Farnham's Freehold (29 page)

“No.”

“Good for young and old, and all degrees of difficulty. Tinker Toy. Dice—lots of games with dice. Joe, are there casinos here?”

“Of sorts. There are places to gamble and lots of private gambling.”

“Roulette wheels?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“It gets too big to think about. Ponse, you are going to have to sit up nights, counting your money.”

“Servants for such chores. I wish I knew what you two are talking about. May one ask?”

“Sorry, sir. Joe and I were talking about ancient games…and not just games but all sorts of recreations that we used to have and have now been lost. At least I think they have been. Joe?”

“The only one I’ve seen that looks familiar is chess.”

“Chess would hold up if anything would. Ponse, the point is that every one of these things has money in it. Surely, you have games now. But these will be novelties. So old they are new again. Ping-Pong…bowling alleys! Joe, have you seen—”

“No.”

“Billiards. Pocket pool. I’ll stop, we’ve got a backlog. Ponse, the first problem is to get a protection from Their Mercy to cover it all—and I see a theory that makes it an inspiration from on high. It was a miracle.”

“What? Garbage. I don’t believe in miracles.”

“You don’t have to believe in it. Look, we were found on the Proprietor’s personal land—and
you
found us. Doesn’t that look as if Uncle intended for the Proprietor to know about this? And for you as Lord Protector to protect it?”

Ponse grinned. “An argument could be made for such a theory. Might be expensive. But you can’t boil water without feeding the fire, as my aunt used to say.” He stood up. “Hugh, let’s see that Scrabble game. Soon. Joe, we’ll find time for you to explain these other things. We excuse you both. All.”

Kitten was asleep when Hugh returned but she was clutching a note:

Oh, darling, it was so wonderful to
see
you!!! I can’t
wait
until Their Charity asks us to play bridge again! Isn’t he an old dear? Even if he was thoughtless at one point. He corrected his mistake and that’s the mark of a true gentleman.

I’m so excited at seeing you that I can hardly write, and Kitten is waiting to take this to you.

The twins send you kisses, slobbery ones. Love, love, love!

Your own B.

Hugh read Barbara’s note with mixed feelings. He shared her joy in their reunion, limited as it had been, and eagerly looked forward to the next time Ponse’s pleasure would permit them to be together. As for the rest—Better get her out of here before she acquired a slave mentality! Surely, Ponse was a gentleman within the accepted meaning of the term. He was conscientious about his responsibilities, generous and tolerant with his inferiors. A gentleman.

But he was a revolving son of a bitch, too! And Barbara ought not to be so ready to overlook the fact. Ignore it, yes—one had to. But not forget it.

He must get her free.

But
how
?

He went to bed.

An aching hour later he got up, went into his living room, stood at his window. He could make out against black sky the blacker blackness of the Rocky Mountains.

Somewhere out there, were free men.

He could break this window, go toward the mountains, be lost in them before daylight—find free companions. He need not even break the window—just slip past a nodding watchman, or use the authority symbolized by his whip to go out despite the watch. No real effort was made to keep house servants locked up. A watch was set more to keep intruders out. Most house servants would no more run away than a dog would.

Dogs—One of the studmaster’s duties was keeper of the hounds.

If necessary, he could kill a dog with his hands.
But how do you run when burdened with two small babies?

He went to a cupboard, poured himself a stiff drink of Happiness, gulped it down, and went back to bed.

For the next many days Hugh was busy redesigning the game of Scrabble, translating
Hoyle’s Complete Book of Games
, dictating rules and descriptions of games and recreations not in Hoyle (such as Ping-Pong, golf, water skiing), attending conferences with Ponse and Joe—playing bridge.

The last was by far the best. With Joe’s help he taught several Chosen the game, but most sessions were play, with Joe, Ponse, and always Barbara. Ponse had the enthusiasm of a convert; when he was in residence he played bridge every minute he could spare, and always wanted the same four, the best players available.

It seemed to Hugh that Their Charity was honestly fond of Barbara, as fond as he was of the cat he called “Doklivstnipsoom”—never “Doc.” Ponse extended to cats the courtesy due equals, and Doc, or any cat, was free to jump into his lap even when he was bidding a hand. He extended the same courtesy and affection to Barbara as he knew her better, always called her “Barba,” or “Child,” and never again referred to her as “it.” Barbara called him “Ponse,” or “Uncle,” and clearly felt happy in his company.

