Chapter Fourteen

'You vanquisshed a Martian warrior in ssingle combat,' the Martian whispered. There was a tone of respect in his voice. Megalomaniacs were also the only people in the whole, wide universe that used words like "vanquished" in everyday conversation.

'Er, yes. It's not something I'm terribly proud of.' But if it meant that Xznaal respected me...

'You desserve an honourable death. An execution.'

I nodded my head. 'Do I get to choose the method?'

Xznaal cackled. 'An exquissite idea.' He sucked some more air. 'How do you wissh to die, human?'

I made a show of looking around. My eye caught a wooden block and an axe. There was a little plaque:

"The axe which is of the Tudor Period, was for long displayed at the Tower as the instrument of Anne Boleyn's death, although in fact by her own choice she was beheaded with a sword. The block was made for the last beheading on Tower Hill in 1747."

The trouble was, I didn't fancy the idea of beheading, however it was done. Nor gassing, stabbing, hanging, shooting, electrocution, lethal injection or strangulation. Dying was an irredeemably unpleasant idea.

'I choose "old age",' I announced finally.

Xznaal seemed disappointed by the answer, as I had expected. Before one could join the Amalgamated Union of Villains, Baddies and Miscellaneous Evil Persons one had to abandon any sense of humour.

The Martian Lord drew breath. 'From ssome of the implementss on dissplay in thiss fort, I knew that your race truly iss ingeniouss when it comess to the artss of death.'

I thanked him, already knowing that Xznaal wouldn't be able to pick up on my tone of voice.

'The concept of "torture", for example iss - '