Глава 12

灰礼帽”"

Right, now I remember. That's the Rhodes Island uniform.

Mr. Guard has a set of it, and if memory serves, Miss Susie went to some Rhodes Island after leaving Caladon too.

They should be a good bunch. Why help Miss Susie otherwise?

And they're helping the Infected here too.

*sigh* It's tough being the good ones. The good ones always choose too much responsibility for themselves.

All while some responsibilities weren't meant for anyone to bear.

Poor Rhodes Island. Maybe they went down the wrong path from square one.

Just like Nine said, injections and tablets won't solve Oripathy. The body can hurt less, but others won't change the way they look at you so easily.

We need to force them to see us, to hear our voices, to admit we're not just sores and ulcers on them.

What do you think?

You've been with me long enough, friends. Any brilliant ideas about what I just mentioned?

Reunion.

You aren't part of our objective.

So I'm guessing we can keep doing each to our own?

Fine, leave then.

Well, since Dublinn is in the mix now, it's about time I get them evacuated.

Grr. If I had a little more time, I could've talked a few more people over.

For now, let's go rendezvous with her.

You call yourself a poet...

Miss Ines. Another marvelous insight to share?

I've met a few poets before, all far better than you, because—

They never misused their metaphors.

Dust, sandpaper...

Out of this plate, this nation, even the entire land itself, who's the dust, and who's the sandpaper?

And how are you qualified to decide who's who?

War doesn't do metaphor in any way.

It's not some terrific journey. It's not some furnace for glory once again. It's not some ship sailing for revival.

It's just people struggling in mud. Arms broken in ruins. Stenches that never fade.

That's all it is.

...I know that better than anyone.

We can set aside our differences for now. I respect the views of a veteran mercenary.

But I do need an answer as to my proposal for promoting from pawn to friend.

Ines.

Here.

What was Delphine's response?

She's agreed, as long as both we and her can leave this place alive.

She's already left for the comms station. The broadcast will be out imminently.

There's a shame. We didn't need to go that far.

You've turned down an invitation from Victoria.

The Duke of Caster can't stand for all of Victoria.;......;All I've turned down is a lousy poet.

She will.

Not a wise decision, I have to say.

Being clever won't help you, Doctor of Rhodes Island.

Is this one of your little schemes too?

Delphine? What are you...

Run! They're—

You...

What a clamorous locale.

Should I refer to you as Captain of the Redsteel Guard, or 'The Brigadier' of Dublinn?

Such a surprise to see your people here.

Finally, an end to the slog.

Delphine and that Doctor will sort out that comms station, right?

It'll all go smooth, and then we can leave Norport.

Figured out where you're off to after?

...Dunno.

Anyone mucking in a Norport gang either came out an orphanage or plain lost anyone to fall back on.

Goes for us too pretty much, I figure.

There'll be a way. We'll find some way to feed ourselves. Hah, maybe I'll go off and join those 'Rusthammers.' They love to tell stories about them, don't they.

Won't catch me dead being a duke's estate refugee at any rate, down on my knees begging those ivory tower shits for my bowl of gruel.

Cador—

I know. You think I'm still on about some naive shit, like 'ooh, let's knock the daylights out of the Sarkaz' was.

Baird, I've lost enough living through all this. I can't just abandon the final specks I still have.

All this... pain, this torment, if it turns me, crushes me soft after all, then I may as well <i>be</i> dead in an alley.

It's... maybe hard to criticize being crushed, Cador. Nobody's actually got a spine of steel.

During the day, I went to the video shop. McClaren wasn't there fighting over that luggage thing of supplies, so I thought he might've had an accident.

He always thinks everyone's up to something, the weirdo.

You've gone and drunk plenty of his squash, haven't you.

Fine, then, may he live forevermore. He alright?

...He still alive?

Front of the video shop was wretched. I'd guess he's been raided a bunch.

I tried calling for him, but no response. So I thought he was hiding somewhere else, until... I saw him. Through his window all nailed shut, just a crack left. Saw his eyes.

Bulging out of their sockets. Covered in blood. Terrified. Desperate. Didn't dare look at him again.

He—

I don't think he can come out of there anymore.

You say 'soft.' You call them that. But we know we're... not that far off ourselves.

...Hah.

We still have a chance to save all this.

It'll be tough. We'll have to survive the Sarkaz's likely counterattack, and then the artillery from the dukes' forces.

But it's not at all impossible.

Right now, we need to figure out what moves the Sarkaz barracks are going to make against us...

Hrmph. Always on time to encourage us and remind us what we need to do, Your Majesty. How reliable of you.

Cador...

Oh, might I have the privilege of your orders again?

I'm wondering... what would you say—a king is?

What, you taking me in as your vassal?

No, I've said it a thousand times, I'm just Vina of the Glasgow Gang.

I just... realized I never honestly thought about the question before.

Maybe I'm clueless how, aside from all that praise about honor and majesty, what a king is to you...

No, to us, as a thing that exists.

It doesn't. It's nothing.

No king's ever meant shit to us. I'm happier giving my respect to the tuck shop owner who does a discount for me when I've not got enough in my purse.

Victoria's always had a king, since ancient times.

Yeah? And who were they? Because I'm terribly sorry, but I'm not some hoity-toity Aslan or Draco, and I've never met one neither.

If they're nowhere except a few names in a book, then I know Chef Vito off the Siracusan restaurant ads better than I do them.

We haven't had a king for how many years. Are our lives any worse?

Fine, maybe they are.

But I really doubt it's anything to do with whether we've got a king or not. Don't care if it's you or whatever heavyweight taking the throne, you're not gonna be looking us down here in the eye.

By your definitions, a foolish king gets lost in banquets and wine, while a wise king draws up war and taxes.

If you ask me, it's ego-chasing no matter which. The vanity of thinking you can control everything, full stop.