Ойкумена / Oikumena: Глава 9

Chapter 9
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Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 05:53

Santelli found Augen quickly. He didn't even have to ask. Where could a man be preparing to depart from the local "hospitable" lands? Of course, in the biggest tavern, which is always crowded, and even more so when it rains.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:14

The brigadier's appearance did not go unnoticed, but without the traditional pat on the back, handshakes, and other rituals that men use to greet and say goodbye. Rumors of Santelli spending time in a special place called "Heterion" had already spread through the Gate, so the Brigadier's appearance next to Augen, who joked most vividly and pointedly about the Brigadier's specific predilections, was understood correctly.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:17

Challenges on the wastelands are simple, requiring no special tricks or seconds. It's not Kingdoms. People see and hear, and that's good enough. So Santelli didn't waste any time with unnecessary words.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:18

"Boy," the brigadier's voice seemed to exude a honeyed sweetness that contrasted with Santelie's eyes, which burned with the dark fire of murder. "A man with such a sharp tongue must have an equally sharp blade. And I'd like to get a closer look at it."

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:19

Wooden, clay, and pewter mugs, bottles, and jugs clattered their bottoms against the sturdy tables. The roar of the tipsy brethren almost blew out the bubble-tight windows. The news bounced from house to house, through the wet streets, like sparks from a fire, gathering people together.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:20

There will be a fight!

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:21

The rain pounded down from the frowning, gray skies as if someone up there had directed a full-flowing river down. Water flowed down the streets, carrying debris and muddy mud, flooding the eyes and penetrating even well-oiled leather jackets, not to mention ordinary clothes. The linen and wool clung to their bodies like cold rags. And yet quite a few (or rather a lot) of the Gate's inhabitants had ventured out of the safe houses, inns, and brothels with gambling houses. Other people's deaths are the most exhilarating sensation, the sweetest sight for a crowd. And though mores in the largest town in the Wasteland were simple and murder frequent, even here, open fights did not happen often enough to become a daily habit.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:24

The duelists fought in silence, moving in a deep puddle, splashing muddy water. And the crowd was silent - the betting on such fights was forbidden, as it had been since time immemorial. Only Pantocrator decides who will win, and profiteering from God's judgment was not pleasing to Him. Few people believed this, but there are traditions that no one dares to break.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:25

The axe and cleaver thudded against the small round shields, beating out a frightening rhythm. Augen was younger and a little stronger. But, besides, he was not yet hemmed in by the wastelands and feared death, too much in love with life. Santelli was more experienced and knew for sure at least one dead man would be carried from this rally. The brigadier fought calculatedly and methodically, exhausting his opponent with precise blows to his shield so that all his strength went to his opponent's arm, reverberating in his muscles and joints. Ozhen tried to bombard the brigadier with a hail of blows, aiming mainly at his left leg, but Santelli skillfully kept his distance.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:27

The spectators were silent, the fighters were silent, and only the heavy breathing was wheezing out of Augen's chest. The young fighter was exhausted too quickly. The water was pouring, so much so that the roofs were humming under the pressure of the elements.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:29

Fear flashed in the young bully's eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible shadow. But the experienced Santeli did not miss it. The brigadier became even more cautious and calculated, knowing that the fear of death multiplies strength and that the enemy can pull any trick. It is always on the threshold of victory that one must be most careful.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:30

A blow, another blow. The brigadier's shield began to come apart at the joints of the boards. Several rivets had already fallen out, the waxed skin dangling in shreds. Augen's shield was more expensive and sturdy, but now with every parry, the bully wrinkled painfully. His hand was numb from the brigadier's brutal blows, and every thrust struck the bone and joint like a nail.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:33

Augen pretended to be completely tired and stumped on his feet, but Santelli wasn't buying that inept trick. He hunched over, shielded himself, and swung his axe in a circle. Augen attacked with a fierce shriek, pushing himself to the limit. He chopped Santelli three times in a row, in quick succession. Even mitigated by skillful parrying, the blows nearly shattered the brigadier's shield, splinters flying in all directions. As the excited Augen raised his cleaver for the fourth blow, rejoicing at his quick victory, Santelli counterattacked.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:38

