Ойкумена / Oikumena: Глава 10

Part II. " Apothecary," Chapter 10. "Early in the morning..."
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Camrad_RIP 29.05.23 в 13:53

Grandpa had a book of memoirs by Thor Heyerdahl in his library. A long time ago, Lena had read there how once, in a state of medical anesthesia, the great traveler had a vision of several circles that connected without any gaps and kept their shape. The vision was vivid and logical, but after waking up, the dreamer could not remember how it happened. The same thing was happening to Lena. The girl was besieged by vivid, frightening images, from which only vague images remained when she awoke. The visions were like a frayed arrow - impossible to reach and forget.

Camrad_RIP 30.05.23 в 19:44

Dreams imply complete involvement, otherwise, they are not dreams at all, but ordinary fantasies. And accordingly, when one realizes the virtuality of what is happening, the fairy tale ends. Well, or not a fairy tale at all, depending on your luck. Elena was unlucky. Another nightmare seized her, one of those that appeared almost every night for more than six months. She was unlucky twice - she literally "dreamed" in reality, but the understanding that the dream was unreal did not help at all. Vague but threatening visions stretched in an endless series, like an old yellowed film with "cigarette burns".

Camrad_RIP 30.05.23 в 19:47

Church. Celebration. Most likely a wedding. Lots of people, it seems, are artisans with apprentices. Apparently, the daughter of not the last shop master is getting married. Her face is invisible, always in shadow, her image blurred as in a mirror of badly polished bronze. Pantocrator's blessing, white capes with a green border, symbolizes purity and the beginning of a new life. Groom. Yes, only the groom can have such a face, and it, unlike the bride, is reflected very well in the dream. A simple open face of a simple and very happy man.

Camrad_RIP 30.05.23 в 19:48

But somewhere in the distance, beyond the horizon of awareness, a dark streak appeared, like a storm from the sea, still far away but rushing with the speed of an express train - in a world where no one knows what an "express train" is, and the horse is the measure of all travel. And no one feels any danger.
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Camrad_RIP 30.05.23 в 19:50

Serene happiness reigns here. People whose lives are not long and filled with hard work are more able than anyone else to enjoy every moment of true happiness and serenity. And the storm is getting closer... It is still invisible, but it already looms over the holiday. Like in a good movie, where the cameraman and the sound unobtrusively emphasize - something will happen.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 11:41

A storm is coming...

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 11:43

The haunting horror gripped her like the web of the Gray Shadow, softly enveloping every thought, dragging her deeper and deeper into a personal hell of terrifying phantoms.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 12:42

The groom's strong hand, with its fingernails nearly trimmed, covers the bride's palm. He has the calluses of a hammerhead and the many smudges that metal pickling acid leaves behind. A blacksmith? Yes, not a weapon maker. He makes armor. He would eventually become a great craftsman and buy a charter with the right to have his workshop and brand. His armor will become famous in the West and the East. Even the sailors of the Island will order it. The smith does not know such words and does not understand the physics of the process, but the dreamer knows that the future master has discovered a way to saturate steel with carbon, strengthening its structure. So much so the forged metal can withstand even the arrows of crossbow knights from the south.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 12:54

The bride has thin fingers, which already have unstretched wrinkles from the constant care of the home. Women's lot is not easy, even in wealthy homes. Equality is equality, but everyone must do the work they can do. A girl nurses her younger sisters and brothers. She takes care of the fire, fetches water from the well, cooks, milks a cow, makes butter, gathers firewood, changes candles and lamps, sews, embroidery, and spins, keeps the house clean and tidy, and grazes and feeds cattle. The bride has the hands of a girl, a woman, and a mother, who holds the world, for so it is said in the scroll of the Primordial of the world.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:29

They will live a long life. Not always happily, but tightly. And they will not die on the same day, but one will not make the other wait long until mortal time ends. And the big family will mourn the old ones...

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:36

It will be.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:36

And that will never happen.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:37

Because the storm is coming. The calamity is already here. There is no escape. And he will die, struck down in a single blow. She, on the other hand...

