White muttered: "I may fornicate in the sight of the God of Israel, but I'm damned if I'll do it in the sight of all you reprobates!"
"Attila, really—" began Alicia, but Fodor cut her off with a bellow. "Oh, come on! You're the smartest poker player here, so you can strip any man you like. Besides, is nossing like a orgy to stimulate interest. This will wake you up! Okay, here we go! I deal. You open, Nancy."
Reith felt that something was terribly wrong; that he should have interfered or objected. What if one of these characters stripped Alicia? What would he do? Why didn't she refuse, or better yet rise indignantly and walk out?
If he could only summon the energy to get to his feet, take her hand, and lead her out ... But she might refuse, or explode in a temper tantrum, as she would have twenty years ago. Somebody should do something, Reith felt; but a curious lethargy gripped them all. The combination of liquor, fatigue, and Fodor's intimidating physical presence seemed to have reduced everyone to helpless acquiescence.
Reith opened his mouth to raise an objection; but under the baleful glare of steel-cold eyes beneath Fodor's shaggy brows, the words died in his throat. As Fodor dealt cards, however, Reith became suddenly aware that Alicia was on her feet. Lithe as an eel, from sitting cross-legged she had smoothly risen erect without apparent effort, like a khaki-clad goddess manifesting herself. She took a step towards the door.
"Hey!" said Fodor, also rising. "Where you going?"
"Out," she said. "Sorry, but your game is too full-flavored for me. Give Cassie my place, if you like."
Fodor stepped in front of Alicia. "No, you don't!"
"What do you mean? I'll go where I please!"
She tried to dodge around Fodor, but the director spread orangutanian arms to block her. "If you don't want to play, you should have said so sooner. Now it's too late. I promise myself I win you! I pay you back for telling me how to make my movie!"
"Get out of my way!" said Alicia through set teeth, attempting an end run.
Fodor's long arm shot out and grabbed Alicia's wrist, so tightly as to bring a small cry of pain. Fodor shouted "Like hell—ow!"
Reith saw one of Alicia's boots leave the floor and heard the solid thump of a lack. The cards in Fodor's left hand went flying.
"Ördög! Teufelin!" yelled Fodor, gathering Alicia into a smothering embrace.
Up to that moment, Reith, still in the grip of alcoholic lethargy, had stared bemused, as if witnessing a stage play. Now a surge of fury brought him to his feet. He did not consciously plan his next acts; it was as if some outside agency had taken control of his body.
Before he realized what he was doing, he stepped forward, seized the slack of Fodor's jacket, and wrenched the director around. Alicia squirmed out of Fodor's grasp, and Reith drove his fist into Fodor's belly. As the director, eyes wide with surprise, doubled over, Reith landed two furious punches on his jaw. Fodor staggered back; Reith followed, sinking punch after punch, until Fodor crashed to the floor and lay with limbs twitching like a wounded insect.
"Come on, Lish," said Reith. Wordlessly she grasped the hand he held out. Hand in hand they left the room and walked down the hall to the bedroom assigned to Alicia.
In the bedroom, Alicia spoke. "Fergus, your poor knuckles are bleeding! Let me get my kit to bandage them!"
"Must have hit that blug harder than I realized."
"I never knew you to be so fierce with your fists."
"I'm not, darling. As a kid, I couldn't punch my way out of a paper bag. I guess the sight of that brigand hauling on your arm gave me an extra shot of adrenalin. Besides, he was pretty drunk, or he'd have made hamburger of me."
"There you go, being modest!"
"Not modest; realistic."
"Sometimes you're too realistic for your own good. Why did you do it?"
"Why? You of all people ask why? First, because you obviously didn't want to play. So, what man's going to sit quietly while the girl he—"
The door burst open, and in the doorway stood Attila Fodor with a Krishnan sword in his hand. "Ha!" he said, and strode purposefully towards Reith, a slit-eyed grin on his face.
"Attila! Please!" cried Alicia, throwing herself in front of Reith. "I'll give you what you want, but leave Fergus alone—"
"Out of the way, Alicia!" growled Fodor. "You want to fuck, fine; but after I kill this guy. Nobody beats up Attila Fodor and lives!"
Reith glanced around, but his sword was in the room he shared with Ordway. The only weapon Reith could see was a light chair. He snatched it up. As Fodor went into a fencing stance, Reith wondered if he could parry a lunge.
Alicia whipped the bedspread off the bed, whirled, and threw the heavy cloth so that it settled over Fodor's head and shoulders. The director ripped out a Magyar curse as he struggled with the fabric. While his attacker was still blinded by the spread, Reith swung his chair and smote the swathed form with such force as to break the two front legs of the improvised weapon.
The blow staggered Fodor, who threw off the bedspread just as Reith struck his knees in a football tackle. Both men crashed to the floor. Fodor squirmed over on his back and tried to bring the sword into play, while his free hand clawed at Reith's face.
Clutching fiercely at Fodor's sword arm, Reith got a grip on a finger and bent it back, his muscles quivering with strain. Something cracked, and Fodor yelped. Alicia circled around the struggling pair with her crossbow pistol cocked.
At last Reith wrested the sword out of Fodor's grasp. With all his strength, he brought the pommel down on Fodor's head, again and again. After several blows, the director lay inert.
Reith looked up to see the doorway crowded with staring spectators, including White with his arm around Gashigi, and both of them nude. White's narrow face bore an unhappy look. Reith recognized Hamid Mas'udi, the shooting crew's physician, and called: "Hey, doc! Will you take charge of this clown? Patch him up and tell him next time I won't let him off so easily."
"Are you all right, Mr. Reith?" said the physician.
"Nothing a little washing and bandaging won't fix." Reith rose to his feet. Mas'udi and Fallon hauled Fodor up and staggered out, each with one of Fodor's arms around his neck. The others dispersed. Reith closed and bolted the door, saying: "Stupid of me not to have done that sooner."
"Oh, Fergus, sit down and let me clean you up!" said Alicia, setting down her crossbow pistol and going to the washstand. "Your face is all bloody."
"The bleep was trying to gouge an eye; so I got a few scratches."
A quarter-hour of washing, disinfecting, and bandaging left Reith sore but functional. He said: "Thanks, Lish darling. You've saved my life for the umpteenth time. He'd have drilled me for certain."
She put a hand on each side of his bandaged head and gently kissed him. "Well, you saved me once more. While you two were thrashing around on the floor, I'd have killed him if I could have gotten a clear shot. But what were you about to say when that dreadful man burst in?"
Reith rose, wincing, and paced. "Let me think ... Oh, yes. I was saying, what real man would sit by and watch the girl he loves being manhandled?"
"Fergus! Do you mean that—that—"
Reith took a deep breath. "Of course I mean that. I love you!"
Alicia's smile was like the sun breaking through a leaden overcast. Then, assuming a sober mien, she continued. "Are your intentions honorable or otherwise, sir?"
"I'm just another retarded flatworm! Alicia, will you marry me?"
"Fergus!" She threw her arms around him. "I wondered and wondered when you'd make up your mind! I was determined not to ask again."
"Well, will you or won't you?"
"Will I or won't I what? Ask you?"
"No, silly; marry me."