A swift swing of his shattered shield thwarted the young man's attack, causing him to recoil. The brigadier slid in behind his foe, preventing him from breaking the distance. He hooked Augen's shield with the edge of his axe and yanked it aside, deflecting, literally opening his foe's defenses like a clam shell. He hit with his shield, or rather the remains of it, in the chest. Augen lost his balance. He could not roll to the side to evade an attack. The young man swung his weapon incongruously, almost blindly. He missed and received another blow, this time a full-blown one that threw the victim into the dirt.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:48

The club and the axe are the weapons of one successful strike. If you are without armor, all you have to do is make one misstep, and the fight is over. And so it was. Augen didn't have enough for the "retaliatory strike" Kai mentioned. He screamed, dropped his weapon, and tried to crawl away. He tried to crawl away, but the water splashed across the foul turf, and the brown, muddy ground was joined by dark purple, almost black spots, dispersing quickly, like drops of ink in a teacup. The dying man was writhing his legs and howling, with no hope of mercy, no longer conscious of anything, driven only by unthinking fear. A muffled howl mingled with the wheezing of a severed lung.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 06:50

Santelli didn't even seem to change his face. He dropped the remains of the useless shield from his hand, tossed the axe, and intercepted it "carpenter's way," with the blade forward as if for hammering nails. Now, when all that was needed was to finish off a helpless adversary, the blade should have been spared. They might as well have said something nice for the audience. They liked that on the Wastelands. If only to curse at least one last time at the half-wit who had forgotten that a man should always be ready to answer for his words with a weapon in his hand.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 08:44

But the foreman said nothing, and the spectators were not amused with a colorful word. He silently stabbed Augen in the head and repeated it twice more to the noise of the rain and the splash of water coming from the gutters. They absorbed as if wrapped in soft, absorbent cotton, the crunch of a fractured skull.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 08:47

The brigadier straightened up and wiped the blood off his weapon mechanically. Raindrops mingled with the blood, dripping with pink foam on his fingers. Santelli breathed in the clean air, cleansed of dust and smoke by the rain. He wiped his face with the palm of his hand. And went to the Heterion, still with an axe in his hand.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:00

No one followed him. The dead man curled up in a dark red puddle, was very quickly stripped, for he had nothing of value on him except his boots, his weapon, his amulet around his neck, and his good leather pants. Santelli's funny pun about a sharp tongue and a sharp blade went straight to the people, for it was well said.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:01

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Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:02

Lena was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall with a halted, empty gaze. There was a window in her room, a real one, with a thin plate of mica and even an opening frame (rich by local standards). Behind this window, they drank and walked, so much so that it seemed the mica glass was about to fall out. The natives didn't seem to be bothered by the fierce rain, a real downpour that wasn't going to stop.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:04

In a room about three meters by three meters, there was a stool, built without nails, on wooden spikes; a jug of water; a two-fingered shelf on the wall; a coat rack in the corner, a wooden cross, and an empty chest, so decrepit and woodworm-eaten that it looked as if it were about to crumble into weightless gray ash. A towel hung sadly on the hanger, and its threads were loose at both ends. The apprentice had nothing else for the time being except to eat (twice a day, breakfast and dinner). Other necessities of life were not forbidden for her to buy for future income. Or not to buy.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:07

No, there was also a copper spike with a bifurcated end hammered into the wall. It was a holder for a match, a candle, or a small oil lamp. Now a long leather cord, soaked in some kind of grease, burned in it. Such, as the girl realized, were often used here instead of expensive candles.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:10

And clothes issued "on credit". Well-recognizable solid wooden boots, pounding with every step, like nails in a coffin lid. "Underwear" in the form of a long linen shirt and the familiar thong. Another shirt on top of the undershirt, but longer, thicker, and sleeveless. And finally, the wool dress itself, out of size, was worn and repaired many times. A dense cap on her head with "ears" descending almost to her shoulders. A wide linen sash, in which she could somehow tie various small things, but Lena had not yet figured out how.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:13

The stomach was digesting... not food, but rather a mass. A kind of steamed gruel of coarsely crushed corn (or rather, what looked most like corn, only pale green), sparingly flavored with lean oil and completely tasteless.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:14

Tomorrow, even before dawn, was the promise of a rise and the beginning of a new working life, along with a demonstration of medical skills. Matrice did not even try to soften Hel's introduction to her new life. The apprentice's prospects were outlined at once in curt but expressive tones. Work and unquestioning obedience, in the long term rising to the level of what in the usual terms could be called "practicing physician under the auspices of the corporation," that is, the Apothecary. An enviable prospect, by the way, judging by the whispers. Good medicine was very important to the way of life of the Gate dwellers. Any other behavior had only one result: billing for apprenticeship and charging by any means convenient to the master.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:17

The carrot and the stick. It's as simple as that. A Medic in a creepy city of assassins and hunters for the mysterious underground Profit or ...