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:49

Elena woke up. As always, in the same place, at the climax of the nightmare, when the inner eye has seen the terrible ending, but the mind has not yet had time to comprehend the vision. And all that remained was a feeling of something extreme, utterly hopeless.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:50

Horrible.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 13:50

No wonder the night was so disgusting. Mr. Cat didn't seem to be home at all tonight. Sometimes Lena was glad that the dream ended the same way - she didn't want to know what was (or only would be?) next. Sometimes she was angry, hoping that maybe the exact knowledge would relieve her from the feeling of the forbidden creepiness, the uncleanness of the dream. But there was always the annoying feeling of someone who had peeked through the keyhole at a piece of someone else's life, even though one could have just opened the door. If one knew how.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 11:50

However, let the dreams remain in the world of night dreams and the day - the cares of the day. Quickly rinse herself in the deep bowl she had prepared the night before. She usually shudders at the sad thought of what the skin of her face and hands will look like in a few years, when tar soap, baked grease, and a clean towel are the pinnacle of cosmetic tricks.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 11:53

Clothing. A handkerchief around the neck - spring brought a light but treacherous breeze from the ocean, imperceptibly and easily leading to bronchitis. An obligatory cap with a hemmed scarf falling down the back to hide the color of her hair. Lena would have gladly cut or dyed her hair. It was too conspicuous, even if it had darkened over the year. But neither of these things suited her status in society. Dye could only be obtained at the Venerable's brothel, and a short haircut would have put her in the category of a fully self-sufficient and independent woman such as Shena. But to be like Shena, you had to be able to kill like Shena. So Lena braided her braid and tucked it under her headdress.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 11:54

The town was waking up. There were never any alarm clocks here, but the inhabitants were accustomed to living by daylight since birth. Rising at dawn, going to bed at dusk. A huge moon gave much more light than the earth one, but the very concept of nightlife was completely incomprehensible to natives - why? People worked during the day and slept at night unless they were engaged in some reprehensible activity, drank themselves to death, or went underground for Profit. That was the way Pantocrator originally set it up, and rightly so.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:02

Downstairs, on the first floor, Mouse, the housekeeper's all-round handyman, was already rattling about. There was a distinctive smell of burning oil shale. Saphir was heating the hearth. Outside the window, a junkman was pushing a four-wheeled cart, making a muffled curse over the unworthy citizens of this part of the Gate who'd grown too lazy to slaughter each other. So the night was peaceful, and once again, no one was killed, leaving the junkman, part grave keeper, with no bonus for the grave keeper. The town had been relatively peaceful of late, so the famous duel between Santelli and Augen was still the brightest bloodbath of the year. Some of the brigadiers were even beginning to grumble that it was getting boring.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:24

She pulled on her socks, which looked like slippers made of thin felt, and pondered briefly, choosing between wraps and button-up leggings. She decided the leggings were better, and they were quicker to button, and she was late enough as it was. Pantocrator forbid Matrice to notice the apprentice was late going to the market.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:25

Pantocrator... Pushing the round wooden buttons into the threaded slots, Lena smiled sadly. She looks like a local, works like a local, and is beginning to think like a local. It was already quite natural for her to think in local terms, like "Pantocrator," a local monotheistic deity common to the whole (or almost the whole) continent.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:27

It remained to adjust the cap, tighten the straps under her chin, and check that not a single strand had escaped from under the unshrunk cloth. To the touch. For a small mirror made of polished metal plate allowed only to make sure that parts of the face were in their former place.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:32

In general, the first three and a half months of Elena's new life were marked by sheer amazement, which turned into horror. The fact that you can't just look in the mirror. First, you have to buy it, and for the gold. From the fact that for a normal wash, you must draw water by hand, melt the hearth, heat the water, wash before it cools, and then the most interesting thing - clean the soot from the boiler. With sand, with her bare hands, and figuring how many centuries later they would be able to invent rubber, rubber vulcanization, and the pinnacle of human civilization, household gloves. It turns out that a man can die just by pricking his finger with a rusty nail. Or, after eating a pie, diarrhea because there are no refrigerators, of course, and glaciers are expensive. To light a candle, you first had to make a fire with real incense and chaff.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:36

And so on.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:36

In general, the life of an isekai in a certain "medieval" turned out to be similar to the attraction, only not of adventure but of domestic horror. However, after six months, the girl was more or less used to her new life, and now, more than a year later, we can say that she has adapted. Not completely, not without Mr. Cat's help, but so much so that at times she already catches herself automatically remembering Pantocrator.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:39

