Farnham's Freehold (28 page)

“The question,” said Ponse, “is whether the melting of ice was triggered by the dust of the East-West War, or was it a natural change that was, at most, speeded up a little by artificial events? Some of my scientists say one thing, some the other.”

“What do you think?” asked Hugh.

The lord shrugged. “I’m not foolish enough to hold opinions when I have insufficient data; I’ll leave that folly to scientists. I’m simply glad that Uncle saw fit to let me live in an age in which I can go outdoors without freezing my feet. I visited the South Pole once—I have some mines there. Frost on the ground. Dreadful. The place for ice is in a drink.”

Ponse went to the window and stood looking out at the silhouette of mountains against darkening sky. “However, if it got that cold up there now, we would root them out in a hurry. Eh, Joe?”

“Back they would come with their tails between their legs,” Joe agreed.

Hugh looked puzzled. “Ponse means,” Joe explained, “the runners hiding up in the mountains. What they thought you were when we were found.”

“Runners and a few aborigines,” Ponse supplemented. “Savages. Poor creatures who have never been rescued by civilization. It’s hard to save them, Hugh. They don’t stand around waiting to be picked up the way you did. They’re crafty as wolves. The merest shadow in the sky and they freeze and you can’t see them—and they are very destructive of game. Of course we could smoke them out any number of ways. But that would kill the game, can’t have that. Hugh, you’ve lived out there; you must have acquired some feel for it. How would you go about rescuing those critters? Without killing game.”

Mr. Hugh Farnham hesitated only long enough to phrase his reply. “Their Charity knows that this one is a servant. This one’s ears must be at fault in thinking that it heard its humble self called on to see the problem as it might appear to the Chosen.”

“Why, damn your impudence! Come, come, Hugh, I want your opinion.”

“You got my opinion, Ponse. I’m a servant. My sympathies are with the runaways. And the savages. I didn’t come here willingly. I was dragged.”

“Surely you aren’t resenting that now? Of course you were captured, even Joe was. But there was language difficulty. Now you’ve seen the difference. You
know
.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Then you know how much your condition has improved. Don’t you sleep in a better bed now? Aren’t you eating better? Uncle! When we picked you up, you were half starved and infested with vermin. You were barely staying alive with the hardest sort of work, I could
see
. I’m not blind, I’m not stupid; there isn’t a member of my Family down to the lowest cleaner that works half as hard as you had to, or sleeps in as poor a bed—and in a stinking little sty; I could hardly bear the stench before we fumigated it—and as for the food, if that is the word, any servant in this house would turn up his nose at what you ate. Isn’t all that true?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I prefer freedom.”

“‘Freedom!’” Their Charity snorted. “A concept without a referent, like ‘ghosts.’ Meaningless. Hugh, you should study semantics. Modern semantics, I mean; I doubt if they really had such a science in your day. We are all free—to walk our appointed paths. Just as a stone is free to fall when you toss it into the air. No one is free in the abstract meaning you give the word. Do you think I am free? Free to change places with you, say? Would I if I could? You bet I would! You have no concept of the worries I have, the work I do. Sometimes I lie awake half the night, worrying which way to turn next—you won’t find that in servants’ hall. They’re happy, they have no worries. But I have to carry my burden as best I can.”

Hugh looked stubborn. Ponse came over and put his arm around Hugh’s shoulders. “Come, let’s talk this over judicially—two civilized beings. I’m not one of those superstitious persons who thinks a servant can’t think because his skin is pale. Surely you know that. Haven’t I respected your intellect?”

“Well…yes.”

“That’s better. Let me explain some things—Joe has seen them—and you can ask questions, and we’ll arrive at a rational understanding. First—Joe, you’ve seen Chosen here and there who are what our friend Hugh would no doubt describe as ‘free.’ Tell him.”

Joe snorted. “Hugh, you should see—and you would be glad to be privileged to live in Ponse’s household. There is just one phrase I can think of to describe them. Po’ black trash. Like the white trash there used to be in Mississippi. Poor black trash, not knowing where their next meal is.”

“I follow you.”

