Is That What People Do? Read Online Free PDF Page A

earsplitting clap of thunder and a wave of heat, and Boarbas appeared, as tall as the ceiling, chuckling evilly.
    “Ah!” cried Boarbas, in a voice that shook the room. “A little boy.”
    Morton gaped, his jaw open and eyes bulging.
    “A naughty little boy,” Boarbas said, and laughed. The demon marched forward, shaking the house with every stride.
    “Send him away!” Mrs. Dee cried.
    “I can’t,” Dee said, voice breaking. “I can’t do anything until he’s finished.”
    The demon’s great horned hands reached for Morton; but quickly the boy opened the accounting book. “Save me!” he cried.
    In that instant, a tall, terribly thin old man appeared, covered with worn pen points and ledger sheets, his eyes two empty zeroes.
    “Zico Pico Reel!” chanted Boarbas, turning to grapple with the newcomer. But the thin old man laughed, and said, “A contract of a corporation which is ultra vires is not voidable only, but utterly void.”
    At these words, Boarbas was flung back, breaking a chair as he fell. He scrambled to his feet, his skin glowing red-hot with rage, and intoned the Demoniac Master-Spell: “VRAT, HAT, HO!”
    But the thin old man shielded Morton with his body, and cried the words of Dissolution. “Expiration, Repeal, Occurrence, Surrender, Abandonment and Death!”
    Boarbas squeaked in agony. Hastily he backed away, fumbling in the air until he found The Opening. He jumped through it and was gone.
    The tall, thin old man turned to Mr. and Mrs. Dee, cowering in a corner of the living room, and said, “Know that I am The Accountant. And Know, Moreover, that this Child has signed a Compact with Me, to enter My Apprenticeship and be My Servant. And in return for Services Rendered, I, THE ACCOUNTANT, am teaching him the Damnation of Souls, by means of ensnaring them in a cursed web of Figures, Forms, Torts and Reprisals. And behold, this is My Mark upon him!”
    The Accountant held up Morton’s right hand, and showed the ink smudge on the third finger.
    He turned to Morton, and in a softer voice said, “Tomorrow, lad, we will consider some aspects of Income Tax Evasion as a Path to Damnation.”
    “Yes, sir,” Morton said eagerly.
    And with another sharp look at the Dees, The Accountant vanished.
    For long seconds there was silence. Then Dee turned to his wife.
    “Well,” Dee said, “if the boy wants to be an accountant that badly, I’m sure I’m not going to stand in his way.”

A WIND IS RISING
    Outside, a wind was rising. But within the station, the two men had other things on their minds. Clayton turned the handle of the water faucet again and waited. Nothing happened.
    “Try hitting it,” said Nerishev.
    Clayton pounded the faucet with his fist. Two drops of water came out. A third drop trembled on the spigot’s lip, swayed, and fell. That was all.
    “That does it,” Clayton said bitterly. “That damned water pipe is blocked again. How much water we got in storage?”
    “Four gallons—assuming the tank hasn’t sprung another leak,” said Nerishev. He stared at the faucet, tapping it with long, nervous fingers. He was a big, pale man with a sparse beard, fragile-looking in spite of his size. He didn’t look like the type to operate an observation station on a remote and alien planet. But the Advance Exploration Corps had discovered, to its regret, that there was no type to operate a station.
    Nerishev was a competent biologist and botanist. Although chronically nervous, he had surprising reserves of calm. He was the sort of man who needs an occasion to rise to. This, if anything, made him suitable to pioneer a planet like Carella I.
    “I suppose somebody should go out and unblock the water pipe,” said Nerishev, not looking at Clayton.
    “I suppose so,” Clayton said, pounding the faucet again. “But it’s going to be murder out there. Listen to it!”
    Clayton was a short man, bull-necked, red-faced, powerfully constructed. This was his third tour of duty as a planetary