The Iron Maiden

by Piers Anthony

  A stately white Persian cat was walking across the room toward her, but halted to deliver a hostile stare, his tail switching. That would be Thomas, dismayed to discover a stranger instead of his master.

  Spirit had had no direct experience with cats since leaving Callisto at age twelve. Now she was thirty one. She remembered practically nothing. She would have to do some homework before doing anything.

  She explored the apartment, discovering the family room, bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and an alcove chamber lined by physical books that had to be Thorley’s office. Everything was in order except the bedroom, where the bed was unmade, and the kitchen, where old fashioned dishes were stacked in the archaic style sink. She smiled; for all his verbal and literary eloquence, Thorley was a typical man, unable to keep up with mundane housework on his own.

  She pitched in, made the bed, washed the dishes, and then focused on the cat. There was a pan of sand in the bathroom that looked competent for a feline potty, but what about food? What about company? She gathered that the animal did not like to be alone too long, but Thorley would not return for a day and a half, so it seemed that Spirit was it.

  She found cat food. She did not know the feeding schedule, so guessed that it would be the same time as the humans ate. That would not be for a couple of hours yet. And what would she eat, if she did not leave the apartment? She checked the kitchen supplies and found them depleted; Thorley’s wife had surely left plenty, but she must have been away for some time. More would have to be ordered.

  She was about to use the vidphone, but paused. She was here to help, not to bring a whiff of scandal to Thorley’s household. A strange woman calling from his apartment during his wife’s absence might look amiss, never mind the circumstances. In fact, anything done on his behalf in her name could complicate his life unkindly.

  She considered, then made a decision. She went to the bathroom and drew back her hair, which had become more femininely long since she left the Navy. Then she rummaged in his clothes closet and borrowed one of his work shirts and a set of trousers. She had to do some spot stitching to make them fit her, but their bagginess was to a degree an asset. She changed clothing, washed her face clear of all makeup, and donned the gloves she kept in her purse. She looked in the mirror. Still not right. She doffed the shirt, removed her bra, and found a suitable section of white cloth in the wife’s closet. She bound this tightly around her chest, flattening her breasts, then put the shirt back on and tucked it in. Now she looked the part: the teenaged boy Sancho had reappeared after a lapse of fifteen years.

  She took inventory of both the food remaining in the apartment, and the empty but not yet disposed of cans and packages in the garbage. This gave her a fair notion of the original store of supplies, including cat food. Then she took Thorley’s identity card from his wallet. “I shall return,” she told the tail-switching cat as she left.

  She walked to the nearest food store and selected her purchases. “I shop for Mister Thorley,” she told the checkout clerk as she presented Thorley’s card.

  She carried the bag back to the apartment, and put the supplies where they belonged on the kitchen shelves. So far so good. Then she tackled the cat again. She went to Thorley’s cubbyhole and was relieved to spy what she sought: a book on cats. This one was on the Angora Cat, and its pictures made her realize that she had misjudged the breed; Thomas was not Person but Angora, surely pedigreed. “Sorry, Thomas,” she said apologetically. “I misidentified you. Now can we be friends?” She squatted and held out her hand.

  The cat kept his distance. “Oh—I’m wearing the gloves,” she said. “That’s the artificial me.” She removed the gloves and extended her four fingered left hand.

  To her surprise, it worked. The cat approached and sniffed her fingers, then suffered himself to be stroked. She sat on the floor, crossing her legs, and in a moment he climbed into her lap. He had accepted her.

  “But you want to know what happened to your master,” she said. “Or more properly, your associate. Well, he suffered an injury in a noble cause, and will not be here tonight. But tomorrow night I will bring him home, and then all well be well.”

  The rest was routine. She made a simple supper for herself and for Thomas, watched the evening holovision, and slept in Thorley’s bed, with Thomas curled up beside her. In the morning she showered and did some hand laundry, so that she would not use up more of Thorley’s clothing than necessary. In the afternoon she phoned for a taxi to pick Sancho up and take him to the hospital. She was falling surprisingly readily into the male routine as the old habits and cautions came back; originally it had been a matter of life and death, and that had been excellent incentive.

  The taxi waited while she entered the hospital to check Thorley out. The clerk never bothered to question why a Hispanic boy should be doing it; just so long as the patient did not run up any bill beyond the insurance limit. She found him at the outlet bay, parked in a wheelchair. She thought of Shelia with a certain obscure fondness; Sheila was a good girl.

  “Thorley,” she murmured.

  He glanced at her. “Evidently you know me, young man, but I doubt I have had the pleasure of knowing you.”

