Глава 12

I'll take that as an agreement.

As long as a deal has been made, the Duke of Caster forever honors her commitments. Every single one.

You've no worries, 'Brigadier.' That's our foremost tenet.

(Ines.)

(Understood.)

Does every Victorian do that? Never ask the people in question for their opinion?

I think, Mr. 'Trilby Asher,' I just told you a second ago your metaphors suck.

And calling us pawns, that's a metaphor.

So Rhodes Island is hanging onto ties with the Duke of Windermere as its last thread?

That's not a good idea. You're on the wrong team.

We don't have to pick a team to start.

Then you can only—

Wait...

That Windermere girl... Is that illusionist and shadow Arts combined?!

Where is she?

Rhodes!

Impressive rapport there, Mr. 'Trilby Asher.'

It's a question of our tenets, after all.

The thing about honoring commitments forever?

No, a different one.

Never let the winner take all.

This is all meaningless now, Taran. If this lot send their message out, the dukes' main fleets will be forced to push in.

And at that point, the airship goes to whoever takes it down.

It seems none of us will be bringing home the gold.

Fine.

Doctor, careful!

Miss Ines, I made it.

We saw the shadows outside the door.

Rhodes Island... The Duke would rather not fall out with you.

Didn't your actions just now amount to a fallout?

Fine, fine. Feel free to apologize.

Then may we meet again, someday.

Dublinn army corpses...

They <i>did</i> set up people here.

Their wounds are fresh, can't have been made long ago. Blade cuts, some seem like they're cauterized...

Who's there?!

The room is oppressively vacant. No one responds.

Delphine grips her dagger tight.

Her mother always admonished her for not putting more energy into combat training, but being the daughter of the Duke of Windermere of Victoria, her swordsmanship reputed, she's got the confidence to take on most enemies.

Comms station should be around here...

I—

Wh—What the hell...?

A tangled cord of wires comes into Delphine's view, but the device meant to attach to them has vanished without a trace.

All that's left on the table is a thick layer of dust.

Someone came and took the comms station away beforehand... <i>long</i> beforehand.

So this time it's Iberia.

Patience, Banshee. These were the most unforgettable days for me.

I thought you wouldn't like it there.

I certainly didn't like Iberia before that disaster. All that self-aggrandizing, all so self-obsessed. I was through with it.

They didn't understand fear.

Whereupon that disaster satisfied you?

I'm not some twisted psychopath like Old Red-Eye is. The disaster itself was nothing unordinary. When has the land ever been short of disaster?

But those creatures fascinated me.

I've only heard rumors. If I'll be honest, those things duly disturb me.

They are too removed from us.

Then how removed do you consider me from you, Banshee?

You should know, no matter what aspect I take, none of it is the real me.

Originium leaves an irrefutable brand upon all. It has you walk in the forms you do upon this terra firma.

But the one thing it forgot was the Damazti.

Only we still preserve our firstborn form.

Are you proud of your purity?

No, no. With this world in the state it is, what does purity even mean anymore?

I can only chase after the changes it brings. I can only chase after you. Chase all you create.

Every manner of means possible I used. I found in Iberia a wasted town. I moved in there.

We moved in there.

We made that town run anew. Work, communication, trade, traffic...

Two hundred mes made up one small town.

I can't say whether you're lucky or unlucky not to have fallen into insanity yet.

Hah. Who knows.

In any case, the time I spent there left a deep impression on me. With so much to manage, I was drowning every day in it.

It gave me the false sense... that we lived meaningfully.

But weariness came in the end, as it always does. Giving my undivided attention to the trivial was very amusing, but even summed all together, it still could not give me the answer I was seeking.

Until I found them. I heard some call the things 'Seaborn.'

I observed them for a very long time.

They reminded you of yourself.

No. In terms of unity, we far surpass the Seaborn and their many.

No matter how many appearances we divide into, we are in the end a whole, while the Seaborn have only the choice of joining with the many.

But, you know what? I envy them.

They need nothing more than to heed their instincts.

Find food, find nutrients, multiply, evolve.

Perhaps that word you slung just now, 'purity,' should be falling on them.

While I... I remain where I was, watching it all, watching those variegated little beings assimilate a swathe of seagrass with them.

They think nothing. They do what they're meant to do.

And what of us? What are our instincts? And what are we meant to do?

Banshee, can you give us any suggestions?

Are you laughing?

Apologies, Damazti. I am not mocking you, by far.

They who could proclaim themselves the oldest King of the Royal Court, Their Majesties the Damazti, are simply looking for the meaning of their life.

It's a very important thing, of course it is. I just never would've thought, that standing before me... was a wayward philosopher.

Would you ever guess the years I've spent a professor of philosophy at Victoria's universities?

To you, seeking meaning is easy. Excluding the least minority of existences, life can always be considered brief.

You find a goal for yourself, to stuff the days full with so that it isn't so tough.

But we cannot do that.

From your suggestions to Theresis's future, none of it holds our interest.

To us, it is no more than passing the time.

Why do we hold affection for these things that pass in the blink of an eye?

We've exhausted practically every possibility, and practically every delight too.

I'm beginning to pity you, Damazti.

You've found out we're just some old decrepit nothing gets to anymore, no matter how loud you shout it.

Not many know this secret.