“I think I do, too,” agreed Their Charity. “A pungent phrase. I look forward to the day when every man will have servants. It can’t come overnight, they’ll have to lift themselves up. But a day when all the Chosen will be served—and all servants as well cared for as they are in my own Family. That’s my ideal. In the meantime I do the best I can. I look after their welfare from birth until they’re called Home by Uncle. They have nothing to fear, utter security—which they wouldn’t have out in those mountains as I’m sure you know better than I. They are happy, they are never overworked—which I am—and they have plenty of fun, which is more than I can say! This bridge game today—the first real fun I’ve had in a month. And they are never punished, only just enough to remind them when they err. Have to do that, you’ve seen how stupid most of them are. Not that I am inferring that
you
are—No, I tell you honestly that I think you are smart enough to take care of servants yourself, despite your skin. I’m speaking of the ordinary run. Honestly, Hugh, do you think they could take care of themselves as well as I look out for them?”

“Probably not.” Hugh had heard all this before, only nights ago, and in almost the same words—from Memtok. With the difference that Ponse seemed to be honestly fond of his servants and earnest about their welfare—whereas the Chief Domestic had been openly contemptuous of them, even more strongly so than his veiled contempt for the Chosen. “No, they couldn’t, most of them.”

“Ah! You agree with me.”

“No.”

Ponse looked pained. “Hugh, how can we have a rational discussion if you say one thing and contradict it in the next breath?”

“I didn’t contradict myself. I agreed that you took fine care of the welfare of your servants. But I did not agree that I prefer it to freedom.”

“But
why
, Hugh? Give me a reason, not a philosophical abstraction. If you’re not happy, I want to know why. So that I can correct it.”

“I can give you one reason. I’m not allowed to live with my wife and children.”

“Eh?”

“Barbara. And the twins.”

“Oh. Is that important? You have a bedwarmer. Memtok told me, and I congratulated him on having used initiative in an odd situation. Not much gets past that sly old fox. You have one and she is sure to be more expert at her specialty than the ordinary run of breeding slut. As for the brats, no reason why you can’t see them—just order them fetched to you whenever you like. But who wants to
live
with brats? Or with a wife? I don’t live with my wife and children, you can bet on that. I see them on appropriate occasions. But who would want to live with them?”

“I would.”

“Well—Uncle! I want you to be happy. It can be arranged.”

“
It can?
”

“Certainly. If you hadn’t put up such a fuss over being tempered, you could have had them with you all along—though I confess I don’t see why. Do you want to see the vet?”

“Uh…no.”

“Well, there’s another choice. I’ll have the slut spayed.”

“
No!
”

Ponse sighed. “You’re hard to please. Be practical, Hugh; I can’t change a scientific breeding system to pamper one servant. Do you know how many servants are in this family? Here and at the Palace? Around eighteen hundred, I believe. Do you know what would happen if I allowed unrestricted breeding? In ten years there would be twice that number. And what would happen next? They would starve! I can’t support them in unlimited breeding. Would if I could, but it’s wishing for the Moon. Worse, for we can go to the Moon any time it’s worth while but nobody can cope with the way servants will breed if left to their own devices. So which is better? To control it? Or let them starve?”

Their Charity sighed. “I wish you were a head shorter, we would work something out. You’ve been in studs’ quarters?”

“I visited it once, with Memtok.”

“You noticed the door? You had to stoop; Memtok walked straight in—he used to be a stud. The doors are that height in every studs’ barracks in the world—and no servant is chosen if he can’t walk in without stooping. And the slut in this case is too tall, too. A wise law, Hugh. I didn’t make it; it was handed down a long time ago by Their Mercy of that time. If they are allowed to breed too tall they start needing to be tingled too often and that’s not good, for master or servant. No, Hugh. Anything within reason. But don’t ask for the impossible.” He moved from the divan where he had been sitting tête-a-tête with Hugh and sat down at the card table, picked a deck. “So we’ll say no more about it. Do you know how to play double solitaire?”

“Yes.”

“Then come see if you can beat me and let’s be cheerful. A man gets upset when his efforts aren’t appreciated.”

Hugh shut up. He was thinking glumly that Ponse was not a villain. He was exactly like the members of every ruling class in history: honestly convinced of his benevolence and hurt if it was challenged.

They played a game; Hugh lost, his mind was not on it. They started to lay out another. Their Charity remarked, “I must have more cards painted. These are getting worn.”

