The High Froman ducked his head and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. It was not often that the church sat in on trials, rarer still for them to be part and parcel of the Offense. Darral might have known his self-righteous brother-in-law would be in on this, since it was a blasphemous crime to attack the Kicksey-Winsey. The High Froman was wary and suspicious of the church in general and his brother-in-law in particular. He knew that his brother-in-law thought that he himself could do a better job running the nation than he-Darral. Well, he wouldn’t give them an opportunity to say that about this case! The High Froman fixed Limbeck with a cold stare, then smiled benignly at the Prosecution.
“Present your evidence.”
The Offensive Voice stated that for several years the Worshipers United for Progress and Prosperity—she pronounced the name in severe and disapproving tones—had been making a nuisance of themselves in various small towns among the northern and eastern scrifts.
“Their leader, Limbeck Bolttightner, is a well-known troublemaker. From childhood, he has been a source of grief, sorrow, and disappointment to his parents. For example, with the aid of a misguided elderly clark, young Limbeck actually learned to read and to write.”
The High Froman took advantage of the opportunity to cast a reproachful glance at the Head Clark. “Taught him to read! A clark!” said Darral, shocked. Only clarks learned to read and write, in order that they could pass the Word of the Mangers in the form of the Struction Manal on to the people. No other Gegs, it was assumed, had time to bother with such nonsense. There were murmurs in the courtroom, parents pointing out the unfortunate Limbeck to any children who might be tempted to follow his thorny path.
The Head Clark flushed, appearing deeply chagrined at this sin committed by a fellow. Darral, grinning despite his pounding head, shifted his pinched bottom in the chair. He did not succeed in making himself comfortable, but he felt better, having the satisfactory knowledge that in the contest between himself and his brother-in-law he was ahead one to nothing.
Limbeck gazed around with a smile of faint pleasure, as if finding it entertaining to relive the days of his childhood.
“His next act broke his parents’ heart,” continued the Offensive Voice sternly. “He was enrolled in Prentice School for Bolttightners and one infamous day, during class, Limbeck, the accused”—she pointed a quivering finger at him—“actually stood up and demanded to know why.” Darral’s left foot had gone numb. He was endeavoring to work some feeling into it by wriggling his toes when he heard that tremendous why shouted by the Voice of the Offense and came back to the trial with a guilty start.
“Why what?” asked the High Froman.
The Offense, considering she had made her point, appeared taken aback and uncertain how to proceed. The Head Clark rose to his feet with a supercilious sneer that promptly evened the score between church and state. “Just ‘why,’ Yonor. A word that calls into question all our most cherished beliefs. A word that is radical and dangerous and could, if carried far enough, lead to a disruption of government, the downfall of society, and very possibly the end of life as we know it.”
“Oh, that why” said the High Froman knowingly, frowning at Limbeck and cursing him for having given the Head Clark an opportunity to score a point.
“The accused was thrown out of school. He then upset the town of Het by disappearing for an entire day. It was necessary to send out search parties, at great expense. One can imagine,” said the Voice feelingly, “the anguish of his parents. When he wasn’t found, it was believed that he had fallen into the Kicksey-Winsey. There were some who said at the time that the Kicksey-Winsey, angered at the ‘why,’ had seen fit to deal with him itself. Just when everyone believed he was dead and all were busy planning a memorial, the accused had the audacity to turn up alive.”
Limbeck smiled deprecatingly, and appeared embarrassed. The Froman, after an indignant snort, returned his attention to the Offense.
“He said he had been Outside,” said the Voice in hushed and awe-filled horror that carried well over the squawky-talk.
The assembled Gegs gasped.
“I didn’t mean to be gone that long,” Limbeck put in mildly. “I got lost.”
“Silence!” roared the Froman, and instantly regretted yelling. The pounding in his head increased. He turned the flashglamp on Limbeck, nearly blinding him.
“You’ll get your chance to speak, young man. Until then you’ll sit quietly or you’ll be taken from the court. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. Yonor,” Limbeck answered meekly, and subsided.
“Anything else?” the High Froman asked the Offense peevishly. He couldn’t feel his left foot at all, and the right one was beginning to tingle strangely.
“It was after Limbeck’s return that the accused formed the aforementioned organization known as WUPP. This so-called union advocates, among other things: the free and equal distribution of the Welves’ payment, that all worshipers get together and pool their knowledge about the Kicksey-Winsey and so learn ‘how’ and ‘why—’ ”
“Blasphemy!” cried the shuddering Head Clark in hollow tones.
“And that all Gegs cease to wait for the Judgment day and work to improve their lives themselves—”
“Yonor!” The Head Clark leapt to his feet. “I ask that the court be cleared of children! It is appalling that young and impressionable minds should be subjected to such profane and dangerous notions.”
“They’re not dangerous!” protested Limbeck.
“Hush up!” The Froman scowled and gave the matter some thought. He hated to concede another point to his brother-in-law, but this did offer an ideal way to escape from his chair. “Court recessed. No children under the age of eighteen will be allowed back in. We’ll break for lunch and return in an hour.”
With help from the warders—who had to literally pull him free—the High Froman heaved his bulk out of his chair. He removed the iron crown from his head, rubbed life back into his tortured posterior, stomped on his foot until he could feel it again, and breathed a sigh of relief.
11
Court resumed, minus children and those parents who were force to stay home and take care of them. The High Froman, with a resigned and martyred expression, put on his crown and once more wedged himself into the torturous chair. The prisoner was brought in, and the Voice of the Offense concluded her case.
“These dangerous ideas, so seductive to impressionable minds, actually swayed a group of young people as rebellious and discontented as the accused. The local Froman and the clarks—knowing, Yonor, that young people are by nature somewhat rebellious, and hoping that this was just a phase through which they were passing—”
“Like pimples?” suggested the High Froman. This brought the desired laugh from the crowd, although they seemed somewhat uncertain about chuckling in the presence of the frowning Head Clark, and the laughter ended in a sudden spate of nervous coughing.
“Er . . . yes, Yonor,” said the Voice, resenting the interruption. The Head Clark smiled with the patient air of one who tolerates a dullard in his presence. The High Froman, seized with the sudden urge to throttle the Head Clark, missed a considerable portion of the Offensive Voice’s speech.
“—incited a riot during which the Kicksey-Winsey, Sector Y-362, sustained minor damage. Fortunately, the Kicksey-Winsey was able to heal itself almost immediately and so no lasting harm was done. At least to our revered idol!” The Offensive Voice rose to a screech. “What harm may have been done to those who dared do such a thing cannot be calculated. It is, therefore, our demand that the accused—Limbeck Bolttightner—be removed from this society so that he can never again lead our young people down this path that can only take them to doom and destruction!”