Trying to, anyway. One of the Even Worse Hands doesn’t drag easily, even for a man as big and strong as Benvenuti. Hrundig tried to help him along by driving his sword into the meat of the Hand’s thumb and pushing. But another jab of the thumb sent him flying again.
Fortunately, the Cat stopped flitting around in her usual whimsy and got with the program. Uttering a she-wolf shriek, she drove the lajatang like a spear right through the skin and sinews on the back of the Hand. The lajatang was now sticking out from both sides, as if the Hand had been pierced by a huge pin.
Quick-witted as always, Hrundig scrambled back onto his feet and grabbed the other end of the lajatang, just below the ferocious blade. A moment later, he and the Cat were each heaving up and half-carrying the Hand toward the kettle while Benny kept dragging it.
And so it went, according to plan. Of course, in the real world these things never work as neatly as they sound. The Hand was squirming back and forth, and Hrundig and the Cat had their own hands full to keep from getting slashed to ribbons by the blades of the lajatang. Before too long, both of them were bleeding from several nasty gashes. Nothing bad enough, fortunately, to put them out of the action.
Then, things got a bit awkward when Benny bumped against the kettle while he wasn’t looking because he was concentrating on his drag-work. The kettle was almost as hot as the boiling oil inside it. So Benny got a really nasty burn on the bare skin of his back.
But, although he let out an operatic-quality yelp, he didn’t let go of the whip. And, being so incredibly quick and well-coordinated (is there no justice?), he managed to scuttle around to the other side of the kettle without once even allowing any slack in the tension of the whip holding the Hand’s finger.
The finale was a great series of grunts and a muddle. Up the ramp, up the ramp went the Hand, jittery as a nightmare. At the end, I got so excited I even pitched in for the final heave.
Over it went, plop, into the oil. With a great flourish and “huzza!” Benny did something tricky with the whip and managed to disentangle it. The Cat, almost as smooth, yanked the lajatang out of the skin. Fortunately, Hrundig saw it coming in time to get his hands out of the way of the blade.
Oh, sure, the Hand still put up a fight. Nasty looking, it was, trying to scrabble out of the boiling oil. Imagine a tarantula trying to claw its way up a jar.
Ptah!
Advantage—heroes. Even something as huge and nasty as one of the Even Worse Hands can’t survive long when its flesh is peeling off and its tendons are going soft as butter. The Cat and Hrundig and Benvenuti took turns holding it under with the lajatang, pinning the horrid thing to the bottom of the kettle. Meanwhile, I stoked the coals in the brazier.
Five minutes later, it was all over.
* * *
And, in the meantime, what about Greyboar?
Well, what about him? Haven’t I told you a thousand times he’s the World’s Greatest Strangler?
Still was, too, even though he’d officially abandoned the trade.
At first, of course, the Cat and Hrundig and Benvenuti were all for racing off to his aid. I tried to restrain them with reason, but it was soon enough obvious that was pointless.
The problem, you see, was that they were suffering under what’s called a “misapprehension.” Even in the midst of their own melee, they’d gotten enough glimpses of Greyboar and the other Even Worse Hand to get the idea that Greyboar was in what’s called “desperate straits.” Barely “holding his own,” as they say.
Heh. This is what’s called: Doesn’t have a clue.
I knew the truth. The real problem was that Greyboar had been preoccupied with the Cat’s plight. (Well—and a bit with Hrundig’s and Benny’s, sure; but mostly the Cat’s.)
So he hadn’t really had his mind on what he was doing, you see. Half the time he was looking over at the Cat, worrying and fretting and fussing, trying to deal with the left Even Worse Hand as quickly as possible so he could Come To The Rescue Of His Beloved.