“What cause did they have for doing that?” Simon wondered. “Or was it random meanness?”
“Oh, they thought they had cause,” Mouche admitted. “Duster and I stopped their killing some little native creature, killing and torturing it, too, I’d guess. I didn’t hurt them any, and this business of trying to wound me or kill me just doesn’t make sense. Why are they doing it?”
“I’d say your not hurting them is part of the why,” said Simon. “Remember what Madame has taught you about gaming groups, packs, tribes? If you’d beaten them bloody, they might have fawned on you. Some men want more than anything to have a place in a pack and follow a lead dog. But if you won’t fight for the role of lead dog, then you’re an outsider, someone who interfered with their doing as they liked, and to men like Bane and Dyre, outsiders, particularly interfering ones, are the enemy. Prey, property, or enemy. You have to be one of the three.”
Mouche ducked his head to hide the angry tears at the corners of his eyes. He always teared up when he thought of Duster. “Do they get pleasure out of acting like that?”
Simon leaned forward and laid a rough hand on his shoulder. “Look, Mouche, you’ve got to understand what Newholme men are about, not from Madame’s point of view but from our own. Now most men get taught early on that being dutiful is good, so they think they’re being good when they work themselves into exhaustion and meanness. And most men know that pleasure distracts them from duty, so that teaches them pleasure is shameful. But at the same time, we have these restless brains inside that tell us to keep pushing toward the top so we can make a hole, crawl through, and see what’s up there. All of us, even Consorts and supernumes, figure we’ve got a natural right to be there, on top and we use whatever we’ve got to get there. Humor. Or eloquence. Or skill. Whatever.
“Bane and Dyre, now, they’ve got the idea mutual pleasure is sissy stuff, so the only pleasure they get is sniggering and bullying and destruction. And they don’t like duty either, so they avoid it. The only thing that gives them satisfaction is anger, so being angry is how they go looking for themselves, like vandals taking a city: throw, hit, break, kill, shatter—it’s all one to them. Destroy enough stuff, suddenly they’ll find the hidden door with heaven behind it.”
Simon looked at his glass, swirling the liquid in it, watching the patterns it made. “I try to tell you boys, best I can, that there isn’t any door. You climb over people, you push and shove and get up there on top, it’s empty. I try to tell you pleasure’s a good thing, and it’s easier with Hunks than most, because you’re being trained to give it. And I try to tell you that duty’s good, too, but you’ve got to balance it. And you’ve got to study yourself to know how much of each you need, for no one man is a measure of all.”
“What do you mean, study?” Mouche asked.
“If you want to know about a Purse fish, you don’t beat the fish to death or drain the sea dry. You look at the fish where it is. You study how it swims and what it eats and how it lives. You don’t take hold of it, or kill it, you watch it. So, if you want to know who you are, you don’t go laying around with a pickax. You try to catch yourself when you’re not pushed by anybody or anything and watch yourself. You see what you do, and you figure out why, and you decide how that makes you feel, and how it affects others, and whether it makes you joyful or proud.”
“It’s amazing how many people don’t know their own nature, even though they can’t do anything with it until they know what it is. How can you move toward joy if you don’t know what makes you happy?” Simon shook his head. “Nobody’s required to live in pain. We should always try to move toward joy … “