Copyright Robin Gordon, 2013
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III: New Jackrusselham
Chapter 10: In the Crypt
then called in a Government Guard wearing a shabby coat over his
uniform and ordered him to take Roquana to the Crypt. He dragged
her out of the room, along a passage, down a flight of stairs and into
the cathedral crypt, where a crowd had already assembled, and where
Tommuz was already strapped to a bed, on full display on the well-lit
platform. The Guard pushed through the spectators till we found
ourselves right at the front, watching as an immensely fat eunuch
tortured Tommuz, who writhed in mingled pain and pleasure and begged
for more. There seemed to be no way of averting his fate or that
which awaited Roquana.
“Do something, Voice,” Roquana sobbed.
I racked my brains, then decided.
“I’ll try,” I whispered.
“If it works be ready to shout Let
him go. I can’t guarantee anything.”
Indeed I could not, for, though what I was about to
try was theoretically possible, no-one had ever done it before, and
expert opinion thought that it would destroy the mind of any Inquisitor
who made the attempt. Even if I succeeded and held on to
consciousness for long enough, I might be too late or unable to have
What I had in mind was to transfer directly from Roquana’s mind
to Tommuz’s and encourage him to resist. I had never
targeted Tommuz in the way I targeted all my subjects. I had
never confronted him in person, gripped his hand and stared into his
eyes. In person I had only met him briefly, and even then my
attention was focussed on Roquana or on the President, but I hoped
that, having been with Roquana for so long, I might be able to use her
attraction to Tommuz to make the transfer.
“Goodbye,” I whispered, and left her.
“Tommuz! Tommuz!” I repeated, but
it was no good. I found myself, head spinning, totally dizzy,
back in my office, then suddenly the office disappeared again, I
whirled through blackness, and arrived I knew not where, unable to see
properly, unable to hear properly, still spinning and falling through
infinite chasms of nothingness, until I gradually began to feel waves
of pleasure, greater pleasure than I had ever felt before, even in the
arms of my poor wife, whom I knew I might never see again – and a
voice was whispering, whispering of the delights of pain. I was
in the mind of Tommuz, but unable to do anything, unable to say
anything, unable even to focus.
A fat face gradually formed before my blurred vision
as a violent electric shock coursed through the body I now shared with
Tommuz, a body that twitched and shuddered orgasmically, and then the
view gradually cleared and I recognised the leering features of Mrs
“You loved that one, dinchu, darling,”
she sneered, but now I’ve got summing really special for
you. See this knife? “Like to feel it?” –
Here she ran the tip of the blade along Tommuz’s leg and he
“Again?” said Mrs Bonpoint.
“Yes,” sighed Tommuz.
“Manners!” Mrs Bonpoint chided.
“Yes, please, Mrs Bonpoint,” Tommuz
“Well I ain’t gonna do it again,”
“Please,” Tommuz almost wailed.
“No, dearie, I got summing much better
’an that,” leered Mrs Boinpoint. “We’re
coming the real climax now, darling. This is where you feel the
greatest pleasure you’ve ever felt in your life – if you want it. I’m
only allowed to do this if you say you want it. Shall I tell you
what I’m gonna do, darling? I’m gonna take your balls
in my hand, like this. Then I’m gonna take this knife, and
I’m gonna cut them right off. You’ll love it,
darling, yes you will. It’ll be the most intense pleasure
if your whole life. Now, sweetheart, would you like dear, kind
Mrs Bonpoint to give you that pleasure? Would you like me to
“I felt a wave of pleasurable anticipation
welling up in Tommuz. There was no doubt that at that moment
there was nothing he wanted more than to feel the knife cutting into
“No!” I screamed.
“Remember Roquana! You love Roquana. Don’t lose
Roquana! Roquana! Roquana! No! No!”
“Come on, darling,” Mrs Bonpoint
urged. Shall I do it?”
“Roquana! No!” I shouted.
