Through the entire affair Jasmine had rushed about, accomplishing very little, but obviously on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Maisie, never one for quick reaction, just stood and flapped her ears and grunted in amazement.
As Bron reached into his pocket for a pill to quiet Jasmine down, a long, green snake slithered out of the woods almost at his feet.
He stopped, frozen, with his hand halfway to his pocket, because he knew he was looking at death. This was the Angelmaker, the most poisonous serpent on Trowbri, more deadly than anything Mother Earth had ever produced. It had the meat-hungry appetite of a constrictor — because it was a constrictor in its eating habits — but it also had fangs and well-filled venom sacs. And it was agitated, weaving back and forth and preparing to strike.
It was obvious that portly, pink Maisie, sow and mother, did not have the reflexes or the temperament to deal with attacking marsupials — but a snake was something else altogether. She squealed and jumped forward moving her weight with ponderous agility.
The Angelmaker saw the appealing mass of quivering flesh and struck, instantly darting its head back and striking again. Maisie, snorting with the effort to turn her head and look back over her shoulder, squealed again and backed towards the poised snake. It hissed loudly and struck another time, perhaps wondering in some dim corner of its vestigial brain why this appealing dinner did not drop down to be eaten. If the Angelmaker had known a bit more about pigs, it might have acted differently. Instead it struck again, and by now most of its venom was gone.
While the Mule-Foot is not a lardy type, it is a sturdy breed, and the females do run to fat. Maisie was plumper than most. Her hindquarters — what some crude carnivorous types might call her hams— were coated with heavy fat. And there is no blood circulation through fat. The venom had been deposited in the fat, where it could not reach the bloodstream and could do no injury. Eventually it would be neutralized by her body chemistry and disposed of. Right now Maisie was turning the tables. The Angelmaker struck again — listlessly, because its venom was gone. Maisie heaved her bulk about and chopped down with her hooves — strong, sharp-edged weapons. While snakes may like to kill pigs, pigs also greatly enjoy eating snakes. Squealing and bouncing heavily, Maisie landed on the snake's spine and neatly amputated its head. The body still writhed and she attacked again, chopping with her hooves until the snake had been cut into a number of now motionless segments. Only then did she stop attacking and begin to mumble happily to herself while she ate them. It was a big snake, and she allowed Curly and Jasmine to help her with it. Bron waited for them to finish before moving out, because the feast was calming them down. Only when the last chunk had vanished did he turn and start back for the camp. He kept looking back over his shoulder and found that it was a great relief — for all of them — to start down the slope away from the Ghost Plateau.
When they reached the rest of the herd, there were grunts of greeting. The most intelligent beasts remembered the promised candy and crowded around waiting for it.
Bron opened a case of the mineral and vitamin-reinforced delicacy. While distributing it, he heard the buzz of his phone — very dimly, because he had yet to unpack it from its carrying case.
When he had filled out all the homesteading forms he had of course put down his phone number, since this was as much a part of him as was his name. Everyone was given a phone number at birth, and it was his for life. With the computer-controlled circuits anyone, anywhere on a planet, could he reached by the dialing of a single number. But who could be calling him here? As far as he knew, only Lea Davies had his number. He pulled out the compact phone — no bigger than his hand, including its lifetime atomic battery — and flipped up the small screen. This activated the phone, and static rustled from the speaker while a colored image appeared on the screen.
"Now, I was just thinkin' 'bout you, Miss Davies," he said. "Ain't that a coincidence."
"Very.” she said, barely moving her lips when she spoke, as though groping for words. She was a pretty girl, but looking too haggard now. Her brother's death had hit her hard. "I must see you. . Mr. Wurber. As soon as possible."
"Now, that's right friendly, Miss Lea; I'm lookin' forward to that."
"I need your help, but we mustn't be seen talking together. Can you come as soon as it's dark, alone, to the rear entrance of the municipal building? I'll meet you there."
"I'll be there — you can count on me," he said, and he rung off.
What was this about? Did the girl know something no one else knew? It was possible. But why him? Unless the Governor had told her about P.I.G. — which was very possible, since she was his only assistant. And on top of that she was very attractive, when she wasn't crying. As soon as he had fed the herd, he broke out some clean clothes and his razor.
Bron left at dusk, and Queeny lifted her head to watch him go. She would be in charge until he came back — the rest of the pigs knew and expected that — and she had Curly and Moe ready to take care of any trouble that might arise. Curly was sleeping off the day's exertions, whistling placidly through his nose, — and next to him little Jasmine was also asleep, even more tired and sedated by a large Miltown. The situation was well in hand.
Approaching the municipal building from its unlighted rear was no problem, since he had been over the same ground just the previous evening. All this running about and missing sleep was getting to him at last, and he choked off a yawn with his fist.
"Miss Lea, are you there?" he called softly, pushing open the unlocked door. The hall beyond was black, and he hesitated.
"Yes, I'm here," her voice called out. "Please come in." Bron pushed the door wide and stepped through, and a crashing pain struck him across the side of the head, the agony of it for an instant lighting the darkness of his nerves. He tried to say something, but could not speak, though he did manage to raise his arm. Another blow struck his forearm, numbing it so that it dropped away; and the third blow, across the back of his neck, sent him plunging down into a deeper darkness.
"What happened?" the wavering pink blob asked, and with much blinking Bron managed to focus on it and recognized Governor Hay-din's worried face.
"You tell me.” Bron said hoarsely. He became aware of the pain in his head, and he almost passed out again. Something damp and cool snuffled against his neck, and he worked his hand up to twist Jasmine's ear.
"I thought I told you to get that pig out of here," someone said.
"Leave her be," Bron managed to say, "and tell me what happened." He turned his head, with infinite caution, and saw that he was lying on the couch in the Governor's office. A medical-looking gentleman with a stern face and dangling stethoscope was standing by. There were a number of other people at the doorway.
"We just found you here," the Governor said. "That's all we know. I was working in my office when I heard this screaming, like a girl in terrible pain — something awful. Some of these other men heard it outside in the street, and we all came running. Found you lying in the rear hall — out cold with your head laid open, and this pig standing next to you doing all the screaming. I never knew an animal could sound like that. It wouldn't let anyone near you — kept charging and chomping its teeth in a very threatening manner. Quieted down a bit by the time the doctor came and finally let him get over to you."