The Quickening Maze Read Online Free PDF Page B

hard, though, and greasy hair covered his ears. Allen tried just pushing it down against the floor for a moment and saw the throat curdling with rage, the reddened knob of his Adam’s apple and thick veins. He placed his knee on Francombe’s forehead, pressed down with his body weight, scraped the hair away and got hold of the slimy gristle of his ears.
    Slowly Francombe began to relent, throbbing, but as they lifted him to carry him out, he began to thrash again, and the five of them staggered as on a stormy deck.
    When finally they had him tethered to a table, Francombe was whimpering with rage and humiliation. His trousers and underthings had been removed. Matthew Allen, with trembling hands, wiped the sweat from his face.
    ‘Now, Mr Francombe.You know that what you fear is not rational, is not true. We each of us must void our waste. We each of us do void our wastes, and forests do not die. Cities are not poisoned.’
    ‘Oh, aren’t they?’ Francombe snapped back. ‘Aren’t they?’
    ‘Your waste is no more noxious than anyone else’s. It is not sin, you know. It isn’t. It’s nothing you’ve done. It is the by-product of alimentation. Do you understand? It is waste food.’
    Francombe was quiet, then strained all at once at his straps. They creaked as he pulled, exhaling slowly through his widely spaced teeth. Fulton wondered if they would definitely hold.
    ‘Oh, let’s just get on with it,’ Allen muttered. He had the clyster ready, in one hand the pipe, in the other the bag full of warm salted water. ‘Fulton, you don’t have to watch, you know. It won’t be pleasant.’
    Fulton vacillated only briefly.‘I hadn’t been expecting pleasantness,’ he said. ‘And one day I’ll have to face these procedures.’
    ‘Very good. If you are to stay, perhaps you could massage the abdomen for me.’
    Allen then bent and inserted the nozzle into the dark, crimped entrance of Mr Francombe’s rectum. He pushed it several inches in, apparently oblivious to the manhood that flopped from side to side within a foot of his face as he did so.
    Allen started squeezing in the fluid. ‘Now, pressure from the top of the abdomen down, please. And hard.’
    Fulton did as he was told, pushing against what he took to be the compacted shit inside Mr Francombe. The attendants stood apart, arms folded, and chatted.
    Warm clear liquid washed out of Mr Francombe. ‘Harder, please,’ Allen called over the man’s moans. ‘And you too, Mr Francombe. You can push.’
    Mr Francombe struggled to resist, but the warm water, the pushing on his belly, the pain, all made it very difficult not to let go. Before too long Dr Allen was rewarded with numerous stuttering farts followed by the emergence of a tiny hard stool, folded like a sea shell. ‘Very good.’ He squeezed in more water.
    ‘Whore,’ Mr Francombe said. ‘Bugger. Dirty bugger. Shit licker.’
    Another small turd emerged, then a massive fart, then another. They were getting larger, almost the size of sheep’s droppings. ‘Good, Fulton.’
    ‘Dirty bugger! Ow!’
    Francombe now wept with disappointment as an astonishing quantity of shit bloomed from him across the table. Allen stayed there, squeezing still on the clyster, despite the spoiling of his shoes by falling clumps.
    ‘Hoo, hoo,’ exclaimed Saunders, flapping at the air in front of his face. ‘And you call us dirty buggers.’
    ‘Thank you, Mr Saunders,’ Allen chastised. ‘I expect Mr Francombe will be very upset by this experience. Mr Stockdale, I suggest you take him out to the clearing in the forest afterwards and let him vent a while. Perhaps, Mr Saunders, you could go with him.’
    ‘Certainly, doctor.’
    ‘I’ll apply leeches to his feet later when you get back and we can all look forward to a less sanguine, restored Mr Francombe.’
    ‘Very good, doctor.’
    With his shoes scraped roughly clean, the ordure worked from under his fingernails with the blade of a penknife, Matthew Allen walked