What Begins with an Apple, Part 15a
More apples and horses. And chickens, too.
. . .
She saw that Mal and that girl were talking in the dining room. Good. Let them keep each other engaged. Between them, they were her most formidable obstacles—the Captain because he was so suspicious of her and because he alone had the ability to unite the crew against her, and River because—well, she didn't know why, or how, but that girl seemed to have preternatural knowledge of her plans and plots and schemes, and had foiled most of them so far. With the two of them distracting each other, she just might succeed in this endeavor. She planted the decoy trouble-maker, then proceeded with her main project.
And with the second part of her plan in action, it was just possible they might not even look for the first. They might never know she'd been here. 'Til it was too late.
. . .
"Eris."
Mal just about choked on his apple. "Saffron bought 'em?! How—? What—?"
"Sowing discord."
"Well, we know she's tryin' to take us down somehow, some way. But there ain't been no discord over the apples. Everybody's just been eatin' 'em. So why would Saffron give us apples?"
"A diversion?" River suggested.
"Mayhap they're poisoned." Mal set the unsliced portion of his apple down on the table and felt his stomach give a lurch.
"Not poisoned."
"Or might be grenades in 'em." Dead of winter. Holding the line. Cold and starving. No ammo to speak of. And some apples rained down into the trench, like a gift from heaven….
"Pretty apples. Pop."
Pop, pop, pop.
Blinking, he returned from his sojourn to find that he was still sitting at Serenity's dining table with an apple in front of him. His heart was racing. River was looking curiously at him, and he wondered how long he'd just spent re-living the winter campaign in New Kasmir. He took a deep breath. "Zoe already told you that story, didn't she?" he asked, clearing the thickness from his throat. She nodded. Images flooded his mind, thankfully just memories this time. Those apples were rigged with Grizwalds, pressure-sensitive grenades. Three soft little pops, and Bhukkanasut, Yang, and Ballou were missing their heads. "Three of my soldiers took a bite of them apples, afore I could stop 'em…" He trailed off, and regarded the apple before him with a grim expression.
"No grenades. But still explosive."
Mal shook off the memories. "You mean explosive…as in…cause a ruckus. Stir up trouble." Now they were gettin' somewhere with this "Starts with an apple" business. He hoped River would stay focused for long enough for him to tease out her meaning. "Mayhap Saffron's wanting us to worry about these here apples, as a distraction—to add to the chaos."
"Eris threw the apple of discord into the gathering of the gods. Καλλίστῃ Kallistei. Started a war."
"Whoa, wait a minute there, River. 'Callisto'?"
"Καλλίστῃ Kallistei. For the fairest," she translated.
"An apple for the fairest? Okay. So…who's the fairest?"
"There were three contenders. Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite."
Mal nodded. "So, how'd they decide? Draw straws? Secret ballot? Rock, paper, scissors?" It was crazy, but hey, when River talked liked this, it was best to try to play along and follow as best he could.
She smiled at his suggestions, then corrected, "Went to Paris."
"Paris? What does Paris got to do with this, Albatross?" Mal was baffled. "You mean the city on Londinium, or the one-horse settlement on Three Hills?" he queried.
"Paris was his name," River pronounced, rolling her eyes. The Captain could be so dense sometimes. "The judgment of Paris." The Captain was still looking a little lost, so she elaborated. "It was a man named Paris. They asked him to decide. He chose the winner."
"Ah. Got ya," Mal replied. "Okay, so this Paris fella, he looks at the three gals—"
"Goddesses."
"—the three goddesses. Whatever," he corrected, inwardly rolling his eyes.
Don't make faces, Captain.
"And decides which one of 'em is the best-lookin', and gives her the apple. Right?"
"No. He decides which one of them offered him the best bribe, and gives her the apple."
Figures, Mal thought. Always knew them judges were corrupt. "So what'd they offer as bribes?"
River ticked them off on her fingers. "Power. Knowledge. Or the love of the most beautiful woman in the 'Verse."
Mal snorted. "So he chose the woman."
"How'd you know?" she exclaimed, suddenly all girl.
"I'm a man. As you may have noticed."
"Men." She rolled her eyes.
"Don't give me that," he shot back. "The love of a beautiful woman is something to be cherished."
"She was married."
"Well now. That has an affect on the landscape. So that fella Paris, he got the girl, but I reckon her husband weren't none too pleased with the arrangement."
"Started a war."
"Seems a bit over-the-top."
"Men have fought over woman's love for millennia."
He had no reply. He'd fought a duel with Atherton Wing—with swords, no less—over Inara.
"Her face could launch a thousand ships," River intoned.
