her to remove the blue culottes and bra, but instead she simply began to massage one of Suzy’s legs, pressing always from ankle toward waist, driving her remaining blood nearer her neck.
Crown removed his sipping tube from his lips long enough to say, “Ahhh, good to the last drop.” Then he had mouthed the blood that had spurted out in the interval and had the tube in place again.
Phanette and Doucette convulsed with soundless giggles.
Almodie peered between her parted fingers, out of her mass of platinum hair, then scissored them shut again.
After a while Crown said, “That’s all we’ll get. Phan and Doucie, feed her to the big chewer. If you meet anyone in the passageway, pretend she’s drunk. Afterwards we’ll get Doc to dose us high, and give him a little brew if he behaves, then we’ll drink Spar.”
Spar had his wrist knot more than halfway to his teeth. Hellhound kept watching eagerly for movement, unable to see movement that slow. Slaver made tiny gray globes beside his fangs.
Phanette and Doucette opened the hatch and steered Suzy’s dead body through it.
Embracing Rixende, Crown said expansively toward Doc, “Well, isn’t it the right thing, old man? Nature bloody in tooth and claw, a wise one said. They’ve poisoned everything there.” He pointed toward the smoky orange round sliding out of sight. “They’re still fighting, but they’ll soon all be dead. So death should be the rule too for this gimcrack, so-called survival ship. Remember they are aboard her. When we’ve drunk the blood of everyone aboard Windrush, including their blood, we’ll drink our own, if our own isn’t theirs.”
Spar thought, Crown thinks too much in they’s. The knot was close to his teeth. He heard the big chewer start to grind.
In the empty next cabin, Spar saw Drake and Fenner, clad once more as brewos, swimming toward the open hatch.
But Crown saw them too. “Get ’em, Hellhound,” he directed, pointing. “It’s our command.”
The big black dog bulleted from his shroud through the open hatch. Drake pointed something at him. The dog went limp.
Chuckling softly, Crown took by one tip a swastika with curved, gleaming, razor-sharp blades and sent it off spinning. It curved past Spar and Doc, went through the open hatch, missed Drake and Fenner—and Hellhound—and struck the wall of stars.
There was a rush of wind, then the emergency hatch smacked shut. Spar saw Drake, Fenner, and Hellhound, wavery through the transparent pliofilm, spew blood, bloat, burst bloodily open. The empty cabin they had been in disappeared. Windrush had a new wall and Crown’s Hole was distorted.
Far beyond, growing ever tinier, the swastika spun toward the stars.
Phanette and Doucette came back. “We buried Suzy. Someone was coming, so we beat it.” The big chewer stopped grinding.
Spar bit cleanly through his wrist lashings and immediately doubled over to bite his ankles loose.
Crown dove at him. Pausing to draw knives, the four girls did the same.
Phanette, Doucette, and Rixende went limp. Spar had the impression that small black balls had glanced from their skulls.
There wasn’t time to bite his feet loose, so he straightened. Crown hit his chest as Almodie hit his feet.
Crown and Spar giant-swung around the shroud. Then Almodie had cut Spar’s ankles loose. As they spun off along the tangent, Spar tried to knee Crown in the groin, but Crown twisted and evaded the blow as they moved toward the inboard wall.
There was the snick of Crown’s knife unfolding. Spar saw the dark wrist and grabbed it. He butted at Crown’s jaw. Crown evaded. Spar set his teeth in Crown’s neck and bit.
Blood covered Spar’s face, spurted over it. He spat out a hunk of flesh. Crown convulsed. Spar fought off the knife. Crown went limp. That the pressure in a man should work against him.
Spar shook the blood from his face. Through its beads, he saw Keeper and Kim side by side. Almodie was clutching his ankles. Phanette, Doucette, Rixende floated.
Keeper said proudly, “I shot them with my gun for drunks. I knocked them out. Now I’ll cut their throats, if you wish.”
Spar said, “No more throat-cutting. No more blood.” Shaking off Almodie’s hands, he took off for Doc, picking up Doucette’s floating knife by the way.
He slashed Doc’s lashings and cut the gag from his face.
Meanwhile Kim hissed, “Sstole and ssecreted Keeper’s sscrip from the boxx. Ashshured him you sstole it, Sspar. You and Ssuzzy. Sso he came. Keeper izz a shshlemiel.”
Keeper said, “I saw Suzy’s foot going into
the big chewer. I knew it by its anklet of hearts. After that I had the courage to kill Crown or anyone. I loved Suzy.”
Doc cleared his throat and croaked, “Moonmist.” Spar found a triple pouch and Doc sucked it all. Doc said, “Crown spoke the truth. Windrush is a plastic survival ship from Earth. Earth—” He motioned toward the dull orange round disappearing aft in the window “—poisoned herself with smog pollution and with nuclear war. She spent gold for war, plastic for survival. Best forgotten. Windrush went mad. Understandably. Even without the Lethean rickettsia, or Styx ricks, as you call it. Thought Windrush was the cosmos. Crown kidnapped me to get my drugs, kept me alive to know the doses.”
Spar looked at Keeper. “Clean up here,” he ordered. “Feed Crown to the big chewer.”
Almodie pulled herself from Spar’s ankles to his waist. “There was a second survival ship. Circumluna. When Windrush went mad, my father and mother—and you—were sent here, to investigate and cure. But my father died and you got Styx ricks. My mother died just before I was given to Crown. She sent you Kim.”
Kim hissed, “My fforebear came from Circumluna to Windrush, too. Great grandmother. Taught me the ffigures for Windrushsh … Radiuss from moon—ccenter, 2,500 miles. Period, ssixx hours—sso, the sshort dayss. A terranth izz the time it takess Earth to move through a consstellation, and sso on.”
Doc said, “So, Spar, you’re the only one who remembers without cynicism. You’ll have to take over. It’s all yours, Spar.”
Spar had to agree.
About the Author
Fritz Leiber (1910–1992) was the highly acclaimed author of numerous science fiction stories and novels, many of which were made into films. He is best known as creator of the classic Lankhmar fantasy series. Leiber has won many awards, including the coveted Hugo and Nebula, and was honored as a lifetime Grand Master by the Science Fiction Writers of America.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1969, 1995 by Fritz Leiber
Cover design by Drew Padrutt
978-1-5040-3444-9
Published in 2016 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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Ill Met in Lankhmar and Ship of Shadows Page 13
