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38

Antrea, Copper Quarter,

fifth hour of the night watch

All the way to the home of a merchant named Soyner, who either knowingly or accidentally took part in events that threatened the security of the entire city and each of its inhabitants individually, I tried to get rid of harmful thoughts. One might say, I drove them with their heads, but they returned again and again, brazenly poking their foreheads under my knees, trying to knock me down in the best traditions of Mikis.

Honk turned out to be the owner of not only a remarkable mind (which was previously difficult to assume in him due to his extreme silence and eternal indifference), but also strict concepts of debts and payments on them. And it also turned out that my bodyguard is as much a living person as I am, because he is able to be afraid, and not some incomprehensible things like death, which everyone is afraid of, but a simple and almost tangible danger of losing freedom. Wow... But I thought that my guards were burdened by the service! Deceivers. Yes, it turns out that they hold onto it with their hands and feet, because, serving me, they don’t have to worry about remaining themselves. It's time to be proud and puff out your cheeks... I'll do that, but later. After a conversation that promises to be interesting.

The spots of torches were beginning to sink into the muddy shroud of the thickening fog. It’s always like this: the emerald surface heats up well during the day and saturates the air with water, and the nights are still fresh like spring, and all the moisture that has soared to the sky returns back to the sea. Of course, if only the coolness did not find her hanging over land.

The house, which lost all its charm in the arms of the fog and instantly aged and flabby, this time was unfriendly and buttoned up. That is to say, the shutters on both the first and second floors turned out to be closed. Something like that was expected... But this is not an obstacle, but just an unfortunate delay, nothing more. Let's break through.

Frankly, tightly closed windows pleased me - if they were wide open, then it was worth worrying. And now I'm more than sure: the person I need is somewhere inside, hiding in the belly of stone walls. It remains a mere smallness - to enter and find. Let's start implementing the plan point by point, shall we?

The wooden massif of the entrance door is covered with several layers of varnish, but in the part where the ring touched it when knocking, the smooth surface is broken by scratches and chips. Of course, they are greased and tinted, but the former integrity is no longer there, and this is what I need. I scratch with my fingernail, loosening the wood fibers, revealing my memory to droplets of moisture hanging in the air. The recent past is enough for me: there is no need to dive deeper than the past month ... So-a-ak. Clearly understandable. One hundred against one, ordinary visitors did not behave like that.

For reliability, I check with a couple more sensations lingering in the wooden storage, and tap out an intricate motive with the door ring. I knock softly so as not to wake up the neighborhood, but confidently, as if all my life I have been doing just that.

A whole minute passes, during which I have time to think over many different thoughts, including this one: what if I made a mistake and just wasted my time going here? But doubts are dispelled, and the expectation is rewarded by turning the key in the lock and the rustling of the opening bolt. The once seen short figure appears on the threshold. The servant hurriedly scans the street with his eyes, making sure that, apart from my person, no one else claims to penetrate the house, lets me inside without even bothering to take a closer look, fiddles with the locks again, muttering something under his breath, then turns around, asking :

Did the lord decide what to do? There is still time, but it won't be...

He finally sees my face and stops short, allowing me to finish:

- Last forever? Will not. Because it's already over.

And here I made one of the mistakes that do not deserve forgiveness and cannot be corrected. The attendant, after a pause of no more than a breath, rushed at me with something short, but undoubtedly steel and sharp in his hands. I would have to dodge, jump back, disarm, but, in recent hours, deadly tired of the need to dodge, saving other people's lives, I was only capable of putting a sword, previously freed from the scabbard, in the enemy's path.

The acolyte stumbled against the blade, gasped, but didn't stop immediately, running a few more inches of steel into his own belly. I jerked the sword back, but he grabbed the blade with his bare hands and pulled it towards him again. Blood spattered from under the fingers curled around the blade, right on the already slippery parquet. And the grip did not weaken, and someone else's will was clearly felt in the spilled scarlet liquid. Will, which even on the Threshold does not let go of its slave.

I could not wait for the servant to die and then try to unclench his hands when the muscles went limp. Because at the top of the stairs they were already preparing a solemn meeting for me.

She stood surrounded by lily flowers slowly withering in vases on every step. Thin and fragile, not like a hired killer, and yet arrived to sow death around her.

A translucent shirt, over which is thrown a long camisole, probably one of the men living in the house. Blond hair is scattered over her shoulders in that cute mess that always seems surprisingly cozy. The pallor of a slightly swollen face, as if from a dream, almost screams of defenselessness and innocence. And only in the eyes as black as night, a fire burns, betraying the whole truth about its owner.

- He came anyway.

The voice became croaking, hoarse, quite sick. And there is, after all, why: if over the past days the girl has been forced to subjugate many people, her strength is almost running out. Which, of course, plays into the hands of madness, seeking to capture consciousness. A little more, and the struggle will stop ... But when will this happen? Today? Tomorrow? It would be nice right now, so as not to wait a long time.

“After the invitation you left, I couldn’t help but come.

