Discworld and Member Articles
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Written by TheJackal
Tuesday, 30 August 2005 |
Down in the Order’s cells, a prisoner was being moved. They put all prisoners into this one the night before their execution. It was traditional.
Brother Polix was not happy to see Jonah Nemoy.
Nemoy, on the other hand, was not sure yet if he was going to like his cellmate. There was the fact that if Polix had overseen his Job correctly, then Nemoy would not be here now. It was also true that both men were set to die in the morning, so it had all been for nought anyway.
‘No, no, no,’ said John Wax in a stern, fed up voice. It was three in the morning and he was too tired to shout anymore. He wished he had never set up the Parlay Players Dramatic Ensemble in the first place.
‘Listen Tom, you have got to show some passion. I mean, you’re playing Carlo and he is greatly in love with Lara, even though she is from the Mortal Realms and that is forbidden. You would do anything for this girl because you love her that much. But now your best friend has just told you that Lara is about to die, and you have to Mediate at her death. Therefore, you’re not going to just bleakly say: ‘Oh no, not Lara.’
‘Well, what way should I say it then?’ asked Tom, who simply couldn’t get the hang of showing deep emotional angst over a woman who was clearly Peter wearing a skirt and too much sweat.
John walked over to an imaginary wall, took what he thought was an easygoing, I-do-this-everyday type of pose, and said robustly: ‘Oh no, oh noo. Not Lara. Not her.’
‘Those aren’t the words proper words. You made some of them up!’ protested Tom.
‘That’s what a good actor does. It’s called an ad lib.’
‘You mean, good actors make up lines so as to add emotion to the play?’
‘Yes, that’s it. But you should only do it some of the time. When the urge takes you, so to speak.’
‘That doesn’t sound too hard.’
‘Right then. Lets take-‘
‘Em, I have a question,’ interrupted Grey.
‘Yes?’ enquired John with a deep suspicion that the question would be totally stupid.
‘It says here ‘there is a knocking without’. What does that mean?’
John sighed. ‘It means that there is a knocking from outside, so as to signal to the audience that a character will enter the stage.’
‘So why didn’t you just write that, then?’
‘It’s just how things are done. Sounds more posh I suppose.’
‘I don’t go in for all that highfaluting stuff meself.’
‘Yes, well if that is all?’ asked John in a fed up voice.
No more interjections seemed to be forthcoming.
‘Okay Tom, take it once more from the top.’
With that, Tom struck a pose which he thought was fitting (unlike John’s one which had just made him look like a ponse). Grey, who was playing Tom’s best friend Arnauld, walked up slowly to Tom and put a hand on his left shoulder.
‘Carlo, I’m afraid I’ve something bad to tell you.’
‘Bad? What is it Arnauld?’
‘It has to do with Lara. I’m afraid she is going to die.’
‘Lara die? But that’s absurd! She’s in fine health. I saw her just last night,’ said Carlo disbelievingly.
‘It won’t be a heart attack or anything like that,’ said Arnauld. ‘Apparently, someone is going to poison her.’
‘What? But that can’t happen. I WON’T let that happen,’ said Tom, aka Carlo, with rising anger and emotion.
‘I’m sorry Carlo. You know the rules. We cannot interfere. It’s our Duty.’
Carlo turned round to face his imaginary audience. His eyes were welling up with tears. ‘Oh noo, no, not Lara. She’s too young, too full of spirit. They can’t break that majestic bird’s wings.’
‘I’m really very sorry Carlo. I know how much she means to you but there is simply nothing we can do.’
For about twenty seconds Carlo stood with his face in his hands. This was to add tension to the play’s crucial scene.
Finally, Carlo straightened himself up and said: ‘Yes, I know you are right Arnauld. Our Duty comes first. That is why they forbid us to have relationships with Mortals. They always die first.’
Then there was another long, dramatic pause, after which the two finally left the imaginary stage.
John didn’t know what to say. He was gobsmacked. He had not seen anything like it in the two years that the group had been together. Eventually his brain clicked back into gear and he clapped loudly.
‘My word, lads! Well done. If ye pull that off tomorrow there won’t be a dry eye in the crowd.’
Tom and Grey smiled from ear to ear.
‘So that was good, yeh?’
‘Yes, yes. Excellent. Now you two can head off for a rest, and call in the others. There are a few more lines we have to look over but we’re nearly there. We might not be slaughtered out there after all.’
