The Fellowship of the Talisman by Clifford D. Simak Page B

“historically are personal arms. To use them one man must face another man at no more than arm’s length. There are few that reach out farther. Spears and javelins, of course, but they are awkward weapons at the best and once one has cast them he cannot retrieve them to cast them once again. They and slings are all that have any distance factor. And slings are tricky things to use, mostly inaccurate and, by and large, not too dangerous.”
    â€œYou are right,” his father said. “There are those, like His Grace, who bewail our situation, but to my mind we are quite fortunate. We have achieved a social structure that serves our purposes and any attempt to change it might throw us out of balance and bring on many troubles, most of which, I would imagine, we cannot now suspect.”
    A sudden coldness, a breath of frost sweeping over Duncan, jerked him from his review of that last day. His eyes popped open, and bending over him, he saw the hooded face of Ghost, if face it could be called. It was more like a murky oval of swirling smoke, encircled by the whiteness of the cowl. There were no features, just that smoky swirl, and yet he felt he was staring straight into a face.
    â€œSir Ghost,” he said sharply, “what is your intent to waken me so rudely and abruptly?”
    Ghost, he saw, was hunkering beside him, and that was a strange thing, that a ghost should hunker.
    â€œI have questions to ask your lordship,” said Ghost. “I have asked them beforetimes of the hermit and he is impatient of me for asking questions that do not fall within his knowledge, although as a holy man one might think he had the knowledge. I asked them of your huge companion and he only grunts at me. He was outraged, methinks, that a ghost should presume to talk to him. Should he think he might find any substance to me, I believe he might have put those hamlike hands about my throat and choked me. Although no longer can I be choked. I have been choked sufficiently. Also, I think, a broken neck. So, happily, I now am beyond all such indignity.”
    Duncan threw the blanket off him and sat up.
    â€œAfter such a lengthy prelude,” he said, “your questions must be ones of more than ordinary importance.”
    â€œTo me,” said Ghost, “they are.”
    â€œI may not be able to answer them.”
    â€œIn which case, you’ll be no worse than any of the others.”
    â€œSo,” said Duncan, “go ahead and ask.”
    â€œHow come, my lord, do you think that I should be wearing such a getup? I know, of course, that it is a proper ghostly costume. It is worn by all proper ghosts, although I understand that in the case of some castle ghosts the habiliment may be black. Certainly I was not dressed in such a spotless robe when I was strung up from the oak. I was strung up in very filthy rags and in the terror of being hanged I fear I befouled them even further.”
    â€œThat,” said Duncan, “is a question I cannot answer.”
    â€œAt least you accord me the courtesy of an honest reply,” said Ghost. “You did not growl or snarl at me.”
    â€œThere might be someone who has made a study of such matters who could give you an answer. Someone of the Church, perhaps.”
    â€œWell, since I’m not likely soon to meet someone of the Church, methinks I can then do little about it. It is not too important, but it is something that has bothered me. I have mulled upon it.”
    â€œI am sorry,” Duncan said.
    â€œI have yet another question.”
    â€œAsk it if you feel you must. An answer I’ll not promise.”
    â€œMy question,” said Ghost, “is why me? Not all people who die, not even all whose lives are ended violently or in shame, assume a ghostly guise. If all did, the world would be filled with ghosts. They’d be treading upon one another’s sheets. There’d be no room for the living.”
    â€œNeither