  “I hope you will trust me, nevertheless,” she said, slipping off her left glove to give him a flash of her hand.

  He took the hand, noting the missing finger. “I do. Your hand, my leg: we are compatriots of the left.” His smile was pained, yet shill warming.

  The taxi came up, and she had to help him to stand and to get into the vehicle. He was well bandaged, but it evidently hurt when he moved his left leg. She had to take hold of his knee and lift it slowly for him. He winced, but did not complain.

  As they sat beside each other in the relative privacy of the cab, he turned to her. “There is a reason?”

  “I did not know who else to ask to take care of Thomas.”

  “There is no one else. I fear I was not thinking coherently the other day. I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

  “You saved my brother’s wife.”

  He shrugged. “It was necessary. Are you aware of her history?”

  “Yes.”

  “I would not say this in public, but I respect her more than I do Toxin.” It seemed that even an arch troglodyte preferred an honest liberal to a shifty pseudo-conservative.

  The taxi reached the complex. “Can you make it?” she asked.

  “I shall have to.”

  She used Thorley’s card to pay the driver, then helped Thorley out of the taxi. They walked somewhat jerkily into the structure and to the internal lift.

  Two husky young men in maintenance livery came to help. Spirit was glad to relinquish the support to them. “Mr. Thorley!” one said. “You are a hero!”

  “I am?”

  “It’s in all the holos! You made a gallant sacrifice to save a woman.”

  “One does what one has to do.”

  They helped him all the way to his apartment, and set him in his chair. Thomas immediately jumped into his lap. “Do you need anything else, sir?”

  “Thank you, no. My borrowed houseboy suffices.”

  They nodded, then departed, leaving him alone with Spirit. “Thanks for not telling,” she said.

  “You disguised yourself to spare me embarrassment.”

  He had been quick to catch on. “I thought a woman in your apartment would be misunderstood, in the absence of your wife.” She fetched his wallet and returned his card to it.

  “I used your credit, because–”

  “Yours would have been similarly misunderstood.”

  “Yes. I will repay you–”

  “You have already more than repaid me. You must return to your brother; I’m sure he needs you.”

  “Yes.” But she hesitated. “You have friends to help?”

  “I will manage.”

  “I’m not sure you will. You have no insurance to cover home nursing.”

  “It is expensive.”

  “Who will help you?”
>
  He frowned, dismissing the matter. “I will manage because it is necessary for me to manage.”

  “Thorley, I don’t want to interfere in your life. But I promised my brother I would take care of you, and I don’t think my job is done.”

  “You owe me nothing, Spirit. You have been more than kind enough already.”

  “I owe my brother. I owe Megan. The job is not yet done.”

  He looked up at her. “I seem to be unable to dissuade you from this sacrifice.”

  “It is not of the level of the sacrifice you made.”

  “I fear I am constrained to accept, though I am not easy about this.”

  Spirit smiled. “I promise to do you no liberal mischief.”

  He sighed. “That too, of course.”

  She let down her hair and called Hope. “Whom did you appoint to care for him?” he asked Spirit when he saw her face on the screen.

  “Sancho,” she said.

  He was taken aback. He remembered Sancho from their time as refugees in the bubble. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  She grimaced. “It’s necessary. We can afford him.”

  It was true that their finances were as limited as those of Thorley, and Sancho was as cheap as it was possible to get. Hope shrugged, refusing to interfere. “He can certainly do the job—if no one suspects.”

  “No one will.”

  “Thorley will! That man is no fool!”

  “Thorley knows,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  He made a motion as of washing his hands. “It is your affair, Spirit.”

  She shut off the connection. “Affair?” Thorley inquired.

  “Figure of speech. I have already promised not to molest you. How soon will your wife return?”

  “That is problematical. Her sister has a terminal malady, and needs special care. I hesitate to summon her away from that.”

  “Then it seems I am with you until you mend.”

  “It grieves me to restrict your life in this manner. Perhaps you can return to your brother by day—or better, by night.”

  “No. It is best that I travel as little as possible, in any guise. I dislike crowding you, but–”

  “That is not the problem. I fear that I am not completely competent to rebandage my injury, or even to get around without assistance. This could embarrass both of us.”

  She shook her head. “I bandaged it the first time. I am a Navy woman; I can handle blood.”

  “The location–”

  “I am long familiar with male anatomy. Think of me as a nurse.”

  “I shall make the attempt, Miss Hubris.”

  “Spirit.”

  “It is an appealing name.”

  She helped him lie on the bed, then fetched blankets for herself on the floor. “Please,” he said. “There is no need to visit this additional indignity on you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Please, I am embarrassed to allow a woman to be treated so. There is room for you on the bed.”

