That Hideous Strength. C. S. Lewis

clear is the one thing the DD can’t stand,’ replied Miss Hardcastle. ‘That’s not how he runs the place. And mind you, he knows what he’s about. It works, Sonny. You’ve no idea yet how well it works. As for leaving…you’re not superstitious, are you? I am. I don’t think it’s lucky to leave the NICE. You needn’t bother your head about all the Steeles and Cossers. That’s part of your apprenticeship. You’re being put through it at the moment, but if you hold on you’ll come out above them. All you’ve got to do is to sit tight. Not one of them is going to be left when we get going.’

      ‘That’s just the sort of line Cosser took about Steele,’ said Mark, ‘and it didn’t seem to do me much good when it came to the point.’

      ‘Do you know, Studdock,’ said Miss Hardcastle, ‘I’ve taken a fancy to you. And it’s just as well I have. Because if I hadn’t, I’d be disposed to resent that last remark.’

      ‘I don’t mean to be offensive,’ said Mark. ‘But–damn it all–look at it from my point of view.’

      ‘No good, Sonny,’ said Miss Hardcastle shaking her head. ‘You don’t know enough facts yet for your point of view to be worth sixpence. You haven’t yet realised what you’re in on. You’re being offered a chance of something far bigger than a seat in the cabinet. And there are only two alternatives, you know. Either to be in the NICE or to be out of it. And I know better than you which is going to be most fun.’

      ‘I do understand that,’ said Mark. ‘But anything is better than being nominally in and having nothing to do. Give me a real place in the Sociological Department and I’ll…’

      ‘Rats! That whole Department is going to be scrapped. It had to be there at the beginning for propaganda purposes. But they’re all going to be weeded out.’

      ‘But what assurance have I that I’m going to be one of their successors?’

      ‘You aren’t. They’re not going to have any successors. The real work has nothing to do with all these departments. The kind of sociology we’re interested in will be done by my people–the police.’

      ‘Then where do I come in?’

      ‘If you’ll trust me,’ said the Fairy, putting down her empty glass and producing a cheroot, ‘I can put you onto a bit of your real work–what you were really brought here to do–straight away.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘Alcasan,’ said Miss Hardcastle between her teeth. She had started one of her interminable dry smokes. Then, glancing at Mark with a hint of contempt, ‘You know who I’m talking about, don’t you?’

      ‘You mean the radiologist–the man who was guillotined?’ asked Mark who was completely bewildered. The Fairy nodded.

      ‘He’s to be rehabilitated,’ she said. ‘Gradually. I’ve got all the facts in the dossier. You begin with a quiet little article –not questioning his guilt, not at first, but just hinting that of course he was a member of their Quisling government and there was a prejudice against him. Say you don’t doubt the verdict was just, but it’s disquieting to realise that it would almost certainly have been the same even if he’d been innocent. Then you follow it up in a day or two with an article of quite a different kind. Popular account of the value of his work. You can mug up the facts–enough for that