The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

The artist’s frown deepened. As if he didn’t understand what I was saying, which was ridiculous, because it was plain as day—

Greyboar interrupted. “I regret your loss, sirrah, but I’m afraid I don’t see what I can do about it. Alas, it’s in the nature of my trade that third parties often wind up taking a loss, through no fault of their own.” He shrugged. “You just have to be philosophical about it. The way I look at it, for every third party unfairly injured there’s another third party unfairly rewarded. Heirs and such, for instance.”

For a moment, a steely glint came to the strangler’s eyes. “But I’m afraid I can hardly be called upon to make good such losses to third parties. Put me right out of business, that would.”

He waved his great hand airily. But the steely glint remained. “And I’m afraid, should such a third party insist, that I would have to—reluctantly, you understand—come to the conclusion which my friend and agent Ignace came to, as is his unfortunate habit, much too precipitously.”

Very steely glint. What people call The Stare, in fact. “Extortion.”

I was astonished. This Benvenuti fellow was one of the very, very, very few men I’d ever met who didn’t seem in the slightest bit intimidated by The Stare.

He actually laughed! A real, cheerful, happy-go-lucky type of laugh, too. Not the least little quaver or tremor in the thing.

“You misunderstand!” he exclaimed. “I am not seeking financial restitution for my loss. Oh no, not at all. The idea’s grotesque! No respectable craftsman such as yourself could be held responsible for unforeseen losses to third parties which arise as the natural result of his enterprise.”

The Stare faded, replaced by a puzzled frown.

“But you said—”

The stranger nodded vigorously. “I said that you could be of assistance to me in my predicament. But—my fault entirely—I failed to make clear that the quandary is of an artistic rather than pecuniary nature.”

Seeing the puzzled frown still on Greyboar’s great looming tor of a brow, the artist explained:

“The Baron’s estate, you see, has already made clear that they will not pay me for the portrait under any circumstances. Indeed, they refuse even to compensate me for my expenses. The commission, they say, was undertaken by the Baron, who is now deceased. The estate therefore bears no responsibility for it.”

A steely glint came into his own eyes. “At the same time—you seem to have some peculiar legal customs here, if you’ll permit an Ozarine to say so—the estate claims that the portrait is part of the estate and must therefore be delivered up. The completed work, mind you. Else I shall be liable before the law for embezzlement and breach of contract.”

Greyboar quaffed his ale thoughtfully. “It’s true that the laws of New Sfinctr tend to be weighted a bit in favor of the rich.”

He eyed the portrait. “So you must legally finish the work, though you will not be paid for it, and—to make matters worse yet—the model himself is no longer available.” He shrugged. “But I still don’t see the problem. Surely an artist of your skill could—”

Benvenuti cut him off. “Finish it from memory? Oh, to be sure! But that would only satisfy the legal side of my obligation. The problem, I said, was artistic.”

The glint in the artist’s eye was now pure steel. I took another look at his sword. A very well-used sword, it looked like.

Then, Benvenuti explained what he wanted.

Again, I shot to my feet.

“Insanity!” I pronounced. “Choke him, Greyboar! Burke him, I say! He’s a dangerous lunatic!”

Greyboar now began laughing, if the term “laughter” can be applied to a rumbling earthquake. I glowered at him, then at the artist.

“See what you’ve done?” I demanded.

Greyboar’s great paw patted my shoulder. “Relax, Ignace. I’ll tell you what. Let’s put the question before the ancients.”

Good idea. The ancients of The Trough would have no truck with this madness.

“O’Doul! Flannery!” I shouted. Then, I had to shout louder still. By that time of night, the sound of The Trough was like a heavy surf of conversation and camaraderie.