Hugh said, “Couldn’t it be done more quickly, using a printer such as we use for scrolls?”

“Eh? Hadn’t thought about it.” The big man rubbed one of the XXth century cards. “This doesn’t seem much like printing. Were they printed?”

“Oh, yes. Thousands at a time. Millions, I should say, figuring the enormous numbers that used to be sold.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that bridge, with its demand on the intellect, would have attracted many people.”

Hugh suddenly put down his cards. “Ponse? You wanted a way to make money.”

“Certainly.”

“You have it in your hand. Joe! Come here and let’s talk about this. How many decks of cards were sold each year in the United States?”

“Gosh, Hugh, I don’t know. Millions, maybe.”

“So I would say. At a gross profit of about ninety percent. Mmm—Ponse, bridge and solitaire aren’t the only games that can be played with these cards. The possibilities are unlimited. There are games simple as solitaire but played by two or three or more players. There are games a dozen people can play at once. There are hard games and easy games, there is even a form of bridge—‘duplicate,’ it’s called—harder than contract. Ponse, every family—little family—kept one or two or even dozens of decks on hand; it was a rare home that didn’t own a deck. I couldn’t guess how many were sold. Probably a hundred million decks in use in the United States alone. And you’ve got a virgin market. All it needs is to get people interested.”

“Ponse, Hugh is right,” Joe said solemnly. “The possibilities are unlimited.”

Ponse pursed up his lips. “If we sold them for a bullock a deck, let us say…mmm—”

“Too much,” Joe objected. “You would kill your market before you got started.”

Hugh said, “Joe, what’s that formula for setting a price to maximize profits rather than sales?”

“Works only in a monopoly.”

“Well? How is that done here? Patents and copyrights and such? I haven’t seen anything about it in what I’ve read.”

Joe looked troubled. “Hugh, the Chosen don’t use such a system, they don’t need to. Everything is pretty well worked out, things don’t change much.”

Hugh said, “That’s bad. Two weeks after we start, the market will be flooded with imitations.”

Ponse said, “What are you two jabbering about? Speak Language.” Hugh’s question had necessarily been in English; Joe had answered in English.

Joe said, “Sorry, Ponse,” and explained the ideas behind patent rights, copyright, and monopoly.

Ponse relaxed. “Oh, that’s simple. When a man gets an inspiration from Heaven, the Lord Proprietor forbids anyone else to use it without his let. Doesn’t happen often, I recall only two cases in my lifetime. But Mighty Uncle has been known to smile.”

Hugh was not surprised to learn how scarce invention was. It was a static culture, with most of what they called “science” in the hands of tempered slaves—and if patenting a new idea was that difficult, there would be little incentive to invent. “Would you say that this idea is an inspiration from Heaven?”

Ponse thought about it. “An inspiration is whatever Their Mercy, in Their wisdom, recognizes as an inspiration.” Suddenly he grinned. “In my opinion, anything that will stack bullocks in the Family coffers is an inspiration. The problem is to make the Proprietor see it. But there are ways. Keep talking.”

Joe said, “Hugh, the protection should extend not only over playing cards but over the games themselves.”

“Of course. If they don’t buy Their Charity’s cards, they must not play his games. Hard to stop, since anybody can fake a deck of cards. But the monopoly should make it illegal.”

“And not just cards like these, but any sort of playing cards. You could play bridge with cards just with numbers on them.”

“Yes.” Hugh pondered. “Joe, there was a Scrabble set in the shelter.”

“It’s still around. Ponse’s scientists saved everything. Hugh, I see what you’re driving at, but nobody here could learn Scrabble. You have to know English.”

“What’s to keep us from inventing Scrabble all over again—in
Language
? Let me set my staff to making a frequency count of the alphabet as it appears in Language and I’ll have a set of Scrabble, board and tiles and rules, suited to Language, the following day.”

“What in the name of Uncle is Scrabble?”

“It’s a game, Ponse. Quite a good one. But the point is that it’s a game that we can charge more for than we can for a deck of cards.”

“That’s not all,” said Hugh. He began ticking on his fingers. “Parcheesi, Monopoly, backgammon, Old Maid for kids—call it something else—dominoes, anagrams, poker chips and racks, jigsaw puzzles—have you seen any?”