Roquana Smuff
(Unknown)
We drew
up in the car-park underneath the Palace of the Inquisition.
“Here we are,” said as I
turned off the motor and began opening the door, but, before I had got
more than half way out, Roquana was at my side, ready to take my arm
and help me in case I fell.
“Thank you, my dear,” I
quavered, still in character.
“Thank you for bringing us
through,” she said. “Are you going to
take us to see
my Voice?”
I took off my snow-white wig, straightened
my spine, squared my shoulders and let my face relax out of the
anxious, puzzled look I had assumed, adding as I did so two or three
inches to my height and taking a couple of decades off my age.
“I am your Voice,” I
said. “I have been with you since just before Gulls
and
Madame LaTower came to your mother’s house. My name
is
Tadler, Sulamun Tadler. I’m an
Inquisitor.”
Dr Sulamun
Tadler, Inquisitor (Derek Jacobi)
Roquana gasped and clutched Tommuz’s
hand for support.
“An Inquisitor? Then this must
be the Palace of the …?”
“The Palace of the Holy
Inquisition,” I said. “Don’t be
afraid, my
dear. As I said, I have been with you through all your
adventures. It was I who advised you to resist Lord Savark,
to
walk in the water, not to resist the Tohu. I have seen all
the
wickedness you have seen, and I have heard how the Sunday Development
Corporation has mistreated the original inhabitants of this world,
which I assure you, was completely unknown to the
Inquisition. I
have brought you here for one reason and one reason only: so that you
can meet the President and tell your story to her – but first
of
all, I think you both need some food. You’ll feel
much
better after we have had lunch, and there are in this quarter of the
city a number of very nice restaurants.”
They both did feel much better after good
lunch, and we set off for the presidential palace in good spirits.
Her Excellency the President of Sunday was
an exceptionally tall, one might say, statuesque lady, a former
entertainer, whose appearances in any theatre or on any screen would
guarantee a large and enthusiastic audience.
“Gosh!” she said as we
entered, “I’ve never actually met an Inquisitor
before. They say you chaps can read everybody’s
minds, so
what happens now? Do you take down my particulars?”
At this point she gave a wild snort and
smacked her left hand with her right.
“Naughty girl,” she
said. “Mustn’t make silly
jokes. I’m
sorry, Doctor Tadler, but you can see how nervous I am. How
can I
help you?”
Old Bonita
Bananas,
President of Sunday
(Mirada Hart)
“Madame President,” I said,
“first let me assure you that I can’t read
people’s
minds. That’s not how the Inquisition
works. What I
have come here for is to introduce to you two young people who have
been through some very harrowing experiences in the course of which
they have discovered that all is not as it should be or as it seems on
Sunday, and that some very important people are engaged in extremely
unpleasant activities.”
I then asked Roquana to tell her story
from the beginning, which she did, interrupted from time to time by
shocked ejaculations from the President.
“Gosh!
I always thought
Jamal Fittlutt was a pretty queer fish, but I never suspected anything
like that. Everyone always seemed to treat him as a
modern-day
saint.”
“Oh,
golly! No wonder I’ve never been
invited to Savark Court if that’s what goes on.”
That the Tohu were not savage,
flesh-eating apes, eager to kill human beings and feast upon their
still warm corpses, but themselves human, the original inhabitants of a
world that was none other than the long-lost and ever lamented Earth,
had her pacing up and down in extreme agitation.
“I don’t know what to
do,” she said at last. “You’ve
come to me
hoping I can put things right because I’m the President, but
I’m virtually powerless. I’m just wheeled
out on
ceremonial occasions to be the face of the Government, and otherwise I
just have to sign whatever is put before me. I’ve
got no
actual power or influence at all. They put me here because
people
used to like me when I was on telly – just a harmless
entertainer
who will do as she’s told. I
must say I was beginning to smell
a bit of a rat, but I never suspected things were as bad as
this.”
“But couldn’t you bring it
before the Senate?” said Roquana. “Surely
the Senate
could start an investigation.”
“Well you might think so,”
said the President, “but the Senate is just about as
powerless as
I am. They take their instructions from the Procurator of the
Holy Synod. I suspect he’s the only one with any
real
power. He tells me
what
to do, he tells the Senate
what to decide, and he’s very good at making it all seem
totally
democratic, especially if there’s likely to be any sort of
opposition.
“He comes to me and says the Senate
and the Holy Synod are both agreed on this, so, of course I say, well,
I don’t like it much but if that’s what the others
say I
suppose I will have to agree. Then he goes to the Senate and
says
the President is very keen that this should pass, and the Holy Synod is
in favour, so, of course, the Senate agrees too.”
“So it’s the Holy Synod that
makes the decisions in the final analysis,” I said.
“We could tell the
Archbishop,” said Roquana.
“Golly, I don’t think that
would do any good at all,” said the President.
I’ve
got quite friendly with the Archbishop since I’ve been
President,
and the impression I get is that he and the other members of the Synod
are just there to rubber-stamp the Procurator’s
decisions.
I think the real power must lie with the MCC.”
“MCC?” said Roquana.
“The Monopolies Control
Commission,” I said. “Every planet in the
Commonwealth has one. The idea is to prevent major
capitalists
building up unchallengeable monopolies and ensure that new settlers
have a fair chance of establishing businesses. It’s
essential for the growth of the economy of each new world we
settle.”
