counting off all the things she wanted Responsible to see to while she was staying home and not tormenting herself, she slipped away, much relieved. It was time she turned on the comset in her room and had a look at what was happening; by now they’d have finished with the Opening Prayer, and whatever leftover trivia there’d been from the day before-and unless she was far wrong in her thinking, Jeremiah Thomas Traveller would of been recognized by the Chair and would be holding forth.
She wasn’t wrong, either. She sat in her favorite rocker, the blue one with a back high enough to rest her head against, and paid the figure on the wall the compliment of her attention. Like many another thing in Castle Brightwater, the comset could have done with some repair. That had been sacrificed to the budget for the Jubilee, and every so often the projections ceased to be threedys and became flat as paper cutouts. But the sound was reliable, and that was the main thing; she knew well enough what they looked like.
Jeremiah Thomas had just begun, and the speech promised to take some time, for he was not only Master of his Castle, he was a Reverend, ordained before he passed his sixteenth birthday, and he knew how to spin out the sentences.
She had tuned him in just as he was finishing off his thanks to the Brightwaters for the “splendid program” of Opening Day-the hypocrite!-and allowing as how it had been a historic occasion fitly and abundantly observed. But now it was time for them to turn from ritual observance to the serious business of this meeting -and he proceeded to explain just what that meant to him.
“Mister Chairman”-he rolled it out “Senior and Junior Delegates and Aides, gentle ladies that honor us by gracing the balcony of this grand and glorious Hall . . . and all the citizens of the six continents who join us this day through the miracle of technology . . . I stand before you now with a heavy heart. A heavy heart!”
Responsible hoped it was heavy. She hoped it was a stone of Tinaseeh marble in his sly vicious breast, and well supplied with sharp little points.
“Why, you ask, is my heart heavy?”
I don’t ask any such thing.
“Because, my dear friends, my dear colleagues, I have no choice open to me today but to speak the truth. Oh, not that I am not reluctant to be the first to do so-for many among you know what that truth is, and did I wait long enough you might well speak it for me! Not that the truth does not stick in my throat . . . no! I am reluctant! I do find it hard to force the words to come forth, as come forth they surely must! But I tell you all, my conscience will not let me rest until I have said what must be said.” He let his voice fall to a hush. “All night last night I knelt on the bare boards of my chamber floor-”
There wasn’t a guestchamber in Castle Brightwater with bare boards to its floor, nor a servant’s room either, but Responsible could see that it wouldn’t of sounded nearly so dramatic for him to talk of kneeling for hours on soft rugs.
“-and I wrestled with my conscience! Must I , I asked myself . . . must I, I asked the Holy One Almighty . . . must I, Jeremiah Thomas Traveller the Twenty-sixth, be the one to speak this truth?”
He paused to let that settle over the heads of his listeners, and then he answered his own question.
“And the answer came back to me-it came back YES! And it came back YES! again!”
Just like him, thought Responsible, pleased to see him go flat and black on her wall, barely a flicker, to drag the Holy One into this and spread the blame.
“Oh, my friends,” he said, “oh, my colleagues-”
Careful! You’ll be saying dearly beloved next!
“- I shuddered then. I shuddered . . . for the truth I must pronounce, the truth my conscience compels me to pronounce-that truth is not a joyous truth! That truth is not a merry truth! That truth is not a truth cast in a spirit of gaiety . . . unless, unless . . . but let me come
She wasn’t wrong, either. She sat in her favorite rocker, the blue one with a back high enough to rest her head against, and paid the figure on the wall the compliment of her attention. Like many another thing in Castle Brightwater, the comset could have done with some repair. That had been sacrificed to the budget for the Jubilee, and every so often the projections ceased to be threedys and became flat as paper cutouts. But the sound was reliable, and that was the main thing; she knew well enough what they looked like.
Jeremiah Thomas had just begun, and the speech promised to take some time, for he was not only Master of his Castle, he was a Reverend, ordained before he passed his sixteenth birthday, and he knew how to spin out the sentences.
She had tuned him in just as he was finishing off his thanks to the Brightwaters for the “splendid program” of Opening Day-the hypocrite!-and allowing as how it had been a historic occasion fitly and abundantly observed. But now it was time for them to turn from ritual observance to the serious business of this meeting -and he proceeded to explain just what that meant to him.
“Mister Chairman”-he rolled it out “Senior and Junior Delegates and Aides, gentle ladies that honor us by gracing the balcony of this grand and glorious Hall . . . and all the citizens of the six continents who join us this day through the miracle of technology . . . I stand before you now with a heavy heart. A heavy heart!”
Responsible hoped it was heavy. She hoped it was a stone of Tinaseeh marble in his sly vicious breast, and well supplied with sharp little points.
“Why, you ask, is my heart heavy?”
I don’t ask any such thing.
“Because, my dear friends, my dear colleagues, I have no choice open to me today but to speak the truth. Oh, not that I am not reluctant to be the first to do so-for many among you know what that truth is, and did I wait long enough you might well speak it for me! Not that the truth does not stick in my throat . . . no! I am reluctant! I do find it hard to force the words to come forth, as come forth they surely must! But I tell you all, my conscience will not let me rest until I have said what must be said.” He let his voice fall to a hush. “All night last night I knelt on the bare boards of my chamber floor-”
There wasn’t a guestchamber in Castle Brightwater with bare boards to its floor, nor a servant’s room either, but Responsible could see that it wouldn’t of sounded nearly so dramatic for him to talk of kneeling for hours on soft rugs.
“-and I wrestled with my conscience! Must I , I asked myself . . . must I, I asked the Holy One Almighty . . . must I, Jeremiah Thomas Traveller the Twenty-sixth, be the one to speak this truth?”
He paused to let that settle over the heads of his listeners, and then he answered his own question.
“And the answer came back to me-it came back YES! And it came back YES! again!”
Just like him, thought Responsible, pleased to see him go flat and black on her wall, barely a flicker, to drag the Holy One into this and spread the blame.
“Oh, my friends,” he said, “oh, my colleagues-”
Careful! You’ll be saying dearly beloved next!
“- I shuddered then. I shuddered . . . for the truth I must pronounce, the truth my conscience compels me to pronounce-that truth is not a joyous truth! That truth is not a merry truth! That truth is not a truth cast in a spirit of gaiety . . . unless, unless . . . but let me come
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