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The leaf was growing again. And there was peace and order in his soul. He experienced the same familiar feelings. The security, the confidence in every movement. He could open himself boldly, unafraid to go beyond the edge of his shell. Except there was no source, the power came from within the leaf himself. He nudged, and the first receptacle opened and released him. But instead of unfolding like a sail, he threw his thin limbs forward, broke the covering, and... crawled. How could a leaf crawl, though? He no longer understood, but he was certainly crawling. These limbs, which had only recently emerged, were pulling forward his elongated body, which had no intention of opening. The surface was unfamiliar; he felt no trace. Only something warm and native remained behind him, something in which he had grown and become a... b-b-b-b... beetle?
Recognizing himself as a beetle was something unimaginably new to the leaf. He tried to overcome the memory of striving for growth and photosynthesis, which was certainly aided by his front, back, and, as he was surprised to find, lateral limbs. But then a thought flashed through his mind that made him stop. Lieutenant. He also remembered the lieutenant. Menace of the fleet, the ace of the ace. Flight. He remembered the flight. The wings themselves opened behind his back, immediately catching the tiniest movement of air, and he whirred and rose above the metal ceiling.
He remembered that he always passed the academy obstacle course with the best result. Navigating between the metal structures attached to the large dome vault, the beetle repeated this or that pirouette he remembered from Lieutenant Storm's life. Wind, freedom, boundless happiness. But those memories, so quickly and unexpectedly caught up with him, had already been replaced by memories of being the leaf and falling. And the distance was great, losing altitude and his connection to his own source. Circling in a great spiral, yielding to despair and a sense of irretrievable loss, the beetle glided down into the great hall, where probably all the lawmakers of the City have gathered today to hear Grand Master Perleglose speak.
"Dear members of the assembly, I wanted to remind you of the following lines of the Last Poet," Trocchia said and coughed. "Прекрасно будущее то, что не страшится нас и к нам направит сквозь года свой благосклонный глас. И свой бескрайне трудный путь в далёкое Туда начну идти уже сейчас я с чистого листа."
Perleglose paused for a moment and looked at the well of the Senate towering above him.
"I think you all remember these words well. They were imprinted with youthful fire in the heart of everyone who lived with me in that glorious time when they were written. Yes, it was a time of mistakes and experimentation, but it was also a time of hope. We raised our children not as mercenaries and individualists, but as a single organism, where the main qualities were altruism, honor, conscience, unselfishness. How can we speak of a future, a bright future, when we step toward it out of depravity, self-interest, and betrayal? What do we teach the younger generations? What example are we setting? And what do we ultimately wish to achieve?"
He took a breath, took a sip from a glass of water, but coughed. Something got in his throat. Pressing his fist to his mouth, Perleglose coughed loudly one more time, spit imperceptibly into it, and with a brief glance at the beetle left in his fist, he continued:
"No, we will not make that leap, we will not build the life we dream of, if our decisions and our deeds are dictated by the aspirations of individuals to satisfy their own petty ambitions, leading to such disastrous consequences as we can see today."
Perleglose wiped the bug on the edge of the podium and pounded with his fist:
"You know of whom I speak. The one who opposed the will of the Heart under the guise of fine words, used means and influences to lead us to today's tragedy. I am speaking, ladies and gentlemen, of Seran Tygrade, who is present here today."
At that moment, a tall, fat man jumped up from his chair on the fifteenth tier and shouted something, but his words were unintelligible. Perleglose grinned.
"Hundreds of dead and wounded, the sacred things and landmarks of the City destroyed. And if it were not for the true exploit of our glorious ruler, who knows what other sacrifices this pursuit of glory by one man with the power to promote his insane and mindless projects would have led us to. But who gave him that power? We, gentlemen. Our shortsightedness. Our promiscuity. Our laziness, dare I say it."
Duchess Kee, seated in one of the upper lodges, in a black mourning gown with a veil over her face, could hardly follow the Grand Master's speech, which was now interrupted by the hooting and whooping from the surrounding balconies. Her thoughts were filled with fear. Over the past week her position had gone from precarious to completely defenseless. And she could hardly imagine what to do about it. "The Evening Wind" headline saying that "the Free City" was taking over was going round and round in her head in all kinds of ways. How could they have thought of such a thing? Why hadn't they warned her? Sabotage? She couldn't forgive herself for letting things slide.
