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Authors: Piers Anthony
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because Dug wasn't really in this scene. He was protected by his screen.
She sighed silently and got into the dingy little dinghy boat the headman showed them. She set the pail between her knees and took the oars. She hauled on them. They were heavy, but she heaved hard and made them move. The headman watched as the dinghy moved out. She was alone, except for the screen.
"Boy, you sure look great when you're moving like that," Dug said, staring at her front
As if things weren't bad enough! "Why don't you take an oar?" she gasped. Because she was a maiden she did not speak the rest of her thought: And shove it somewhere loathsome. In fact, because she was a princess, she could not even think of it in greater detail, frustrating as it was. She suffered the same sort of repression the censor-ship brought to the isthmus, only hers could not be doused by any solution. She wished that just once she could step out of her role and do something fiendishly unprincessly.
Meanwhile the awful mood of the ship intensified. There was an ambience of gloom, hatred, and loathing. The ship was here on a mission of destruction, seeking to extirpate not only all pleasure in life, but ultimately life itself. Total repression, so that it would no longer be possible even to breathe, and all the victims could do was expire and rot away. What a cargo of malice! Her breath was getting short, and not just from her effort of rowing; it was as if a depressing weight were bearing down on her squashing out her strength and will. How much longer could she continue?
The dinghy touched the somber hull. "Okay, tie the boat close, and carry the solution up there," Dug said. "This isn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be."
Nada tried to make an angry remark, but the overpowering fumes of the censers left her barely able to breathe. So she took the pail in one hand, and grabbed a rope ladder with the other. She hauled herself up, rung by rung, until she made it to the deck.
"Great!" Dug said. "What an antique this is! I wish I had a model of it."
Nada just wished he could be physically here, to suffer the effects of this ship of doom. She dragged herself across the dark planking toward the nearest censer. It was as if she were climbing a mountain, and the slope got steeper with each step. She had to drag each leg forward through a seeming miasma that clung like rotten goo. Every breath seemed to bring in a thick sludge of vapor that soiled her tenderest innermost recesses. She closed her eyes and plowed on.
"Come on, Nada, you're real close," Dug said encouragingly. "Just a couple more steps, then heave the pail up and slop some in."
Two more steps? It might as well have been two more worlds! Nada couldn't even keep her feet any longer. The stench from the looming censer was overpowering her last resolve, and she was falling. The pail was tilting, its precious solution about to spill out across the deck, wasted.
Hands caught her and the pail. "Come on, we've got to get this done," Dug said. "We can't give up now." He coughed. "Phew! What a stench!"
He lifted the pail from her slackening grasp and lurched forward. His breath wheezed. His body trembled. He seemed to be swept back by a sickly wind. But he fought forward just a little more, closing the grudging gap between the pail and the censer. He heaved the pail up, tilted it, and splashed some solution into the censer.
There was a pouff! and a hideous cloud of vapor spread up and out. It soiled the air, then thinned, and faded away. The incense had been extinguished. For the first time she saw the lettering on the censer: HATRED.
A breath of clean air swept in. Nada, sprawled on the deck, inhaled. How sweet it was!
They had done it! They had overcome the censor-ship. The isthmus would be free!
Then another whiff of awfulness came. Nada looked— and saw the far censer. They had extinguished only one of the two. The job was only half done.
She dragged herself up. She had no idea now she would
She sighed silently and got into the dingy little dinghy boat the headman showed them. She set the pail between her knees and took the oars. She hauled on them. They were heavy, but she heaved hard and made them move. The headman watched as the dinghy moved out. She was alone, except for the screen.
"Boy, you sure look great when you're moving like that," Dug said, staring at her front
As if things weren't bad enough! "Why don't you take an oar?" she gasped. Because she was a maiden she did not speak the rest of her thought: And shove it somewhere loathsome. In fact, because she was a princess, she could not even think of it in greater detail, frustrating as it was. She suffered the same sort of repression the censor-ship brought to the isthmus, only hers could not be doused by any solution. She wished that just once she could step out of her role and do something fiendishly unprincessly.
Meanwhile the awful mood of the ship intensified. There was an ambience of gloom, hatred, and loathing. The ship was here on a mission of destruction, seeking to extirpate not only all pleasure in life, but ultimately life itself. Total repression, so that it would no longer be possible even to breathe, and all the victims could do was expire and rot away. What a cargo of malice! Her breath was getting short, and not just from her effort of rowing; it was as if a depressing weight were bearing down on her squashing out her strength and will. How much longer could she continue?
The dinghy touched the somber hull. "Okay, tie the boat close, and carry the solution up there," Dug said. "This isn't nearly as hard as I thought it would be."
Nada tried to make an angry remark, but the overpowering fumes of the censers left her barely able to breathe. So she took the pail in one hand, and grabbed a rope ladder with the other. She hauled herself up, rung by rung, until she made it to the deck.
"Great!" Dug said. "What an antique this is! I wish I had a model of it."
Nada just wished he could be physically here, to suffer the effects of this ship of doom. She dragged herself across the dark planking toward the nearest censer. It was as if she were climbing a mountain, and the slope got steeper with each step. She had to drag each leg forward through a seeming miasma that clung like rotten goo. Every breath seemed to bring in a thick sludge of vapor that soiled her tenderest innermost recesses. She closed her eyes and plowed on.
"Come on, Nada, you're real close," Dug said encouragingly. "Just a couple more steps, then heave the pail up and slop some in."
Two more steps? It might as well have been two more worlds! Nada couldn't even keep her feet any longer. The stench from the looming censer was overpowering her last resolve, and she was falling. The pail was tilting, its precious solution about to spill out across the deck, wasted.
Hands caught her and the pail. "Come on, we've got to get this done," Dug said. "We can't give up now." He coughed. "Phew! What a stench!"
He lifted the pail from her slackening grasp and lurched forward. His breath wheezed. His body trembled. He seemed to be swept back by a sickly wind. But he fought forward just a little more, closing the grudging gap between the pail and the censer. He heaved the pail up, tilted it, and splashed some solution into the censer.
There was a pouff! and a hideous cloud of vapor spread up and out. It soiled the air, then thinned, and faded away. The incense had been extinguished. For the first time she saw the lettering on the censer: HATRED.
A breath of clean air swept in. Nada, sprawled on the deck, inhaled. How sweet it was!
They had done it! They had overcome the censor-ship. The isthmus would be free!
Then another whiff of awfulness came. Nada looked— and saw the far censer. They had extinguished only one of the two. The job was only half done.
She dragged herself up. She had no idea now she would
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