The wooden stairs creaked. Descending, Lena habitually stepped over the penultimate step, which should have been replaced long ago. The wooden soles clattered against the wooden stairs like hooves. She felt like going out on a binge again and buying new shoes after all.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:41

Mouse was scrubbing the kettle and mumbling something under her breath, rather unkindly. She was a typical maid in her thirties, who looked twice as old because she had been in the grueling, weekend-long job since she was five or six or so years old. She seemed to hate the world, but she didn't go beyond a general, unaddressed hatred.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:43

On the contrary, Saphir, a native of the far south, greeted Lena rather warmly but did not turn away from the hearth. The miserly grandfather saved firewood, and the flammable slate itself, which looked like gray mica with black flecks, did not ignite properly. A pot of yesterday's porridge, sparingly seasoned with bits of rutabaga, was already waiting on the table to be heated. Or, rather, what Lena decided to think of as rutabaga because the vegetable did look like a turnip, but it was beet-red in color and bitter than a black radish, so it had been soaked for at least a day before it was cooked.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:45

Matrice was still not back from the warehouse, where she had been disappearing since last night, taking another shipment of Profit. The sinister aunt's business, in general, was clearly divided into two parts, which hardly ever overlapped, at least obviously. Lena had already become skilled enough to handle the usual apothecary business, but she had no idea what was going on in the inconspicuous warehouses where the landlady dealt with the "tarry" brigades. Nor did she want to know.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:49

The absence of the landlady meant that Elena would most likely have to open the apothecary. When to open? Well, it's quite simple - take the approximate hour when the first vendors gather at the market, count ten "long" prayers on the Attributes of Pantocrator - that's the time. That is, we must hurry to go to the market. She had to give up breakfast in order to have everything in time for the opening, and she didn't want to gulp down a cold one.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:51

Knock, knock, knock. The wooden pads pounded against the stone of the sidewalk, interwoven with the similar clatter of dozens of feet. Lena threw the empty basket carelessly over her shoulder. It was necessary to greet everyone who was supposed to greet, respond to counter greetings, and not miss anyone. At no time should you forget that you are not yourself but the face of the Apothecary and Matrice personally. This is very important in a world where everyone belongs to someone and something. By breaking the rules and by showing disrespect, you bring down the honor of the corporation. And the corporation has the right to punish you.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:53

The gloomy spring sun crept lazily over the horizon as usual, hiding behind the clouds. Lena did not like bright sunshine, but this overcast gave her a feeling of late autumn and an unpleasant chill even on warm days.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:54

Just to say hello and bow a little to the armorer's wife, the one who sells arrows and guts for crossbow strings. A big woman in a baggy cape over her dress only waggled her chin, and that was all right.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:56

Knock, knock, knock.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 12:56

After five minutes of walking and about fifty acts of respect and reverence, Elena arrived at the market, which traditionally occupied the central square. More accurately, the vacant lot, which was considered a square. It was not even paved with stone, unlike the two main streets, on one of which stood the Apothecary. At the main entrance, an old double gallows stood orphaned, empty for obvious reasons, and no one had been executed there for years. The children had long ago converted it into a swing to make sure it was not wasted. But it was a little early for games, so the ropes just hung there, giving off grim surrealism in the style of Herman Junior... Or was it Sr. Or should it even be called postmodernism? Lena couldn't remember and mechanically shivered as she walked past the structure.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:02

Gate was called respectfully, and from the point of view of the inhabitants of the wasteland, it was a rather large population center, in fact, a regional center. In Elena's view, it was a large village, with six hundred permanent residents and an equal number of others in a state of Brownian motion, on their way there or thereabouts. And the village made an impression of a panopticon because it was built, you might say, at the junction of two differently oriented architectural concepts. Poor buildings were built frame way when the wooden boards were put between the columns on braces and between them with special beater rammed construction mixture based on clay, dung, finely chopped straw, and other debris, as they could find. Once dry, the mixture hardened and turned into a section of the wall. It was miserable and short-lived but cheap and warm, especially, if you do not save on straw. For the richer houses, they used to reconstruct buildings left over from some old, half-tale times of the Old Empire, about which no one could say anything.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:19

