A Knock on the Door

"Mr. Randle Jork?"

"Yes, Officer?"

"Commander Bloodjoke demands your sacrifice."

"My what?"

"Your sacrifice, please come with me."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Are you trying to be difficult, sir?"

"No, no, honestly. I just..."

"What?"

"Sacrifice?"

"Yes. To the Lord-on-high-sitting-astride-his-incandescent-throne-aglow-in-righteous-glory."

"Sacrifice?"

"You are being difficult, aren't you, Mr. Jork."

"No. Please. I just don't understand. What sacrifice? I'm to be sacrificed?"

"Yes, sir."

"To Commander Bloodjoke?"

"No, sir. To the Lord who-watches-all-his-children-grow, the Lord who's-fury-is-like-the-pain-of-a-thousand-ripping-disembowelment, the Lord who-blesses-us-with-a-smile-as-he-smites-his-enemies."

"But this Bloodjoke fellow, he chose me to be sacrificed?"

"Yes, sir. Your name came up in the lottery."

"I won this?"

"Won the honor. Yes, sir. Please step this way."

"Can I decline?"

"You wouldn't want to, sir."

"I don't want to decline?"

"You'd be found guilty of heresy. Trust me sir, you don't want that."

"But, I haven't finished my supper."

"The Lord who-drinks-the-blood-of-all-souls will not mind."

"But my wife will."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Can I leave her a note?"

"We're running late, sir."

"Look, I'm about to be killed..."

"Tortured, sir."

"Tortured?"

"Yes, sir. It's a sacrifice."

"Well, I'd think just being killed would be a sacrifice."

"You must prove to him that you love him."

"Who? Bloodjoke?"

"No, sir, the Lord who's-blessing-is-like-a-sanctifying-candy."

"I need to be tortured to show my love?"

"Yes, sir. Please, sir, let go of the door."

"I don't want to go."

"You really don't want to be found guilty of heresy, sir. It's really, well... it's rather ugly, sir."

"But I don't even know Commander Bloodjoke, whoever he is."

"He seems to know a lot about you, sir."

"Me? He picked my name out of a hat."

"Yes, but he knew where you lived, sir. That shows a certain attention to detail. Do you know where he lives?"

"I don't even know who he is!"

"That's a shame, sir. He's a really fine man."

"He tortures random people for a God I've never heard of!"

"Please don't use the G-word, sir. I don't want to have to call you a blasphemer... but if you force my hand, I will."

"What?"

"Look, you're making this awfully hard on yourself. If I have to call the rest of my squad up here to take you, I will. But if they hear any mention of your heretical ways, I won't be able to save you. It'll be straight to the inquisition with you!"

"I don't... I... you need to see it from my point of view."

"Sir?"

"Five minutes ago I was completely unaware of you, your commander, or your g... your Lord. I'm not sure a little clinging-onto-the-door-for-dear-life isn't warranted here."

"You'll change your mind if we have to give you to the Cardinal Temperance."

"He's with the Inquisition?"

"Cardinal Temperance and Cardinal Fortitude preside over this city."

"Yes... yes... but my point is I have only your word that being branded a heretic would be worse than being tortured to death."

"Sir, it's in the loving interest of the Lord who-cleans-the-disbelievers-from-the-inside-outwards. It's hardly torture at all when it's done in the name of love."

"You'll pardon, but we've not been introduced. I can hardly claim to love him if I've never even met him."

"You'll meet him first thing as soon as the torturing's over."

"When I'm dead?"

"Yes."

"Still doesn't seem that attractive an offer."

"So you're refusing to come with me?"

"Can you tell me what the Inquisition, what Cardinal Fortitude would do to me?"

"Cardinal Temperance would be working on you."

"Yes, yes, fine. What would they do... what's so, so, ugly?"

"Land sakes, sir, I couldn't begin to tell you some of the stories of things I've heard go on in there."

"Well try, for pity sake... um, wait... heard? I thought you said you'd seen what happens in there."

"No, sir. The stories alone are ghastly. I don't think I could stomach seeing an actual inquisition."

"So you just drop these heretics off, and you don't know what actually gets done to them."

"Well, it's not actually our job to pick up the heretics, sir. That's the job of the Inquisitorial Guard. The Crimson Elite. The quick righteous men in blazing red robes."

"And they would be the ones to pick me up?"

"Yes, sir."

"You'd just report me?"

"Can't do that. They're men of solemn silence. Hear no evil, speak no evil. They wouldn't listen to nor deign speak to anyone as potentially un-pure as me. Heck, they know that I'll run into heretics on a daily basis. I consider myself lucky not to be taken in by them myself."

"So you'll leave them a note?"

"Oh no, can't be tainting the high holy men with notes from the unclean, sir."

"So, they'll..."

"They'll know, sir. They'll come right round and pick you up."

"Oh... ok. That's good to know."

"So, you're coming with me, sir?"

"No... no... that's ok. I'll sit right here and wait for the Inquisition to come and get me."

"But Sir!"

"No, no, I think it's only right. Wouldn't want to sacrifice a heretic to your Lord, now, would you? I might cry out and give him a name while I'm dying."

"Sir!"

"You see, only just barely keeping the righteous fire from coming down from the heavens even now. Best if you just back away... wouldn't want me to say anything that would corrupt you immeasurably, now, would we?"

"ah... I see. Very well, sir."

"Good day, officer."

"Good day, sir. Er... Good luck with your decision. You be sure and write a note to your wife."

"I will, Office. Thank you. Goodbye."