Ойкумена / Oikumena: Глава 6

Chapter 6

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 15:11

The palace under the hill

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 15:11

* * *

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 15:11

The wind had changed and was blowing from the northwest, blowing away the traditional city stench, bringing the faint smell of something piney from the lake-sea. Also, the freshly fallen snow seemed to have a fresh, clean smell of its own. Definitely, the southern part of Milvess seemed quite decent and clean in the morning hours. Quite like a postcard city.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:17

It snowed again, but lazily, as if by force. In the still air, the snowflakes descended, spinning like weightless parachutes. The stone foundations smelled cold as if they were tombstones, the early winter frost creeping through Elena's worn clothes. Her arm still ached, but it was more habitual, more or less tolerable. The fracture had healed relatively well in a month, enough that the maimed woman could do without a bandage. However, to all appearances, Elena was left-handed for the rest of her life. The mobility and coordination of her leading hand never recovered.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:19

A shrill whistle blew, and a beeping whistle sounded to disperse the passers-by, telling them it was time to move aside lest they find themselves under the hooves of the lords of the land. A dressed-up signalman was hurrying along on a wiry horse like a pony, puffing his cheeks amusingly. Behind him, on a much more substantial horse, rode a sergeant, all in chain mail and riveted leather. He raised the standard high, but the coat of arms was unfamiliar to Elena, like a pig with a tree growing out of it. An ominous image, though.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:20

A ten-man cavalcade of guards, glittering with polished steel, galloped farther away. Judging by their coats of arms, they were not mercenaries but the lovags from the West, something between a knight and an indentured gentry. Vassals serving the lord for lands, but more often for bread, which the lovag sold at his discretion. All with swords and cuirasses, each with a steel glove on his left hand with separate scaly fingers instead of the traditional "mittens," as well as with an enlarged cuff on which it was possible to take blows instead of a shield. This, better than horses and weapons, gave away wealthy warriors under a generous lord. Quality hand and arm protection were mind-bogglingly expensive, as this combination of durability with mobility was the ultra-high-tech of armor-making and metallurgy on the continent. The open-faced helmets were fitted with ringed barbettes and were draped with capes of thick cloth embroidered with crested colors. This made the heads of the soldiers seem disproportionately wide, flush with the body, and the silhouette as a whole acquired "bearish" proportions. In Milvesse, they usually preferred to wear "bare head" helmets, i.e. helmets without unnecessary decorations.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:26

Elena realized and stepped aside, letting the riders pass so as not to be swept away and trampled. She should have taken off her hat and bowed beforehand, so she chided herself for forgetting. These badass and daring fellows didn't seem to care about the passers-by, and someone else might have stopped and organized a demonstrative punishment of the disrespectful peasant of a despicable class. She'd better watch out.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:29

The entourage was accompanied by a single man. He seemed very small on a squat and powerful destrier. Elena had already learned to identify warhorses at a glance. The rider was definitely throwing an "I can afford it!" attitude. Destrie, for all their power, were very capricious and sensitive in their daily upkeep. A beast completely devoid of self-preservation instincts, capable of carrying an armored rider and its armor for hours, could go limp, knocking off a hoof, or simply die of a cold from a draft. So it was not customary to use them as ordinary riding animals, and if it happened, it was rightly perceived as a demonstrative manifesto of "a lot of crazy money!".

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:44

As the rider approached the traveler, their gazes met by chance, and... no, not the rider. A rideress who only seemed small on the mighty beast. A young woman about the same age as Elena or slightly older. She was also a short-cropped coal-black brunette with a clever barrette in her uncovered hair for propriety. The girl dressed as a man, like Elena, but much better and more expensive. She wore narrow pants and a long quilted jacket, thrown like a cloak over a caftan, all very dapper, with fur trim and silver-gold embroidery. The gold armorial chain hung in plain view, not loosely, but fastened in a knightly manner, that is, in special loops on the back and chest. The left shoulder was covered by a shoulder pad in the form of a miniature shield made of mirror-polished steel with engraving.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:47

Helena flinched. She thought, for a moment, she saw Shena watching from a high stool-like saddle. The vision was sharp, incredibly vivid... and wrong. No. It was imagined. The general dark-hairedness and dashing appearance of the militant horsewoman played a part. The young woman didn't look like Shena at all. Her face was characterized by the marble pallor of an aristocrat who didn't know what the direct rays of the sun were like. In every gesture, every look, there was a superiority that could not be learned but only absorbed through years of living in a sense of exclusivity.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:42

The aristocratic brunette glanced at Elena with a fleeting, indifferent glance and then galloped away at a leisurely trot. The townspeople huddled against the walls of the houses looked back and continued on their way, satisfied that the hooves were no longer a threat. Elena gritted her teeth. Feeling like an ordinary burgher was humiliating and sad. Strictly speaking, her situation was even worse now - alone, without a family, a workshop, or at least a community.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:31

But maybe something will change... Today, for example. The girl quickened her steps, trying to keep up with the dwarf. Despite her height, she was moving her feet with surprising speed, the soft soles of her expensive leather boots crunching the freshly fallen snow.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:30