“Except,” said the President,
“that on Sunday the function of the MCC is to ensure that the
members of the Sunday Development Corporation retain control of the
monopolies they have established. Lord Savark, for example,
controls all the communications on the planet: the phone and computer
networks, the broadcasting stations, the book-publishers and the
newspapers and magazines, all the film-production companies,
all
the recording studios, everything, right down to the personal music
players and the songs on them that everyone carries around in the
streets. If you’re a songwriter you depend on
Savark
Enterprises to record your songs, just as you do if you’re a
singer. Even my own shows were owned by Savark Enterprises,
actually, and the more successful I was the more money his firm raked
in. I owe my success to Savark Enterprises, and it is Savark
who
has made me powerless.”
“You said,” put in Tommuz, who
had kept silent till then, “that the man with the real power
is
the Procurator of the Holy Synod. Couldn’t we
report all
this to him.”
“I don’t think that would do
the slightest good,” said the President.
“Monsignor
Gulls takes his orders from Lord Savark.”
“Gulls!” they gasped in unison.
Monsignor Gulls
(Unknown)
“Gulls is Procurator?”
I said.
“He is,” said the
President. “He takes his orders from Savark and the
rest of
us just dance to his tune. I’ll certainly have a
think, but
it seems you had a wasted journey. I’m not your
strong oak
tree, I’m afraid – just a broken reed.”
We left. I took Roquana and Tommuz
to another of my favourite restaurants, bought them a substantial tea
to keep them going, and advised them to find their Tohu friends and
return to the underground settlement of the wild people of the woods,
where they would be safe. I myself would consult with my
closest
colleagues among the Inquisitors to see if anything at all could be
done to break the stranglehold that Savark and his associates had on
the planet. We discussed sending a message to the
Commonwealth
Conference, but I could see no way of getting it past Savark.
He
controlled all communications on Sunday and would be certain to have
computers analysing all messages leaving the planet, identifying key
words, and deleting anything that might reveal his secrets.
I reassumed my disguise – I’m
not sure why, but it seemed like a good idea – and I drove
Roquana and Tommuz out of the Government Quarter and back to Cathedral
Square. They got out of the car and walked off to find their
friends. I was about to drive back to the Palace of the
Inquisition when I heard a sudden commotion, and, looking up, saw that
Roquana and Tommuz had been surrounded by a gang of hoypyu and were
being hustled away between the shanties.
I sprang out of the car to follow, but the
milling crowds made it impossible to get near before they had
disappeared. Something was very wrong. At first I
couldn’t put my finger on it, then I realised: those hoypyu
were
not the usual scrawny teenage thieves. They were big,
muscular
young men – the sort who patrolled the deserted half of
Cathedral
Square. They were Government guards.
I leapt back into my car and drove quickly
to the Palace of the Inquisition. I raced to my office, tore
off
my snowy wig, swallowed the potion, lay down on the bed, connected my
body to its life-support system, and concentrated on finding Roquana.
“I am here,” I told her, and I
felt her gratitude.
She was in a small room with a man –
Monsignor Gulls, and he was sneering and honking at her.
“So you think you can
plot and
scheme against
Lord Savark
and against
ME! Well,
now you’ll
find what happens to
people
like you. Have you heard of
the
League of
Blind
Beggars? That’s
who you’ll be
joining. But don’t
worry, my little sweety, we won’t
spoil
your beauty.
You’ve seen those pretty-girl beggars
with
the luminous silvery
eyes, haven’t
you?
Perhaps you
thought it happened through
some disease? Well, you’re
wrong!
The League of
Blind Beggars uses special
eye-drops to
blind their recruits while
leaving them pretty enough to
attract
charity. But I’ve got something even more special for
you,
just to
teach you a lesson for
rejecting His Lordship.
There’s a section of
the League that’s just right for you:
the Guild of Blind Whores.
“You thought you were too
pure to
oblige Lord Savark, didn’t you? Well now
you’ll be
forced to
oblige anyone who
can pay for
your
services. The League
of Blind Whores is much in
favour with members of
the
Establishment. We all like the chance of
fucking a pretty girl,
and a blind
whore will never
know who
her clients
are. I may even
make use of
you myself before
you get too shop-soiled, but if I do,
you’ll never know – and if
you suspected any of my
associates or I, well, no-one would believe a blind beggar would they?
“So, my sweet little housemaid,
you’ll be taken to
the
blind beggars, who will be only too glad
to
have such a pretty new
recruit. You’ll be given special
potions to
drink, and then
they’ll put the drops in
your
eyes. I’m told it burns in a truly agonising
way, but then,
that’s what you deserve.
“However, before you pass into
everlasting darkness, there is one last thing I want you to see.
You assaulted Lord Savark in
the very seat and citadel of
his manhood,
so now your filthy little boyfriend is going to pay the
price.
He’s going to be recruited into the League of
Eunuchs, so the
last thing you will remember seeing will be Tommuz begging the eunuchs
to
castrate him. Then
you’ll see his testicles brandished
in
triumph, and, as
you’re led away to
be
blinded, you’ll
know that His Lordship will soon be enjoying another little treat of
fried bollocks … shee-hee-hee-hee
…shee-hee-hee!”