"A thousand ships," he echoed, pulling himself away from thoughts of Inara. "So the husband had a few friends."
"A lot of friends. Started the Trojan War."
"So it all started with an apple." He looked at River. "That was an interesting history lesson, Albatross, but I still ain't sure what it has to do with the here and now." He picked up the apple before him, and sliced up a few more pieces.
"What begins with an apple—"
"Must end with a horse," he finished. "Just one problem. There ain't no horses in space."
"Pegasus." Her counter-example came immediately.
"Alright, I'll grant you the constellation Pegasus." He ate another apple slice. "You know," he said challengingly, "there's them as think horses and spaceships don't go together nohow."
"風馬牛不相及 Fēng mǎ niú bù xiāng jí."
"So they say. But I got some fair compelling evidence says that ships and horses got a long and venerable history together."
River's eyes grew bright in anticipation of a good story.
"These days, we got packets of protein in all the colors of the rainbow. But back in the old days, on Earth-That-Was, they got their shipboard protein from salt-preserved meat. Used ta call it 'salt horse.'"
River's eyes sparkled. She loved it when he told tales of the days of the wooden sailing ships on Earth-That-Was. The ancient mariners' map (or rather, the budget reproduction ancient mariners' map) that he had pinned on the wall in his quarters was just the tip of the iceberg. He had a deep and abiding love for the subject, and he must have studied it or read up on it somehow. He loved ships.
"Now, it's all a matter of conjecture, just how often that was actually true," he continued. "It was supposed to be salt beef or salt pork, but I reckon they called it salt horse for a reason. The sailors even had a rhyme about it." River encouraged him with a look, so he recited,
Old Horse, Old Horse, what brought you here?
"I carted stone for many a year.
Worn out at last by sore abuse,
They salt me down for sailors' use.
The sailors they do me despise.
They kick my body and damn my eyes,
Cut my meat and pick my bones,
And throw the rest to Davy Jones."
River nodded with enthusiasm, absorbing the words with a big grin. Her magpie mind was always collecting shiny little tidbits like that. "Horses and ships. Birds of a feather. But that is a horse of a different feather."
"You're talkin' horse feathers, River?" She might be crazy, but, good gorram, this girl was witty. "Horsefeathers," he creaked, trying to keep his sides from splitting.
"Horses were bad. Bad in the Latin. Horse: bad. Bad horse." She started singing.
Bad Horse!
Bad Horse!
Bad Horse!
He rides across the nation,
The thoroughbred of sin.
He got the application
That you just sent in.
It needs evaluation,
So let the games begin.
heinous crime, a show of force,
murder would be nice, of course.
Bad Horse!
Bad Horse!
Bad Horse!
"What in the 'Verse is that 废话 fèihuà, River?" Mal exclaimed. "It's horrible!"
"Bingo!" she exclaimed gleefully, adding, "That's Doctor Horrible to you, Captain."
Mal shook his head, but he was still smiling. "What am I doin' trading rhymes and songs with you, River, at a time like this?"
"Horse-trading," she fired back, instantly.
A great snorting guffaw burst from him. "Sometimes I just don't understand a word you're sayin', River," he said, when he could speak again. He wiped the tears from his eyes.
"Likes to play games."
"I know you like to play games, darlin'."
"She likes to play games."
"You mean Saffron."
River nodded.
"So what kind of game is she playin'?"
"Playing chicken."
"Playing chicken?" Mal repeated, not exactly understanding. Did she mean, who would flinch first?
"In ancient Zambia, on Earth-that-was, 'chicken' meant a woman of loose morals," River explained wisely.
Mal nodded. Saffron fit that description, easy. Her morals was loose as eggs in a nest.
"So a man who had sex with a chicken—" River continued.
"I get that part," Mal interrupted. "So why's she playin' chicken?"
"That is the question, my dear, that is the question."
"Yeah, it sure as 狗屎 gǒushǐ is," Mal replied, looking a little queasily at his apple.
"These apples are good and healthsome," River remarked, taking a large bite.
. . .
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glossary
Καλλίστῃ Kallistei [To the fairest (Greek)]
風馬牛不相及 Fēng mǎ niú bù xiāng jí [Two things that have absolutely nothing to do with each other (lit. "a horse and cow in heat do not look to each other") (Chinese idiom)]
废话 fèihuà [nonsense]
狗屎 gǒushǐ [crap]
Thanks to Bytemite, whose story "Winter Campaign" inspired the part of this chapter where Mal has his flashback to the winter campaign in New Kasmir. Also, not sure how the formatting will come out with the verses. Options are limited here on ff dot net and I never quite know if what I have in my document will come out looking the way I want it to. Reviews would be good and healthsome.
