The Philosophical Strangler by Eric Flint

She smiled. “Is it clear now?”

I had my own opinion as to who in the room suffered from mental deficiency, but I kept it to myself. Didn’t need to say anything, anyway. I knew Greyboar would turn the job down flat.

“Not a chance,” he growled. “I don’t choke girls. Abbess of the Sisters of Tranquility or not, you’re still a girl as far as squeezing’s concerned. You’ll have to get another chokester. Even if he isn’t the best in the world.”

Hildegard nodded her head. “Yes, yes. Gwendolyn told me you’d be stubborn on this point. So I had her give me a note. I have it right here.” She rummaged around in a drawer, brought out a letter.

“It’s for you,” she said, walking around the desk and handing it to Greyboar.

The strangler opened the letter and read it. After reading it twice, he handed it to me. Here’s what it said:

Dear brother:

I don’t have time now to write a long letter. Things are getting sticky here, and I have to go underground again. Hildegard explained her problem to me, and I told her to hire you. I hate the fact of it, but there’s no question you’re the world’s best professional strangler. And if she’s to do what she needs to do, she’ll need the best help she can get. I know you’ve always kept the promise you made me about not choking women. I’m not going to say I’m proud of you for that. You’re still nothing but a damned thug. But I am pleased. Sort of. Anyway, you have my permission—this one time—to break the promise. In fact, I’m telling you to do it. Mind your sister! Go ahead and choke Hildegard.

Gwendolyn

It was her letter, all right. I recognized her handwriting, and besides, you couldn’t mistake the sentiments—talk about self-righteous!

“Well, I guess it’s all right, then,” said Greyboar.

“It’s not all right!” I exclaimed. “I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again—no Joe business! And this job has Joe business written all over it.”

Greyboar shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, Ignace. Normally, I’d agree with you. But you saw what it said in the letter. Gwendolyn didn’t just give me permission to do the job, she told me to do it. That means it’s important to her, for whatever reason. I’ve disappointed her once in her life, I’m not going to do it again. Not for something like this, anyway. What the hell—we’ve already gotten mixed up with Joe business.”

It’d always been a sore point with me, as an agent, the way Greyboar stuck his nose into deciding which assignments we took. That was my job, dammit! He provides the thumbs, I provide the managerial skills. I admit, he was usually pretty good about it. But, I swear, the man was an absolute pawn in the hands of women. I ask you—what’s the point of being the world’s greatest strangler if you’re going to let every Tina, Diane and Harriet push you around?

Chapter 14.

Great Austerities

After that, things moved pretty quickly. Hildegard rose and

ushered us out of her study and down to the music salon. There, we found that all the great composers were already set up at tables scattered against the various walls, pens in hand and blank composers’ sheets spread out in front of them. It suddenly dawned on me why they had all come to the Abbey.

There was a single chair sitting in the middle of the big room, with a small side table next to it. The only thing on the side table was a little bell. The kind that looks like a cow bell only it’s smaller. Hildegard marched up to the chair and took a seat, her head lifted high and her back ramrod straight. She motioned Greyboar to come around and stand behind her.

Jenny and Angela and I stayed off to one side, near the table where the Big Banjo was sitting. Despite my better judgment, I found myself getting interested in the affair. Never been part of such an operation before. I’d made it a point, in fact, to keep my distance from angels—fallen or otherwise.