“I … I …” Tommuz
stuttered, then, “ … uh … no … no
Mrs Bonpoint hissed in fury, and Roquana took her
“Let him go!” she shouted.
No-one took up the cry.
“What’s got into you, darling?”
hissed Mrs Bonpoint, then, recovering her insinuatingly leering tone,
“You can feel me holding your balls,
can’t you sweetie? You can feel me squeezing them and
twisting them, can’t you sweetie, and you love it, don’t
you sweetie, an you know I can double, triple, quadruple that lovely
pleasure, don’t you sweetie? You know I can multiply it by
so much that you’d give your whole life for it, don’t you
sweetie. Well, you don’t have to give your life, my
darling. Kind Mrs Bonpoint will give you that immense, never to
be forgotten pleasure right here. All you have to do is say yes, that’s all you have to
do. Now, sweetie, you can feel the sharp knife against you,
can’t you, and you want, yes you want, you want more than
anything, yes you do, you want that knife to cut into your flesh.
Shall I do it, poppet? Shall kind Mrs Bonpoint castrate
I had been trying to speak in his mind, but Mrs
Bonpoint’s words drowned everything else from Tommuz’s
consciousness. Now she paused, and again I yelled:
“Remember Roquana! You love Roquana! You want to
marry Roquana! Say No!
Say No or you’ll lose
Roquana. Roquana! Roquana! No! No!”
“Hurry up, my lovely,” said Mrs
Bonpoint. “Shall I cut ’em off?”
“No,” Tommuz gasped.
“Let him go!” shouted Roquana, and other
voices took up the cry: “Let him go! Let him go!”
“Let me go,” Tommuz gasped.
“You ain’t going nowhere, my little
beauty,” rasped Mrs Bonpoint. “I get to ask
him three times,” she yelled at the restive
crowd, then turning back to Tommuz she began again describing the
orgasmic delight he would feel as his testicles were severed.
Again I felt a tide of anticipatory pleasure mounting in his brain,
stronger than ever. If he said yes
this time nothing could save him – or Roquana.
Again I yelled in his mind, reminding him of his
love for Roquana. “They’ll make her a blind whore if
you don’t say No,”
“Decision time, sweetie,” leered Mrs
Bonpoint. “Kind old Sowfie Bonpoint is here with the blade
of delight. You want me to do it, don’t you darling?
Shall I castrate you?”
There was a pause, then …
“NO!” shouted Tommuz.
“I love Roquana! Let me go!”
“Let him go!” shouted Roquana.
“Let him go! Let him go!”
thundered the crowd.
Mrs Bonpoint backed away in shock, then suddenly she
“I’m having his balls!” she
shrieked, but the crowd surged forward onto the platform, and Mrs
Bonpoint screamed, fled, and disappeared through a small door.
Willing hands unstrapped Tommuz from his bed of torture. He was
dizzy with pain, pleasure, relief and roquanine, but I kept a lookout
for Roquana and saw her captor dragging her away.
“Roquana!” I yelled at
Tommuz. “There she is. Help her.”
“Roquana!” he called.
“There she is! Help her!”
Men from the crowd propelled Roquana and the man
holding her back to Tommuz, who embraced her.
A man noticed that she was handcuffed to the Guard.
“What’s this?” he shouted, holding
up their two arms.
“Who’s this?” he yelled, pulling
the hooded coat off the Guard.
“A Government Guard!” he bellowed.
His hand dived into the guard’s pocket, a key
was found and Roquana released.
“I din’t mean no harm,” quavered
the Guard. “Just following orders, that’s all.”
That excuse did him no good at all. The angry
crowd quickly stripped him and gave his uniform to Tommuz, whom,
together with Roquana, they carried shoulder high from the crypt, while
the bruised and battered Guard dragged himself back towards the stairs.