- Invitation? - The semicircles of the eyebrows move slightly. “Ah, the tall one who caught all the “petals”… He died quickly, didn’t he? I know it's fast. It's a pity, it would be better to suffer.

I miss the vicious mockery past my ears:

- I want to talk with you.

- Just talk? Tell me again that you do not want my death ... You do, I see! Yes, I don’t even need to see, it’s enough to listen to your heart beating ... Aren’t you afraid that it will break out of the cage?

Do you want to trap me in the same trap that I used to trap Juvis? No, my sweetheart, nothing will work out for you for one simple reason: you are accustomed to speak , and I - to listen . And I can hear myself much better and more fully than everyone else. Is your heart beating too fast? We'll fix it. Your trouble lies elsewhere: you feel the effect, but you cannot understand where it came from. Do you think it all comes from hating you? You are mistaken: I allowed myself to hate for only a few minutes, releasing my feelings to freedom. And then they returned to me, smelted from ore into strong steel. I do not run away from experiences, my sweet, on the contrary, I invite them to visit me on every outstanding occasion, bad or good. Because if I do not understand the pain of my own soul, I will not be able to lull the pain of the souls of others.

The servant fell as soon as I let go of the hilt of the sword. He fell and immediately calmed down, stepping over the Threshold. I take a step towards the stairs, and the girl continues to mock, thinking that the trap has slammed shut:

- That's right, why do we need some pieces of iron? You want to do it with your hands, feeling the warmth of my skin... Squeeze your fingers on my neck, on my thin, weak neck... Squeeze and feel my life flowing away, drop by drop...

Another step. I am already at the foot of the stairs and put my foot on the first step. I'd like to come closer, even a little, then we'll talk. For real. To my mind.

And she triumphs, confident in her abilities:

“You will push harder and harder… You have to be strong because you are a man.” And I will submit to your strength, because I am a woman ... Man ... Woman ... There is nothing between us, but when we unite, we will become everything ... Do you want to unite with me? Do you want!..

One would have to guess where exactly she would turn the path of her conspiracy. Logically. Reasonable. Effective. It would pass in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, but not with me. Because if I want to “connect” with someone, it is not at all with this self-satisfied fool, who still does not understand: those who are able to talk with water, other people's tricks never work, only my own.

And yet she felt. Some animal instinct, but guessed it and staggered back, shouting:

- Stop!

She leaned into the lily pad, straightened up again, lifting the baby to her breast. And, the same one with whom she arrived in Antreya. So, what is next?

"Stay away or I'll kill him!"

“That won't stop me.

- You lie!

- Not at all. On the scales lies the life of an entire city, what is the life of one child compared to it?

"You can't let that happen, can you?" Can't you?

A thin cord wrapped around the baby's neck.

- You can't!

Oh, my sweet, well, who inspired you with such ridiculous confidence? Probably, when I let myself into the city, I regretted it even then, at the market. Well, my fault, you need to make amends.

"You've done a lot of trouble, but there's still a lot that can be fixed." Calm down, leave the baby alone and talk to me. Not for long - I'll just ask you a few questions and ...

"And then you'll kill me?" Or will you give it to the executioners and enjoy my suffering?

The thought came to my mind, I will not deny it. But I'll confess:

“No executioners and no murders. I need answers, that's all.

An exclamation like a sob:

- And then?

Your fate will be decided by others.

— Why not you?

Either I'm wrong, or there is resentment in her voice.

Because I can't be fair.

But you decide, only you! I was told...

She catches herself and swallows the end of the sentence. Come on, my sweet, fight! A little more, and I can help you, just don't stop halfway, I beg you!

And then a spasm passes through the servant's body, which remained lying somewhere behind my back, for the last time. Although I don’t see it, I feel it by the aroma of freshly spilled blood again spreading in the air, and the girl ... As soon as the smell reaches her nostrils, her eyes widen to the limit, and it becomes clear that they are not black at all, but greenish, just the pupil is too large. The already pale face acquires a milky whiteness to match the petals of lilies, thin lips curl into a smile full of hatred, and the baby falls somewhere under his feet, into the folds of his shirt, because the killer needs freedom of action:

- Die!

But as she reaches for the weapon hidden under her doublet, time turns into a viscous honey syrup, and I have time not only to resurrect the doubts of Thewlis (who still could not remember what else I need to know about battle fans), but also for fraction of a moment before the attack begins, I do what I was taught for a long time, with varying success in my youth. I agree with water. I don’t talk to her, I don’t force her, I don’t order ... I just negotiate. You to me, I to you. You - protect, I - help to return to the usual state. Equal exchange? Equal. But I myself should have guessed earlier: battle fans are dual weapons ...

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Ice floes quickly melting on parquet boards. It took many efforts to explain to the water exactly where it should gather in order to become a shield blocking the path of death, hiding in the silk recesses of the fan. If the weapon had been better lubricated, I would not have succeeded: the ice could not have settled on the slippery metal and forged the levers. But grease has such a nasty smell, right? What woman would allow her to smell not of perfume, but of steel and interior fat? None. Even Kyrian made truly inhuman efforts to remain a woman in service.