Time... Lena came from a world of linear time, which was fixed by records of events. Into the world where all events were stored and transmitted through memory and stories. For a person, there existed only what their grandfather, father, grandmother, and mother could tell them about. Anything beyond the collective memory of two or three living generations was immediately relegated to the infinity of the forbidden antiquity. How long had the Old Empire existed, of which a part of the cyclopean fortress wall and some half-destroyed buildings remained? No one could tell.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:20

At the same time, time also played the role of distance measures. Everything that went beyond simple measures was evaluated in foot and horse traverses of varying intensity. "How far" turned into "How long this journey would take". Going after Profit, Santelli's brigade knew precisely that with a normal load, it would be able to wander on the Wastelands for about a week, that is, walk about halfway to the coast and back again. There was no way to translate that into kilometers or miles for lack of a standard, Elena knew.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:23

Meanwhile, the market was already bustling with the morning rush. Right at the entrance, a carpenter made a billet of a deep wooden bowl on a primitive but efficient lathe with a foot drive made of a board, rope, and counterweight. As usual, Lena lingered a little longer, admiring the work. She liked to watch how the experienced hands outlined the wooden logs step by step, from kegs to spoons and flasks. It was a demanding job since the heaths were mostly willow-like trees with thin, flexible trunks, convenient for weaving from branches and forming in a steam bath but providing too little material for construction and other work with chunks. Therefore, good wood was mostly imported and was already expensive, and the price of a mistake and wasted material was measured in full silver.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:26

Things hit Lena's perception the hardest. From the world of assembly-line production and other "guaranteed wear and tear," she found herself in a world where absolutely everything was made by hand and only in one copy. No two items were exactly alike here. And everything was incredibly expensive relative to her weekly and monthly income. There were no such things as "to wear temporarily," "for the season," and so on. Things were bought for years and often for generations, with the original expectation of repeated mending and successive staggered recycling. The shirt was worn down to a hole-in-the-hole condition, then turned into a vest. The vest became patches and scarves and so on until the last thread wore out or burned in the wick of an oil lamp.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:29

The craftsman worked with two sons of about ten or so years old. One was sharpening a semicircular chisel on an old bar, with which the master would then smooth out the blank for the future bowl, picking out the excess on the machine. The other was just beginning to carve the spoon blank from the wood, sticking out his tongue with eagerness and firmly gripping the knife backward.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:31

"Done," said the foreman without taking his eyes off his work.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:32

"White wood?" just in case, Elena clarified.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:32

"It's as white as it gets. Give it there."

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:33

This last was no longer said to her. The apprentice, who was whittling a large chef's spoon, put aside his pole and took out a double wax tablet - a writing board made of two halves fastened with cords. Lena examined the product meticulously. Everything was as it should be: the base was white oak, and the wax was darkened with resin, for if it were not dark on light, but vice versa, it would be impossible to write - no lines could be made out. The wax surface is smooth, poured in one pass from a ladle rather than dripped from a candle. Excellent work and yet another reminder that even the seemingly simplest things are actually made with great craftsmanship.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:45

I had to pay, without haggling, a full-fledged copa, the daily wage of a good foot soldier with his servant. The cabinetmaker never haggled at all. He simply set the price. If you didn't want it, don't take it. Even though Lena paid from the purse Matrice had given her the day before for the Apothecary's property, her heart skipped a beat.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:44

Minus one concern. Next was to buy some herbs to grind for the evening. Lena walked past the shoemaker, one of the three who shoe made all the Gates. She sadly admired her dream of leather boots. The apprentice, painstakingly weaving grass insoles, caught her sad look and, instead of cracking the usual ribald joke, sighed understandingly. He was only wearing stockings with hemmed soles, the usual thing for villagers and poor people.

Camrad_RIP 01.06.23 в 13:42

In fact, leather shoes were not that complicated or expensive. A typical brògan was a boot as high as the ankle or mid-shin. The front part of the shoe.was cut lengthwise, and when put on, the foot was wrapped around with a flap of leather from inside to outside and secured with ties, hooks, or cleats, or, less frequently for women's shoes, with buttons. Often even boots had such a flap and wrapped long cords around the whole height of the cuff. It was comfortable and even a bit stylish.

Camrad_RIP 31.05.23 в 17:11