Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Thursday, 01 September 2005 |
Around the courtyard there echoed the sound of wonderful agony. It was wonderful for those not being agonisingly trampled on. The sound motivated those still vertical to strive for continuous vertically in the immediate future. Without doing so, you wouldn’t have an immediate future.
Amidst the screams of pain could also be heard the startling sound of people laughing.
‘Or…or you could show them the bumps on your head,’ chortled Ron, who along with Polix, was getting a great laugh off Nemoy’s recent spate of injuries.
Nemoy somehow was not seeing the funny side.
‘Hah, hah, hah,’ said Nemoy in a sarcastic, drawn-out voice. ‘I can see it’s a total laugh riot here.’
‘Probably got something to do with that ‘good day, bad day’ malarkey,’ said Ron.
‘What?’ asked Nemoy.
‘Well, there’s this theory which says that if you’re having a really shitty day, or week in this case, then some lucky bastard somewhere is sitting pretty on top of a whole pile of cash.’*
Nemoy thought about this. ‘That’d be typical, alright. I bet the bastard is shacked up with twelve women and they’re all sniggering so much at me, that they are displacing a hernia.’
‘No, it doesn’t work like that. He wouldn’t know you are the one with all the misfortune. He’d just think it’s his lucky day!’
‘Oh, come on, Nemoy. You’ve got to admit it’s just a little bit funny?’ said Polix.
‘No,’ said Nemoy in reply. ‘What I think is hilarious, is young Ron here messing up my birth all them years ago, and you just now nearly having your head chopped off. Now that’s what I call comedy.’
It was a low blow, Nemoy would probably admit that, but for now he didn’t care. The comment struck a nerve.
Ron had not the courage to look his superior in the eye. He opted instead for an unusual, oblong-shaped cloud in the sky. All the while, Ron could feel Polix Maybury’s stare rip a hole in the side of his face.
When Polix finally spoke, it was in an eerily calm voice, likened to the eye of a storm.
‘You had one simple task: Get in, rip the soul, and get out! And you bloody messed it up!’
In the Order of Mediators, they called the process of ceasing someone’s life-force a Soul Rip. This term however was misleading, as souls do not exist. Many people believe this non-existent entity allows the body to tick, making it the exact opposite of your appendix, which exists but has no known function.
The inner parts of the human body work in harmony with one another. The heart pumps the blood; lungs take the air in and out; the skeleton holds the body in place. It’s all one big show, with little room for error. You can function with a broken leg, sure, but if your heart decided to take the day you would be in serious trouble.
The actual business of ending life was straightforward. It wouldn’t be practical to have a complicated method, considering the amount of inhumations the Order carried out. An experienced Brother could probably do it with his eyes closed, if not for the prospect of Grand Master Rubeus having a serious word in your ear afterwards.
When you weren’t feeling suicidal, the usual way to rip a soul was to use a knife. The knife had to be forged in Parlay City. This was very important. Since Mediators went unseen by ordinary folk when carrying out their duty, only a blade made in Parlay could be made invisible. It would cause quite a stir if relatives, already grief stricken by the impending loss, were to see a floating dagger before them.
With the proper tool in hand, four incisions would be made. The first two formed the shape of an X, going down diagonally from the two shoulders and ending in the lower stomach. The final two formed a cross along the stomach area. Upon doing this, you would see that the innards of the body were made up of a bright glow. The incisions allowed the glow to be freed. When it had finally faded out, the person would be dead. They felt no pain and only Mediators saw the glow escape.
Brother Polix knew all these things. And for Ron to get it wrong was absolutely infuriating.
‘Well, there was a complication, see?’ said Ron meekly.
‘Complication? You call letting a bloody Rogue on the loose a mere complication? It was a bloody full scale, as bad as it gets disaster!’
‘Er, yes, you are right. But you weren’t there and Gee said tha-’
‘Don’t dare say that it was my fault. My bloody house was on fire!’
Nemoy knew at this point that Master Rubues had been responsible for setting fire to Polix’s home, and also, the subsequent debacle involving Ron and Gee. But he was having fun watching the two squabble like an old married couple.
He’d tell them later.
Charlie Felix, Brother-In-Arms Second Class was not sure as to what had unfolded around him. What he did recall clearly was as follows:
They had tracked the Grand Master to his study. Felix himself had then the all too unpleasant task of opening the room’s door.
Next up, with Rubeus not forthcoming, a volunteer had been called for. Since there was no-one in the group showing signs of a mental deficiency, the men had to draw lots. Brother Georgre Hinckley had chosen poorly.
After Georgre took a little rest (he sat down before he fell down, in Felix’s opinion), the Brother had stood forth to accept his duty.
Felix and the others had said their feeble goodbyes. Everyone knew there was not a hope in all the sweaty pits of hell that Georgre would be coming out alive.
Felix watched as the sod walked forwards towards his doom, accompanied by a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other.
Up to this point everything was as clear as unpolluted, filtered, air-bubble free water.
Things became tricky to follow right about where Brother Georgre entered the room. He had done so in a mad dash, adrenalin seemingly taking over.
The screaming had begun almost immediately. It came in strangled bursts, along the lines on “Ahhhh” and “Oh Gods, Oh Gods”.
The sound was excruciating to hear. The hairs on Felix’s back, which he’d been meaning to shave, stood on end. Others around him shuddered.
If the newly promoted Brother had been thinking the worst was over with, then he was sorely mistaken. The screaming was agonising on the ears, true enough, but far worse, far far worse indeed, was the sound of silence now upon them.
Hearts pounded, mouths gaped, breathing ceased, foreheads creased, tongues went dry. The hairs on Felix’s back were now trying to run away, and they had the right idea.
Seconds became hours; hours stretched to days; days grew into months. All in all, they were the worst twelve seconds of Charlie Felix’s life. It seemed to go on forever and ever.
Until they heard the faintest murmur. It was far off sounding, as if it did not dare to raise the decibel levels. It was Brother Georgre; it had to be. Yes, they were sure of it now.
He was alive, an unconscionable prospect. At present it was not possible to determine if he was in pain or not. Bound to be, thought most, considering whom he was sharing the room with.
And yet…and yet he was alive. What was going on? Perhaps Rubeus was dead? He’d have lost whole pints of blood by now and there was only so much you could lose before the body started asking questions you could not satisfy.
‘Er…,’ said one of the men. It captured the mood nicely.
‘Is he dead or what?’ asked another cautiously. The Brother-In-Arms did not want to bring across the idea that he was volunteering to find out.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Troy slowly. ‘Not unless the dead can talk now.’
The men considered this. You did hear stories…
‘Well, I’m going in,’ stated Troy firmly. ‘Now, I am not asking any of you men to follow me. Each must make up his own mind. Those who are brave enough can line up behind me. Those who choose otherwise, can be on their way.’
Brother Felix was unsure what course of action he should be following. His captain had just given him the freedom to leave, but Troy had additionally given them the choice on lining up behind him. Behind was the important word here. Behind was always good. The middle was best of course: you did not want to be in the very end either, thus ruling out any attack from the old ‘hide behind the door trick’. Granted it was a long shot, but Master Rubeus was a cunning bastard.
Felix made up his mind in the age-old tradition of doing what the majority did. He lined up behind Troy.
_______
* Ron was indeed correct. Nemoy’s suffering of so much ill luck of late had led to two people reaping its benefits. The first was Frank Bloom, who inherited a ton of money off a relation he previously never knew he had. The second was Reeta Law, who finally got the promotion she deserved after her chauvinistic boss was freakishly crushed by a falling tree. What goes around, as they say, comes around.
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