Глава 12

Alright. We should be safe here.

Cador, it's still a mess outside. We're most certainly not in Londinium anymore. I reckon we can see the situation outside the plate from the top of the old loading tower, but I can't get near it. It's outside the restricted area.

And I reckon even if you could spot anything, it wouldn't mean a thing. The Sarkaz keep a close eye, and... there are too many of them.

Alright.

And what's the old bloke's story?

Hmph, he was trying to talk terms with the Sarkaz?

And how did that turn out?

Take a look yourself.

There. That's about all I can do, bandaging your wound.

Thank... Thank you.

Goodness... Why... Just what happened?

What else could've happened? The Sarkaz have been in Londinium for four years now.

You can't possibly still think they were invited here by that poor sod Cavendish as his guests, right?

But they haven't ever...

Haven't ever what?

You must be one of those noblemen who never leave their mansions and need their maids to fetch them their morning cystymilk. How'd you fall so low as to find yourself in Norport?

No, no, I'm but a scholar. I have merely run into certain... troubles financially. As soon as I finish my manuscript, I shall...

Drat! The manuscript is still in my study!

Baird, you've really got a knack for finding these poor, down-on-their-luck bastards, don't you?

Would you at least have some respect? If all goes well, it's very likely I will become the Royal Academy of Sciences' next academician!

'Very likely.' Heh.

I still don't understand. The news kept saying that...

'All is well.' What more do you want them to say? 'Friends and citizens, I sincerely regret to inform you that Londinium is now a shithole?'

The 'special instructors' that they sent to the newspaper offices and TV stations actually earned their keep, you know?

Did you see whose flag they're flying above the munitions factory in Highbury? If not, you've got to at least remember the fire in Auchterigg the other day, right?

But the war... What about the Defense Forces? The dukes? Aren't they defending us all around Londinium?

How can this be...? The Sarkaz can't possibly triumph over the dukes, can they? The devils are a bunch of savages who cower in the wilderness, but Victoria is the greatest country across all the lands!

Who told you that? Did you realize that out of nowhere while munching on cake at home?

I didn't feel that way at all when the dibbles held me up against the wall and frisked me.

Alright, 'Next Academician,' off you go. You don't belong here.

But... where can I go?

My flat is not in this lockdown zone, and I haven't the slightest idea where my loyal servant is... I know no one here.

Tch.

What can you do? Medical work, sewing, repair, anything.

M-My research is in heraldry...

You scholarly chaps ever studied how to turn air into steaks?

Well... it is by no means my area of expertise, but I'd imagine it's a little difficult...

Baird, stop bringing these fancy lads back, will ya? He doesn't even understand sarcasm.

We don't have a lot of supplies on hand here.

*sigh*... Maybe he can help Delphine manage the warehouse?

Baird! Stop trying to pass all your problems to me!

I can't very well watch him die on the street.

At times like this, we have to come together and unite as one. Even having one extra man on board is more power to us.

'Come together...' *sigh*.

I wish Parliament and the dukes would learn from you people. We wouldn't have fallen to where we are today.

You think they're not united enough? They were all very united when it came to hanging the king.

That was... *sigh*, never mind.

I just hope you'll be of some use, Mr. 'Next Academician.'

I shall do everything in my power! Though, speaking of which... who would all of you be?

Who are we?

Alright, welcome to our gym, the 'Slobberknocker'!

You can call us Glasgow.

Heidi, how have you been?

To tell the truth, I haven't any idea where you have been as of late. Ever since Mr. Adams the bookshop owner died, I haven't been able to reach you.

It has been a long time since I last continued our work.

Forgive me, my dear friend. I never hide anything from you.

But I am truly very... befuddled.

You once told me that peace would come again...

But I can't fool myself with false hope anymore. I can't hide in my room and pretend that everything we do is still meaningful.

Right, we could look at things on a broader scale. 'The dimension of history...'

Of course, peace will come. It will, eventually.

And war will undoubtedly shatter it in an even crueler way.

I once thought we could win, and I still hope that we will win.

But, Heidi, if everything that we have done amounts to nothing but self-comfort...

No, not 'if.' This might already be the truth...

These books, these desks, and this school that may come crumbling down at any moment... How are they meant to stand up against the force of a new era?

Heidi, I can't... I can't keep going anymore.

What should I do?

Lady Golding, are you alright?

Molly... you're back.

Are you writing a letter?

No, this is nothing.

I... I just remembered a few novels that I read before.

The protagonists are always charming, suave, always heading to the frontlines wearing a uniform befitting of them with a pipe in their mouths.

But the authors never tell us which battlefield they head to and how the trenches smell.

Those who are enamored of the protagonist, both women and men, taste fine desserts with anxious hearts—

Of course, we all know these are just literary techniques. The stories always end happily.

Authors with a little bit of ambition might try to build what the critics call a 'profound' atmosphere.

The stories are adorned with preventable deaths, and they are always the protagonist's comrade and dearest friend, dying in the trenches to shield the hero.

In the end, the wretched enemy finds themselves defeated by the hero's sword, thus restoring justice and morality.

And at his fallen friend's funeral, a solemn crowd gathers to remember his heroics, as petals symbolizing honor are scattered atop the casket.

This is the most emotional part. The protagonist clenches his fist, wipes his tears, and looks toward the morning sun with resolve—

And without fail, they always say that hope will come and all sacrifices will be meaningful.

And there. That's where the author stops. Let the readers imagine for themselves that truly beautiful future. Let them bask in that stately feeling in the end.

I'm surprised you read these kinds of novels.

It was years ago. Everyone was that age once.

I used to be obsessed with these books when I was still a young girl... I wasn't very attached to the protagonists, actually, but I was indeed obsessed with those deaths.

Sometimes, I imagined myself one of those heroes who sacrificed themselves for their cause, and the masses would sing my praises for the era I helped create or, at the very least, my sacrifice...

Hah. How childish.

Later on, I thought I'd be clear-headed enough to see past these sugar-coated fantasies.

But then... I started to notice... there might be nothing inherently different between who I am now and who I was back then.

Don't say that. You told the children yourself. Death is a solemn topic.

Hah, did I? I don't remember.

Perhaps it was just the lectures that I've got so used to giving.

How was procurement today?

Not too bad. The situation on the streets isn't very serious. The prices at the shops haven't gone up, though there were more city defense soldiers than usual, and the Sarkaz solders... they're not as secretive they used to be.

But everyone is pretending as if nothing has happened. Except... what used to be Norport. There is nothing left except the support structures extending from the surrounding districts.

What about those places?

I need to apologize to you again. I should never have dragged you into this. It's just... Lettou has his eyes on me, and every time I step out the door, I find myself followed by several ill-meaning men.

I had no choice but to make a gamble—that you are not on their watchlist yet.