Sometimes Ponse left Barbara and Hugh alone, once for twenty minutes. These were jewels beyond price; they did not risk losing such a privilege by doing more than hold hands.

If it was time to nurse the boys, Barbara said so and Ponse always ordered them fetched. Once he ordered them fetched when it wasn’t necessary, said that he had not seen them for a week and wanted to see how much they had grown. So the game waited while their “Uncle” Ponse got down on the rug and made foolish noises at them.

Then he had them taken away, five minutes of babies was enough. But he said to Barbara, “Child, they’re growing like sugar cane. I hope I live to see them grow up.”

“You’ll live a long time, Uncle.”

“Maybe. I’ve outlived a dozen food tasters, but that salts no fish. Those brats of ours will make magnificent matched footmen. I can see them now, serving in the banquet hall of the Palace—the Residence, I mean, not this cottage. Whose deal is it?”

Hugh saw Grace a few times, but never for more than seconds. If he showed up when she was there, she left at once, displeasure large on her face. If Barbara arrived before Hugh did, Grace was always out of sight. It was clear that she was an habituée of the lord’s informal apartments; it was equally clear that she resented Barbara as much as ever, with bile left over for Hugh. But she never said anything and it seemed likely that she had learned not to cross wills with Their Charity.

It was now official that Grace was bedwarmer to Their Charity. Hugh learned this from Kitten. The sluts knew when the lord was in residence (Hugh often did not) by whether Grace was downstairs or up. She was assigned no other duties and was immune to all whips, even Memtok’s. She was also, the times Hugh glimpsed her, lavishly dressed and bejeweled.

She was also very fat, so fat that Hugh felt relieved that he no longer had even a nominal obligation to share a bed with her. True, all bedwarmers were fat by Hugh’s standards. Even Kitten was plump enough that had she been a XXth century American girl, she would have been at least pretending to diet—Kitten fretted that she was unable to put on weight—and did Hugh like her anyhow?

Kitten was so young that her plumpness was somewhat pleasing, as with a baby. But Hugh found Grace’s fatness another matter—somewhere in that jiggling mass was buried the beautiful girl he had married. He tried not to think about it and could not see why Ponse would like it—if he did. But in truth, Hugh admitted, he did not know that Grace was anything more than nominally Ponse’s bedwarmer. After all, Ponse was alleged to be more than a century old. Would Ponse have any more use for one than Memtok had? Hugh did not know—nor care. Ponse looked to be perhaps sixty-five and still strong and virile. But Hugh held a private opinion that Grace’s role was odalisque, not houri.

While the question did not matter to him, it did to Duke. Hugh’s first son came storming into Hugh’s office one day and demanded a private interview; Hugh led him to his apartment. He had not seen Duke for a month. Translations had been coming in from him; there had been no need to see him.

Hugh tried to make the meeting pleasant. “Sit down, Duke. May I offer you a drink of Happiness?”

“No, thanks! What’s this I hear about Mother?”

“What do you hear, Duke?” (Oh, Lord! Here we go—)

“You know damned well what I mean!”

“I’m afraid I don’t.”

Hugh made him spell it out. Duke had his facts correct and, to Hugh’s surprise, had learned them just that day. Since more than four hundred servants had known all along that one of the slut savages—the other one, not the tall skinny one—lived upstairs with Their Charity more than she lived in sluts’ quarters, it seemed incredible that Duke had taken so long to find out. However, Duke had little to do with the other servants and was not popular—a “troublemaker,” Memtok had called him.

Hugh neither confirmed nor denied Duke’s story.

“Well?” Duke demanded. “What are you going to do about it?”

“About what, Duke? Are you suggesting that I put a stop to servants’ hall gossip?”

“I don’t mean that at all! Are you going to sit there like a turd on a rock while your wife is being raped?”

“Probably. You come in here with some story you’ve picked up from a second assistant dishwasher and expect me to do something. I would like to know, first, why do you think this gossip is true? Second, what has what you have told me got to do with rape? Third, what would you expect me to do about it? Fourth, what do you think I can do about it? Take them in order and be specific. Then we may talk about what I will do.”

