Blood Rules by John Trenhaile

Kuala Lumpur and he was on his way out to join his folks for the holidays. At first the boys had played Dungeons and Dragons. Then came lunch, and the discovery that Tim was diabetic.
    “You mean, you have to give yourself injections?”
    “Yes.”
    “What would happen if you forgot?”
    “I’d go into a coma and die. Don’t even think about it; I should have stocked up before I left, and forgot. God, this stuff’s revolting! What
is
it?”
    “Broccoli, I think.” Robbie jabbed two fingers toward some green substance lying on the side of Tim’s flameproof tray and said,
“By all the powers of fire, be thou burned, be scorched, be charred—disruption!”
    The boys stared at the green stuff. “Those fire spells never work,” Robbie observed gloomily. “I fancy a beer. You?”
    Tim shook his head. “No, I mustn’t.”
    “Bad luck. Hey, miss … why do they never look your way when you want them?”
    “Because they’re busy chatting up rich studs, that’s why.” Tim pushed his specs back up his nose. “I do this trip twice a year. You have to be dying before they serve you. Mind you, that girl doesn’t look so bad.”
    “She’s stunning. Hey, your turn as Dungeon Master; I want to be a Cleric, this time.
Miss!
Yoo-hoo!”
    Van Tonder had a window seat at the back of club class, on the starboard side. As Captain Thorneycroft pushed through the curtain that divided club from first, the South African was in full flood, abusing a flight attendant. Seeing Thorneycroft he stopped, glared, then turned back to the girl.
    “You’re a lucky young woman,” he said witheringly. “I have the organ grinder now.
Thank
you.”
    “What seems to be the trouble?” Thorneycroft addressed his question to the girl, not the passenger.
    “This gentleman, Mr. Van Tonder, was allocated the wrong seat in London and—”
    “And,
Captain, when we land I shall be making a formal complaint concerning this airline’s attitude to safety. Do you know what I found underneath my seat?” He paused for maximum effect, before holding up a half-burned cigarette. “This! Alight, let me
say
. Alight!”
    Thorneycroft’s face gave nothing away, but inside he was cursing. The audience, that was his real problem. Van Tonder’s immediate neighbor had his head buried in a newspaper, and the rest of the cabin was silent as a communal grave. Complaints about amenities were one thing. Safety was another.
    “Excuse me, but you are mistaken.”
    Thorneycroft diverted his gaze a fraction to discover that the passenger sitting by the window directly in front of Van Tonder had turned around; evidently it was he who had spoken, for now he went on. “I’d gone aft to check on my son, and as I came back this gentleman was in the act of picking up the cigarette. It was as you see it. Not alight.”
    “How dare you interfere?” spluttered Van Tonder. He half rose in his seat. “Are you accusing me of being a liar?”
    “I’m saying that you are mistaken.” Colin glanced up at the captain. “My name is Colin Raleigh, I witnessed the incident, and I’d be more than happy to give you my address in case this goes further. I’d just like to add, Captain, that your crew have dealt impeccably with this quite intolerable person, and they deserve medals. God knows, so do the rest of us.”
    Thorneycroft smiled and nodded his thanks. “Right,” he said, turning back to the South African. “I’m sorry about the cigarette end you found, but we don’t have total control over the cleaning contractors. If you want to persist in your allegation that it was alight, by all means do so. But there’ll have to be an inquiry, and my company, it seems, has a witness on its side.”
    “You have no right—”
    “Under international law, Mr. Van Tonder, I have the right to order you to be handcuffed to the floor for the duration of this flight, and if you continue to antagonize the other passengers that is what I shall do.”
    In the silence that