Page 28 of Katabasis
“Happily.”
“But then you never get to leave.”
“Noblesse oblige,” said Moore. “We’re Cambridge men. We must set the example.”
“I see.” Peter’s brows furrowed, but he clearly thought better of arguing the point. “Well, that’s very generous of you.”
Moore beamed. “So you’ll help.”
“Sorry?”
“It has been so long. So long since a real scholar came through. A Cambridge man. You and I, we could really whip this place into shape.”
“Oh dear,” said Peter. “I don’t think—”
“There’s an empty office just down the hall, we’ll have you set up in no time at all, I have rugs and furniture to spare. We can alternate floors. I’ll do odds, the study rooms are where all the riots happen—”
“Look.” Alice had had quite enough of this; indeed, if Moore saidCambridge manone more time, she might explode. “Professor Moore. We hadn’t actually planned to stay.”
“But you can’t go.” Moore stood. He exhaled slowly, and the smoke unfurling out his mouth formed a thick, purple cloud that condensed and hung rather pointedly in front of the door. “There’s nowhere for you to go.”
“Well, we might just step outside,” said Peter. “If you don’t mind—”
“But you haven’t defined the good.” Moore’s voice took on a singsong lilt. “You haven’t passed, you can’t go on, it’s the rules.”
“We’ll take a chance on that,” said Peter.
“I really don’t think you should.”
Smoke continued unfurling from Moore’s pipe.
They all three stood, regarding one another. Alice recalled then that very few of the affable pipe-smoking fellows in college were that genial through and through. The manners and smiles were always a veneer for something a bit rotten. Good old-fashioned misogyny, usually. Racism on a good day. Snobbery in most cases. Sometimes dementia. So many old men in the Senior Common Room who demanded you help find their glasses, and also explain what all those colored folk were on about. In this case, what lay beneath was a hollowed-out and wide-eyed look that seemed quite lonely, and quite mad.
The smoke thickened.
“About that office,” said Moore. “I think a maroon design, perhaps.”
Alice had a wild thought then. It was a page stolen from Peter’s book—a logician’s page, and a pedantic one at that—but if ever there was a time for pedantry it was now.
“How’s this,” she said. “If you can prove to me we ought to stay here, then we will stay. If you can’t, then you let us leave. But it must be a proper proof. You must compel us with pure reason.”
“Easy enough,” huffed Moore. “I am indeed a man of reason.”
“Aren’t we all,” said Alice. “Break the argument into two premises and a conclusion. A, you can only leave the Court of Pride once you pass. B, we have not passed. Therefore, C, we cannot depart.”
“Right as rain!” Moore lifted his pipe in triumph. “You see?”
“But I refuse to accept the conclusion,” said Alice. “I don’t see why one and two lead to three.”
“Because it is the rules of Hell,” Moore snorted. “That’s all there is to it!”
“Okay,” said Alice. “Let me see if I can get it all straight. A, you can only leave Pride once you pass. B, we have not passed. C, we must follow the rules of Hell. Therefore, Z, we cannot depart. Is that right?”
“It’s obvious, dearie,” Moore scoffed. “Logic compels you.”
“But I refuse again to accept the conclusion,” said Alice. “Why do A, B, and C lead to Z?”
“Then add another premise,” Moore scoffed. “If you accept A and B and C, then you must accept Z.”