I go up the stairs, now I'm not in a hurry. Why hurry? The “snake”, which at the very beginning of the conversation had moved from my right shoulder into the palm of my hand, flew out of it when the fan tried to open up, and, unlike steel weapons, was not defeated, biting its open mouth into the hole between the fragile collarbones, and pulled it in silvery -ghostly body inward, mischievously waving its vanishing tail. And even a moment later, as soon as my tame animal reached the large blood vessels, the girl screamed and sank down like a weak-willed doll, because her consciousness lost ground under her crooked legs.

The half-strangled baby is quite alive and, if the sensations do not change me, he will live for more than a dozen years in this world, so I won’t even touch him now: let him manage on his own, since he has plenty of strength. But you, my sweet... How you disappointed me. However, could you ask for more?

I squat next to the frozen body. The jacket is lying to the side, the shirt is pulled up, exposing the legs almost to the top of the thigh. A stupid little chick who imagined himself to be an eagle. How sad...

The chest moves, but very unevenly. Nothing surprising, because now the body is controlled by a completely foreign guest, of course, who has some idea of ​​​​the rules of behavior, but very, very vague. Eyes rolled back and hardly able to see something in this position. True, it doesn't matter to me. I need to be talked to, not looked at.

- Can you hear me?

- Hey ... shu.

Yes, the speech will be slowed down, you can’t get anywhere: although the “snake” is able to control the movements of muscles and ligaments, it does it as best it can, and not as required. And my bodyguards are still afraid that I intend to completely control them! Cretins. They should have seen what they can turn into with a complete transfer of control to the outside.

- Please, talk to me. Can you?

“Y…yes.”

— Where did you come from?

“Ko…ruja.”

- Were you born there?

Silence that does not require explanation: "no" means "no."

Were you taught there?

“Y…yes.”

- Who taught you?

- Different ... a lot. Then ... pr ... a woman came ... She ...

- What did it look like? Who was?

- I do not know. I… didn’t reveal my face… I only… felt… felt… understood that I was a woman…

Did she teach you something too?

- Own.

- For a long time?

- Year. She… rarely came. Never... praised. And she didn’t scold ... She didn’t care ...

“You were ordered to kill the Navigator. Who?

- The male. I don't know which one. Hiding… face.

- Why did you agree?

She trembled all over, as if trying to free herself from someone else's will, but not at all in order to attack or try to escape. And then she showered me with a wave of memories, and I regretted that I could read ...

She almost never experienced physical pain, because she was not punished, and if she was punished, then very rarely. There was nothing to punish. There was no more obedient girl and no more zealous student in Corudzha than Alika. Therefore, she was chosen from all of them, chosen and taken away from the city, to an estate lost among peach orchards, where several years passed, sometimes flying faster than arrows, sometimes seemingly endless, but forever separating childhood from youth.

The teachers were demanding and strict, but they never asked what Alika herself was thinking and wanting, they only made sure that she studied her lessons diligently, and sighed that the girl was too weak and ill-suited for her chosen goal. What was the purpose, no one really knew. Except for the same woman who once stepped into the estate.

She was calm, like a sea under a crust of ice, and just as mysterious. It seemed to Alika that the lady did not even need to ask about anything: a quiet voice only ordered or mockingly reproached, and each time surprisingly accurately guessed the state of the girl, leaving no doubts, no fear, no ... timid dreams that had arisen in a young heart yet before arriving at the estate, when she and her friends from the orphanage at the temple ran to the fair to listen to wandering storytellers.

The woman knew everything about Alik, and even more than everything. And she made an offer, although she could simply order, but no order, even if backed by the fear of death or the promises of gold, could force the girl to do what she rushed to fulfill, living in the promised hope.

The quiet voice did not beckon and did not seduce, remaining almost indifferent, but this indifference was deceptive, like coals covered with ashes, which seemed to be completely cool, but if you touch it with your hand, you will burn yourself. The voice promised something in which the girl could not know the meaning, but what she was drawn to, probably from the moment of her birth ...

“I just… ho… wanted to be… free…”

“And you are free, my dear. Free and free now to go wherever you want ... Farewell, baby, and may the roads you walk along lead you to your dream.

The "snake" emerged from the mouth that opened in a last attempt to capture the air and slid into my sleeve, to the place that had already become familiar to itself.

The fragile body of the girl twisted with convulsions along with wheezing and foam that climbed onto her lips, but the agony did not last long. Inhale, another, and next to me lay the body, forever saying goodbye to the soul.

I got up, unbending my slightly stiff legs, and went downstairs, thoughtfully running my fingers over the petals of the lilies, which sadly hung their heads of buds. He opened his arms, in which the servant had enclosed the sword that had pierced him, wiped the silvery body with his sharp-toothed daneke, and returned the gulyon to the scabbard. He left the house and gently closed the door behind him. And then he looked at the sky, gasped, noticing a pinkish stripe in the east, and ran down the street, frightening the early passers-by.