Aboriginal Science Fiction, Issues 57–58 — page 29: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

planks of the wall of a barn outside Oxford. Morris woke up slowly. There was a flickering light from a lantern nearby, surrounded by a red glow from a brazier next to it. Irons stuck out of the glowing coals. He lay on a pile of straw. He squinted groggily up at the two men who stood over him; Wilf smirked, and Taylor had an expression of mild curiosity. He wriggled; he was stripped naked, and the straw seemed to irritate his back and buttocks. Then his mind cleared and he lunged up, to find that he was tied down with high-quality hemp. “What d’you want? Where is this?” “Where no one will hear you, Morris,” Taylor said. “What do you want?” Morris shouted again. “You are a good Catholic, are you not, Morris?” Taylor said. “A loyal subject of the Bishop of Rome?” “What’s it to you?” Morris asked cautiously. “Are you?” “T am,” Morris said. His voice trembled, and Taylor smiled. The word had not yet been invent- ed for that smile; it made Morris shiver. Perhaps it was then that Morris knew he was dead. “Good. Wilf, fetch the tools.” Wilf walked over to Morris’s left. The captive strained to see what he was doing, but the man was too far behind him. “You were heard,” Taylor said, “at the stake today, expressing approval for the execution of Archbishop Cranmer.” Sweat broke out on Morris’s forehead. Edward took in the dilated eyes and the flared nostrils and diagnosed the symptoms of terror. “D-did I?” Morris said. “The heretic had it coming. God bless the Queen, dragging this country of ours back to the true faith, never mind that German monk’s ram- blings,” Taylor said. “My memory never fails me.” Wilf walked back into Morris’s view, laden down with tools. Taylor took a blacksmith’s pliers off him and held them out, looking at them thoughtfully. “Those were your words,” he said. “You con- done the burning of heretics.” “Ave Maria, gratia plena, dominus tecum, benedicta tuum ...” Morris had made up his mind that he was about to be a martyr to the faith. Taylor nodded at Wilf. “Dominus tecum, do what you want with ’em,” he said. He handed the pliers back. “Begin.” Morris’s gabbling rattle of Latin got faster and higher as the pliers closed around his left big toe, then turned into a scream as Wilf closed the han- dles and bone crunched. ype watched through a crack in the Correspondents Wilf released the pliers, and Morris gulped air in huge sobbing breaths while the pain died down to a throb. Then he vomited. “Tll not recant,” Morris vowed as his chest heaved. “I'll not turn to that pagan devil Luther.” “I don’t want you to turn to Luther, Morris. I want you to justify your faith to me. Why should Cranmer have been executed?” “He was a traitor! He renounced the true faith ” “He wrote a prayer book in the English tongue. Where was the treason in that?” “It was a blasphemy! It —” “Why?” “The Latin tongue is the tongue of the true —” “Why?” “Tl not answer your damn questions! Rot in the hell that is waiting for you!” “Wilf,” Taylor said. Wilf came forward with the pliers again. “The other toe.” dward Smith recorded it all. Be first he had intended to march straight in. Wilf he could handle, and he should be well matched for Taylor as well. But a voice inside him had said, watch. Then he had seen the torture begin, and the voice inside him had said, report. After all, it was only his sense of propriety that was outraged. He felt — could feel — no sympathy for a man of this time. By chance and by instinct, he was compiling a report in his mind. Provisional title: Anatomy of a torture session. “The subject’s faith is firmly lodged in his mind and he will consider no alternatives. He was asked if he believes in Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace. He does. He was asked if he believes in lov- ing his enemies, as Jesus commanded. He does. He was asked if he believes that heretics should be tortured and put to death. He does. Asked why, he stated that torture will speed them on their way to heaven. He was asked, does he believe he will go to heaven after this evening? At this point he invariably lapses into Ave Marias or Pater Nosters. “The man named Wilf applied the pliers to his other big toe and he would only repeat the same points. After that Taylor instructed Wilf to move on to the branding irons. These were applied to his chest, his stomach, and his genitals. Wilf then applied the thumbscrews. It appears that torture instruments should be applied singly: if applied two or more at a time they are less effective, as the subject’s concentration is divided between two sources of pain ...” There was more, much more, and Edward took it all in. He was trembling and sweating: it was like being tied down and made to watch. He want- Aboriginal Science Fiction — Summer 1998 Gomichbooks: com