* * *

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 15:12

It was said that long ago, there lived a certain Bonom of the Primators, that is, the salt of all the salts of the earth. He was so rich that it was impossible to imagine anything on earth, underwater, and in the sky that this best of men could not buy. He was so noble that no chronicler could list all the ancestors of both sexes in one go. The strongest voice would run out. He was so powerful that if he ordered the sun not to rise and the moon to take its turn, the luminaries would readily do so.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 10:07

But there was someone more powerful in the world - the Emperor himself. And it came to pass that the lord of the whole world, from coast to coast, from the peaks of the Middle Mountains to the deepest dungeons, became angry and decided to punish the Primator. The nobleman was ordered to put a bridle on his arrogant pride and, as a sign of humility, to destroy his best palace, the jewel of the second [1] most beautiful city in Ecumene. To refuse directly was to defy the lord before the whole Empire, and even the best of men could not afford that. And Bonom did more cunningly. He used the clauses of the law, which, according to the centuries-old canons, verbatim prescribed "to place the building below ground level." He lowered, burying the palace under a huge hill that was poured by thousands of thousands of diggers. The luxurious complex of buildings turned into an equally luxurious cave, where the old life continued, only now - without sunlight, under the even light of magic lamps.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 10:09

As the centuries passed, the Bonom family passed away. The palace, which had become "below ground level," naturally sank deeper and deeper under its weight. Separate buildings fell into disrepair and perished under rockslides. They were dug up again, connected by passages. The miracle of ancient architecture fell into disrepair and turned into a complex underground labyrinth. Finally, shortly before the Cataclysm, it was adapted for a prison, from which, for all the time of its existence, no one managed to escape because it is not in human power to pave the way to the light through half a shoot [2] of stony ground. And when the horrors of the collapse of the old world had receded into the past, the "palace under the hill" began to be used again for its intended purpose.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:18

Even now, the remnants of former luxury were revealed to the attentive eye. The quality of the masonry, the marble steps, the plasterwork that in some places resisted even the eternal underground dampness. The torch tumblers and magic lamp hooks were made of dark green granite with exquisite carvings that modern hard steel tools could not replicate. In some places, the polished stone still bore traces of exquisite painting, and from beneath the layers of dirt, the shadows of the past seemed to emerge, gazing sadly at posterity.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:19

At another time, Elena would probably have noted that the painting of the Old Empire had risen to the level of the Earth Renaissance (at the very least), but now she was a bit out of it. For one thing, her barely-healed fracture was hurting again. It hurt dull, painful, like a splinter that ran needles under the skin, in the outgrowths of nerves, as if not fatal, but not to forget, not to distract. Second, she stared at the lean body prostrate beneath the torches and fought a distinct sense of déjà vu. It was as if Elena was back in Matrisa's warehouse, where a diseased foot was to be amputated. Only instead of a gangrenous ulcer, the apothecary apprentice was now facing a serious burn. It smelled of fried meat, a little rotten meat, and heated iron.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:20

The prisoner was conscious, but only his eyes lived on his gaunt face, huge and wide, filled with a lingering horror that had become a habit. The poor man shrank back, wrapping his arms around himself, which looked more like twigs with thin fibers of emaciated muscle beneath the gray-earth-colored skin. The heavy shackles left black streaks of calluses and sores on his wrists and ankles that did not heal despite careful wrapping with cloth.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:21

Elena sighed heavily. The executioner interpreted it in his way and sighed as well, then acknowledged with the lightest note of guilt:

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:21

"The student overdid it. He's young, he'll learn."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:22

Elena swallowed the lump of bitter nausea that came to her throat. To hide her disgust, she leaned lower over the wide burn that ran down the patient's left side.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:22

"Why did you do that to him?" questioned Baala, with a confidence that gave away at once the regularity of an underground prison and on the right side of the bars.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:23

"Well deserved, you perfect scoundrel, cheater," the executioner muttered lazily.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:24

Elena couldn't see the dwarf's face, but she felt the torrent of fierce anger coming from the small woman. Elena had no idea who a "cheater" was, but apparently, it was considered something truly horrible here.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:26

"So?" inquired the executioner, with the same lazy tone and expression, whose patience seemed to be running out like the wine in a carefully wrung sponge.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:27

Еlena had imagined executioners from books and movies, where they were usually described as fat degenerates. Well, maybe that was true in life, but the executioner and torture master named Quoke looked, to put it bluntly, non-canonical. He was in his middle years - a maiden's dream, longing for a husband who was staid and wise in worldly affairs but who retained the vivacity of his body for conception and other bodily needs. Slim, quick and precise in his movements, quite graceful. Long, neatly curled hair would have suited a man of noble class. A thin brush of mustache was neatly cut as if on a noble. He was dressed dapperly, as if he were a well-to-do bourgeois who had wandered into a torture chamber instead of a lucrative house by mistake, in something like a jumpsuit, consisting of a narrow jacket with sleeves cut down and even narrower stocking pants with a pentagonal codpiece. Both the jacket and the stockings were connected by frequent lacing, according to the latest fashion - without buttons, with large knots instead of them. The image was completed by soft leather shoes, which looked more like work slippers with copper buckles. In general, if took off the beret and changed into ordinary clothes, it would make him a spectacular urban hipster. The overall impression was aggravated by a mug of "craft" beer with calf bile, which the executioner sipped with pleasure, not forgetting to wipe the foam from the tips of his mustache.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:32