“Quit twisting things.”

“I’m not twisting anything. Duke, you had an expensive education as a lawyer—I know, I picked up the tab. You used to lecture me about ‘rules of evidence.’ Now use that education. Take those questions in order. Why do you think this gossip is true?”

“Uh… I heard it and checked around. Everybody knows it.”

“So? Everybody knew the Earth was flat, at one time. But what is the allegation? Be specific.”

“Why, I told you. Mother is assigned as that bastard’s bedwarmer.”

“Who says so?”

“Why, everybody!”

“Did you ask the slutmaster?”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“I’ll take that as rhetorical. To shorten this, what ‘everybody knows,’ as you put it, is that Grace is assigned duties upstairs. This could be verified, if true. Possibly in attendance on Their Charity, possibly waiting on the ladies of the household, or perhaps other duties. Do you want an appointment with the slutmaster, so that you can ask him what duties your mother has? I do not know her duties.”

“Uh, you ask him.”

“I shan’t. I feel sure that Grace would regard it as snooping. Let’s assume that you have asked him and that he has told you, as you now suspect only from gossip, that her assignment is as bedwarmer. To Their Charity. On this assumption, made solely for the sake of argument since you haven’t proved it—on this assumption, where does rape come in?”

Duke looked astonished. “I would not have believed it, even of you. Do you mean to sit there and say baldly that you think Mother would do such a thing
voluntarily?
”

“I long ago gave up trying to guess what your mother would do. But
I
haven’t said she is doing anything.
You
have. I don’t know that her assignment is bedwarmer other than through gossip you have repeated without proof. If true, I still would not know if she had ever carried out the assignment by actually getting into his bed, voluntarily or otherwise—I’ve never seen his bed nor even heard gossip on this point…just your evil thoughts. But if those thoughts are correct, I still would have no opinion as to whether or not anything other than sleep had taken place. I have shared beds with females and done nothing but sleep; it can happen. But even stipulating sexual activity—your assumption, not mine—I doubt that Their Charity has ever raped
any
female in his life. I doubt it especially now.”

“Crap. There never was a nigger bastard who wouldn’t rape a white woman if he had the chance.”

“Duke! That’s poisonous, insane nonsense. You almost persuade me that you
are
crazy.”

“I—”

“
Shut up!
You know that Joseph, to give one example, had endless opportunity to rape any of three white women for nine long months. You also know that his behavior was above reproach.”

“Well…he didn’t have a chance to.”

“I told you to shut up this poison. He had endless chance. While you were hunting, any day. He was alone with each of them, many times. Drop it! Slandering Joseph, I mean, even by innuendo. I’m ashamed of you.”

“And I’m ashamed of you. Fat cat for a nigger king.”

“Very well, the shame is mutual. Speaking of fat cats, I don’t really need you. if you want to quit being a fat cat, you can wash dishes or whatever they assign you to.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Let me know when you wish to be relieved. It will lose you your private cubicle but such luxury is a fat cat privilege. Never mind. I see only one way to get at the facts, if any, underlying these foul suspicions in your mind. Ask the Lord Protector.”

“Go right ahead! First sensible thing you’ve said.”

“Oh, not me, Duke. I don’t suspect him of rape. But you can ask him. See the Chief Domestic. He’ll see any Palace servant who wants to see him. At the servant’s risk, but I doubt if he’ll tingle anyone in my department without good cause; I do have some fat cat privileges. Tell him you want an audience with the Lord Protector. I think that is all it will take, although you may have to wait a week or two. If Memtok turns you down, tell me. I fancy I can get him to arrange it. Then, when you see the Lord Protector, simply ask him, point blank.”

“And be lied to. If I ever get that close to that black ape, I’m going to kill him!”

Mr. Farnham sighed. “Duke, I don’t see how one man can be so wrong-headed so many different ways. If you are granted an audience, Memtok will be at your side. With his whip. The Lord Protector will be about fifty feet away. And the whip
he
carries doesn’t just tingle; it’s a deadly weapon. The old man has lived a long time, he’s not easy to kill.”