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:22

"Or" read quite transparently and clearly. An encounter with Routier Ranyan, an utterly ruthless mercenary, and murderer of little girls. Who, as the girl now clearly understood, had only miraculously missed his "Spark", killing completely uninvolved people in passing. Matrice would make a profit on Hel in any case. If the hands don't bring profit, the head sold to the murderer will.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 10:00

* * *

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 09:21

It wasn't always quiet and peaceful at the Heterion. But it was always safe and relatively decent. The audience was decent, well-mannered, and solvent. The place was relatively small, but it could satisfy the most demanding demands. Because when people walk on the edge of death, their lust for life and carnal pleasures is heightened.

Camrad_RIP 28.05.23 в 10:37

Santelli lingered for a while on the first floor, where among the curtains, hung in seeming disorder and creating an atmosphere of privacy, one could have a couple of glasses of wine and chat with useful people. At other times a pair of burly guards at the entrance would have politely but emphatically recommended the foreman get rid of his weapons, leaving the unwanted iron in a special trunk. At another time, Santelli would have complied without objection. Not this time, however. Everyone already knew what had happened, both today and before. So no one stopped the foreman. There are always rules to follow, but there are situations where the rules become very flexible in interpretation. On the other hand, even in such cases, it is better not to step on some sore spots...

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 05:39

Anyway, Santelli entered the Heterion with his gun, wet to the skin, but first, he drank a glass of wine with the Honourable Gee. Once upon a time, the steward's name was Swallower, and he was a pimp in far-off civilized places. But, like Matrice, he had left the past behind him, having achieved far more in the Wastelands.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 05:47

"It will become expensive for you," the Venerable Gee informed him briefly, finishing his wine. He did not explain what it was. It was obvious as it was. "Very expensive."

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 05:53

"Not more expensive than money," the usually terse Santeli seemed to have the talent of a philosopher erupted today.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 05:56

Gee shook his head with restrained approval, remembering the good turn of phrase. But the approval flew from his heavy wide face like the wind blew it away. The situation was very unpleasant. For everyone.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:29

"You won't," Gee stretched out with great doubt. "It would be easier for you to buy out their contract."

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:29

"Not easier. It certainly isn't now. I'll pay you back," Santelli decided to wrap up the courtly conversation, and there was a fatal predetermination in his voice. "By the way..."

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:31

"Yes?" raised an eyebrow at the Venerable.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:31

"I always wanted to know, but somehow I forgot... Where did they come from? Heterion is good, no doubt about it. But let's face it. They're a little too..." Santelli hesitated looking for the right word.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:34

"Classy," chuckled Venerable Gee, folding his hands on his voluminous belly. Gee never wore rings or rings. It was a memory of the days when his primary means of admonishing female workers was his fist. A ring is the best way to hurt the face.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:39

"More red wine?" inquired the Venerable.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:40

"No," Santeli said briefly, indicating that time was of the essence.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:47

"Okay. It's a long story, almost like a fairy tale."

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:47

There was a loud, distinctly hysterical woman's laughter from above muffled by the walls and the thick curtains. Immediately afterward, there was a whipping as if a good whip had been struck on the saddle. There was a woman's laughter again. This time it was interspersed with distinctly male cries. No one paid any attention to this. It's the workday routine.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:50

"A fairy tale?" Santelli asked.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:51

"Yes. There's the rich background, the loving father, the early death of the mother, and the wicked stepmother. Intrigue, poisoning, father's death, exile, fleeing to the ends of the earth, and more. Would you like to hear the full story?"

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:52

"No," Santelli shook his head slowly, one of the pigtails tucked behind his ear slowly sliding down his cheek.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:52

"Also true," Gee approved. "The mystery is more interesting."

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:53

"Pour me a bottle. For three," the foreman didn't specify, but the Venerable One understood perfectly. And he bloomed, hoping that the bearded man's murderous mood had abated.

Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 06:53