"Wine," Elena asked curtly, though it came out more like an order. "Dead one."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:05

"Girl, you want a lot," squinted Quokk. "Just a little early in the game. Though, of course, here," he waved his mug, without spilling a drop, toward the round bluish lamp. "It's all one."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:07

"I need a drop," Elena said forcefully, starting to feel dizzy. The faint yet incessant noise of the underground anthill, the screams coming through the stone and earth, through the old three-finger-thick doors, darkened with dampness. But most of all, from the smell, not to say strong, but at the same time soaking every millimeter of the creepy place. And also the fact that she had to rack her brain to remember the exact meaning of the word "millimeter." The first thing that came to mind were all sorts of "hairs," "fingernails," and other measures of the length of the Oikumene.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:08

"Hmm..." the executioner grimaced but snapped his fingers, giving someone an order. "Triple distillation, a cup. Small."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:09

Baala remained silent, staring at Elena with her usual concentration. She and Quokk exchanged glances that Elena didn't want to decipher and didn't, absorbed in studying the burn. It was quite different from the usual ones that often occurred on the wastelands from the local flora and the Evil Sun, but Elena reasoned that skin was skin, epidermis, plus a growth layer, so it made sense to try the tried-and-true arsenal.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:10

"The smell," she said softly, raising her index finger.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:11

"What?"

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:25

"The smell," repeated the girl

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:11

"Well, yes," agreed the executioner bored. "They shit under themselves. There's nothing you can do about it. No matter how many times we wash them, nothing can take away the stench. We have tried everything. Vinegar, sour juice, even sulfur fumigation. We almost died of it ourselves..."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:13

He seemed to be in a good mood and in the mood to talk. Elena couldn't shake the feeling that she was in a comedy play, where everything was fake, not serious, and the director was about to jump out from behind the props and shout: "Cut!". Only the smell and the atmosphere of heavy, concentrated, like rotten jelly, suffering held, like an anchor, in a state of reality.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:14

"Diarrhea," Elena now looked directly into the bright eyes of the master of torture and execution. The girl's pupils seemed unnaturally dilated and halted like dots poked out with an awl. The healer's gaze was blank, like that of a smoke swallower with a lot of experience.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:15

"Do they die often?"

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:04

"It happens," remarked the executioner uncertainly.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:04

"Give them salt water. So that you can feel the salt, but you can drink it safely. Like soup."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:04

"What? What's that for?"

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:03

"Saltwater," Elena repeated with evenness and expressionlessness like a magical automaton doll with the voice of a living person encased within. "Diarrhea kills with thirst. Water doesn't stay in the body no matter how much you drink. And salt retains water."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 21:03

"Is this a therapy?" came up the executioner, even forgetting about the beer.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:36

"No. Salt water doesn't cure. But it does help keep water in the body," Elena spoke with the same measured tone. "The sick will feel better. There will be fewer dead."

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:37

While Quokk was comprehending what he had heard, they brought a pewter cup with "dead water," i.e. moonshine obtained from wine after triple distillation. Elena noticed in passing that the executioner's assistant (who brought the cup) did not really fit the image of a fat sadist in a leather apron. No, he had an apron on him, quite canonical, scruffy, covered in dubious stains, with black dots from sparks. But the leather harness revealed a young man of no more than twenty, with hair slicked back in a ponytail and dark eyes. The assistant master's lips were puffy, with dimples in the corners that would have been more suitable for a maiden. The young man did not look effeminate, and instead of the expected grimace of a villain, his face bore only the stamp of bona fide fatigue. Slightly protruding ears seemed cute, like those of a puppy or Cheburashka. Basically, in the canons of anime - "Can I take him home!?". It would have been nothing if it weren't for the red smear on his bare shoulder, the blood of someone else mixed with sweat and smeared on the smooth skin in a wide streak like viscous glue.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 20:35

Elena nodded mechanically in thanks and turned away, not noticing the young man's interested gaze. She sighed and dripped from her left hand directly onto the burn. The Master grimaced and threw back his head as if it was a burden to him to watch human suffering. Baala moved her carefully plucked eyebrows. What the guy in the apron was doing, Elena didn't see. The unfortunate one lying on the stone table blinked, grimaced even more miserably ... and remained silent. Elena waited a little and repeated the procedure. This time, there was significantly more vodka. The result was the same. The alcoholic odor of aged brogue mingled with the familiar stench of the cellar.

Camrad_RIP 02.10.23 в 09:51

"Does it hurt?" the healer asked for reassurance.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:56

The prisoner was silent, quickly shifting his gaze from the master to the girl and back again as if trying to guess the right answer.

Camrad_RIP 01.10.23 в 18:56