  “As you wish.” She lay on his wife’s side of the bed, and slept.

  She settled in. She made his meals and took care of his household chores. She changed his bandages, cleaned him up, and helped him to use the bathroom and the shower. When she needed to clean up herself, he faced politely away.

  She laughed. “Don’t bother. I have seen all of your parts; you can see mine. It’s only fair.”

  “There is where there is a difference. You are a lovely woman.”

  “I am Sancho, your Hispanic houseboy.”

  “You are my liberal angel of mercy.”

  “I am no angel!” Yet she was flattered.

  The days passed, and gradually he recovered. She helped him get settled in his desk chair to write his columns, and between times they debated politics and policies, but never with force.

  “You are a remarkably savvy woman, Spirit.”

  “My intellect is not in a class with yours.”

  He shook his head. “You believe that?”

  “I admire intellect.”

  They exchanged life histories to alleviate the developing dullness of the wait. Thorley loved his wife, and would never leave her; his present separation from her was uncomfortable. Spirit still felt the pain of the loss of Gerald. But a pleasant tension was building up between them.

  “I fear I am coming to appreciate you too much, Spirit,” Thorley said. “You are a woman like none other I have known.”

  “I am an orphan Hispanic refugee, pirate wench, Navy officer, and unashamed liberal. Not much to like there.”

  “I feel constrained to be honest. You are forbidden fruit, with its illicit yet powerful appeal.”

  “Forbidden fruit is intriguing,” she agreed.

  “More than intriguing. Spirit, I believe it is best that we end this arrangement, lest I embarrass you.”

  She laughed. “You think you can embarrass a woman with my history?”

  “I fear I can. But there is no need. You have tided me safely through the worst of my recovery, and I believe I can manage on my own hereafter. I am sure your brother needs your services.”

  “My brother has an excellent wife, thanks in significant part to you, and an excellent secretary. He can manage for a time.”

  “Surely so. But that does not justify my taking more of your time, however sincerely I appreciate it.”

  “How long before your wife returns?”

  “That is indefinite. Her sibling’s demise is a drawn-out process.”

  “Thorley, you are not used to being on your own. You are the original absent minded professor type: intellectually brilliant, but a duffer in minor practical matters. Things were piling up and running out before I came, and it’s bound to be worse during your recovery. You do need someone, and I think that means your wife, or me.”

  “This is an aspect of the problem.”

  “I mean someone to cover your incidentals: spot shopping, laundry, dishes. You can’t afford to hire a real houseboy, so I think I have to remain it.”

  He smiled ruefully. “At this point you understand my finances better than I do. You are surely correct. But I doubt I can afford you, either.”

  “I feel that my brother’s obligation is not fulfilled until you are well and able to proceed with your normal life. I think you don’t understand how seriously we appreciate what you did. Megan is Hope’s life, and Hope is my life. Money is no part of this.”

  He looked at the floor. “I know it, Spirit. I see I must after all embarrass you. The reason I can’t afford your services is that your nature and proximity are causing me to become enamored of you. There can be no future–”

  He broke off, for she had had to sit down suddenly. Why hadn’t she seen this coming? They had been getting along too well. They were complete opposites politically and socially, but their practical closeness was another matter.

  “I apologize for inflicting this embarrassment on you,” he said. “But I trust you will agree that a continuation of the present situation is unfeasible.”

  She scrambled to recover her poise. “No. The apology is mine. I have been vamping you, forgetting that we are strangers. The Navy—when I was with Gerald—never mind. Somehow I lapsed into an unconscionable informality. My reflexes are not appropriate to this situation.”

  “Unconscionable? Dear woman, now you are sounding like me! You do have a beautiful body, but that is not my concern. It is your competence and caring that stir me. I am no longer able to tolerate your presence in any attire without suffering foolish notions.”

  “Thorley, you know what I am! It’s not just a matter of being liberal. I have consorted with pirates; in the Navy they called me the Iron Maiden for my brutal efficiency.”

  “They also called you The Dear.”

  “I never should have told you about my song.”

  “I do know what you are, Spirit, and it is totally at odds with my prior experience, and an education in itself. You have become The Dear to me.”

  “I kn
ow who I love, but the dear knows who I’ll marry,” she said, echoing her song. “Actually, if I could marry Gerald again, I’d do it. But I must stay away from him, for the sake of his restored military career and my brother’s political career.”

  “And I could not marry you either, for similar reasons. But if you do not depart, I shall wish I could.”

  “What of your wife?”

  “I do love her, and shall never leave her. That is why I must no longer be near you.”