Outside in Cathedral Square the exuberance of the
crowd was boundless: they had rescued a victim from the hated Guild of
Eunuchs, and they had rescued his girlfriend from the almost equally
detested Government Guards. They surged round to the steps
leading up to the main door of the Pantheon, calling in the traders,
shoppers and idlers of the square as they went, till a huge, expectant
crowd was massed around the steps, from which Roquana’s rescuer,
the man who had first spotted the handcuffs, began to address them.
What he said I cannot tell, for at that moment the
emergency alarm called me away. I left Tommuz and found myself
back in my office in the Palace of the Inquisition.
There I found a confrontation in progress.
Government Guards had broken in and had only been prevented from
turning off my life support system by the timely intervention of my
colleague, Ulixondir Drow, who, luckily had been in his office next
door and not yet in communion with his next subject.
I awoke just as the Grand Inquisitor of Sunday
arrived to demand what was the cause of the commotion.
Gulls stepped forward.
“Grand Inquisitor,” he honked, “I
have brought a detachment of
Government Guards to arrest
Dr Tadler, who is accused
that, deliberately and with
malice aforethought, he spied on
prominent members of the
Establishment who were not assigned to
him by the Inquisition computer, both for
his own voyeuristic pleasure and with
a view to discovering secrets
that he could make public in
order to foment distrust,
disquiet and riotous
behaviour on the part of the populace at large, in short:
to undermine the peaceful
government of Sunday,
probably to seize power for
himself and his associates,
contrary to all laws of
morality and of the
Ulixonder stepped forward.
“Grand Inquisitor,” he said, “by
the laws of the Commonwealth an Inquisitor cannot be tried by any local
court but only by an Inquisitorial Investigation under the presidency
of the Commonwealth Inquisitor. I do not know who this man is,
but he cannot be allowed to seize the person of an Inquisitor.”
“Monsignor Gulls,” said the Grand
Inquisitor, “is the Procurator of the Holy Synod …”
“ … and, as such,” said Gulls softly
and silkily, “I am in full charge of the administrative functions of the government of this planet during the
indisposition of the
President, who, I am sure you will be both astonished and alarmed to hear, has suffered a
severe shock brought on by
the actions of Sulamun Tadler. Guards, take him away!”
“Monsignor,” said the Grand Inquisitor,
“though I have every respect for your authority, I am afraid Dr
Drow is right. The Inquisition, like Holy Mother Church herself,
is not subject to the laws and regulations of individual worlds in as
much as concerns their work as Inquisitors. Naturally, if you are
accusing Dr Tadler of theft or murder, I would have neither the power
nor the inclination to prevent your putting him on trial like any other
citizen, but what you have accused him of is misusing the powers of the
Inquisition, and the decision on whether he has or has not misused
those powers, is, and must remain, entirely within the hands of the
Inquisition. The only court competent to deal with such an
accusation is a Commission of Enquiry chaired by the Commonwealth
Inquisitor himself or his Deputy.”
“What Dr Tadler is accused of,” said Gulls, “is
fomenting discord and
insurrection. Even as
we speak there is some sort of anti-government riot taking place in Cathedral Square, on the steps of the Pantheon itself. Dr
Tadler is accused of treason,
and according to the constitution of Sunday, all traitors from those
classes belonging to the Establishment should be tried, not by any
special and biased tribunal, but by
the Holy Synod itself. As a member of the Holy Synod, you, Grand
Inquisitor, will be able to
make your case there, but it would be inadvisable to associate yourself too closely with the subversive activities of a man whose guilt will be
comprehensively demonstrated at
his trial. Guards! Take him away!”
I was then led out of the Palace of the Inquisition,
loaded into the sort of van usually called a “black Moria
wagon” – for the common people regard the Government
prisons as hell-holes like the underground chasms of Moria, the demon-
haunted former palace of the Dwarves in the surviving fragments of the
ancient Gospel according to St Joyur Tullkine, though they are in the
main humane and not uncomfortable places, certainly no worse than the
Commonwealth Inquisitorial Boarding School I attended in my youth.
I was then driven to the Government Guardhouse,
where I was locked in a cell and had no further communication with the
outside world until the day of my trial.
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