It was morning. The executions were planned for noon and it was nearly eleven now.
‘I can’t believe I’m even here,’ said Polix despondently. ‘All they had to do was kill you. Simple! No offence meant.’
‘Oh, none taken,’ said Nemoy. ‘Just doing their job I suppose. Well, not doing it, in my case.’
‘And what’s all that raucous outside? Can’t a man spend his last few hours in solid despair without being disturbed.’
‘I could probably see through that window up there if you give me a boost,’ Nemoy offered. He was also curious as to the cause of the noise, which had been rising steadily over the past hour or so.
‘Alright, but you have to take off those boots beforehand. They’re all mud!’
‘We’re going to be dead soon and you are worried about your precious hands getting muddy?’ stated Nemoy disbelievingly.
‘Well, a man has to have his principles. I’m not in the ground yet.’
It was obvious that Polix was going to be stubborn over this; it might be his last chance to be in an argument he could win. Nemoy did not want the hassle so acquiesced to the request.
Polix cupped his hands and Nemoy, freshly de-booted, placed his right foot on them. With a steady jolt of upward movement, Polix raised his bridged hands. This allowed Nemoy just enough height to reach the barred window.
‘Hurry up, for flip’s sake’ gasped Polix who was struggling under the weight. ‘You’re getting bloody heavy and I’m a flippin’ old man!’
‘Alright, alright. Hold your horses. I’m nearly there. Just keep steady.’
Nemoy used his outstretched arms to drag himself up the extra distance needed to see outside.
‘Flipping hell,’ exclaimed Nemoy after gazing through the cell window.
‘Are you mocking me?’
‘What? No, Freud slip.’
‘A what slip?’
‘Freud. He’s this mad guy I knew years ago. Repeats everything you say.’
That explanation seemed reasonable enough. ‘So did you see what all the noise is about then?’
‘You won’t believe this. The whole damn city is out there!’
Word had spread quickly in Parlay City and a large crowd had gathered for the event. Public executions were common enough occurrences these days, but it was nearly always commoners who were getting the old chop-chop. A rarity indeed was it to see actual members of the Order being done away with.
‘APPLES HERE. GET YOUR ROTTEN APPLES,’ shouted Bill Bombt, entrepreneur and salesman extraordinaire.
A large woman with a swollen neck and chin waddled up to the stall.
‘Hello madam, how can I be of service?’ asked Bill politely.
‘How good are your apples?’
‘They’re positively awful madam. I’ve had them on my mantelpiece at home for the past four weeks. I think you’ll find that they are just solid enough for you to get a good grip on, but also mushy enough to go all over the poor chap that you choose to hurl it at.’
‘Really? They’re that good, eh?’ asked the woman sceptically.
‘Oh yes, madam. We sell only the best rotten apples here. Guaranteed.’
‘Who’s “we” then? I don’t see anyone else?’
‘I meant the proverbial “we” madam.’
‘Oh. So their quality is guaranteed then, is it?’
‘Yes, yes. And if you are not totally satisfied with your purchase, and feel that you could, in fact, eat one of our apples without getting sick immediately afterwards, then we’ll replace it with a new apple and throw in a free runny banana to boot.’
‘Runny banana? What runny bananas?’ asked the women peering into the stall.
‘I’m afraid we’re all sold out of runny bananas at the moment. A couple of rapscallions purchased three whole bushels off me a few minutes ago. I believe they are having a competition for the most accurate thrower. Apparently the aim of the game is to hit the two unlucky sods in the eyes as they walk up the street.’
‘So what would you do if I purchased an apple off you but was dissatisfied with it, considering you don’t have any runny bananas at the moment?’ asked the woman.
‘Er,’ said Bill who was rarely caught lacking a snappy response. ‘In that case, we would give you two apples madam.’
Bill tried to keep his cool. That was the trick for being a good salesman. If you could handle awkward customers, you could sell fire to the Gods. ‘Now that would be a tough sale,’ thought Bill to himself.
‘Okay,’ said the woman eventually. ‘I’ll take an apple.’
Bill was a little disappointed at her only wanting the one but made the sale nonetheless. Five seconds later, he was back to his old vibrant self.
‘ANOTHER HAPPY CUSTOMER FOLKS. ROLL UP NOW. QUALITY ROTTEN APPLES HERE.’
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