They could come for her at any moment, she felt it – and she became afraid of the night rustles, the voices at the door, the creaking of the floorboards. The castle had become alien to her, and every time she fled from it at every opportunity. And let them come already, because the waiting ate her more than anything else in the world. Only her faithful Assol, now lying at her feet, provided a spark of hope. The animal sensed its mistress' condition and would not leave her side.
Albert Sept entered the adjacent lodge and took a seat in a vacant chair, bowing to her. The duchess shuddered and hid behind the backs of her "friends" from the girls' school days. One was reading a book, the other was looking in the mirror. When Kee got up and walked out, they didn't even pay attention. Only the dog silently followed his mistress. In the empty corridors, the duchess's footsteps echoed with a ringing sharpness. Stepping out into the wide reception hall, she hurried up the stairs to the bulky doors to the outside. So small compared to all that lush imperial architecture. There was no place in the Palace where she could feel safe. Not now. Almost running, she stepped out into the fresh air, but the cold wind that struck her face made her slow down. In the wide square between the Senate building and the temple complex hung gondolas and the private ships of the city's nobility. Even in the bright light of the Elder Star, it was cold because it was covered by the vast shadow of the Usurper's castle that crowned the Palace Square. On the cold stones, where the duchess walked, gangways and ladders from the ships lined in great numbers. As black as her mistress, the dog ran after Kee shivering in the wind and tucking her tail. In tune with the duchess, armor-clad black knights rode their horses between the gangways, and the wind blew clouds of smoke from behind them across the square.
Kee ran up the stairs into the seminary, which began with a row of tall columns that went into the darkness. Her heels clattered on the marble floor. It was said that the pattern on it repeated the road that the deceased would find on their way to the other world. Soon the columns began to thin, and here and there she noticed the warm glow of lamps illuminating the many pyramids where the supplicants were reclining on different levels. Incredibly fat, unable to move around on their own, they slept most of the time. Beneath each of them on a special ramp was a place of prayer where the nobility came with their requests to the Heart. Each house, family, or member of the city organization was assigned a praying place and a supplicant. People came and trusted the sleepers with their deepest secrets and desires, believing that they would transmit them to the Heart, and it would surely fulfill them. The direct transmission was believed to be through snoring. And the louder and more evidently the supplicant murmured in their sleep, the more clearly the Heart heard people's requests. Those who could snore irregularly were valued among men. One in particular stood out: Enfelad Theon. Enormous, twice the size of the average supplicant, he reclined in a recess between the largest pyramids.
He was wheeled out on a flying platform by brightly dressed dolls. Around him, in the spacious amphitheater, a large number of nobles who had not voted in the Senate gathered to listen to his "arias." He snorted so unexpectedly and devotedly that he evoked the deepest and most contradictory feelings in those who came. There were supplicants who tried to imitate Theon, but no one could achieve the expressiveness and unexpectedness of a snore that burst from the very depths of his being, making the whole space rumble. Pathetic attempts to copy his style only exposed the unnaturalness and affectation of his imitators and alienated the people who came to them.
Kee walked past the descent to the amphitheater and paused for a moment beside a column. Behind it, she could see the stage. The duchess listened for another trill from the supplicant lying on his back. That trill grew into a long whistle that reverberated through the Temple's many vaults. All around, people sat frozen in their chairs, staring at Enfelad's trembling body.
Assol hid behind her mistress' feet and snorted.
"Yes, my dear, you're absolutely right."
The duchess moved on, but more quietly, as if the mystery was somehow protecting her, shrouding a veil of invisibility to the rest of the world. She came to the large doors, beyond which was the part of the building where the adepts were trained. Kee walked down the long corridor, brightly lit by the light of the Elder Star. It was quiet. Apparently, classes were still going on. From the window at the end of the corridor she could see the wall of the Usurper's castle. Turning down another corridor, she climbed the stairs to the large lecture hall and heard a measured, elderly voice from behind the door. The duchess sat down and called for the dog:
"You stay here. Don't go anywhere."
Assol gave a reproachful look in response, but did not argue. The duchess stood up, adjusted her dress, and carefully opened the door.
The hall went up many tiers and looked something like the Senate hall, and in the center of this amphitheater of desks sat an old man in a cloak. The cloth almost covered his face. The Cult's novices listened intently, and no one noticed when the door behind the screen creaked open to let the duchess in.
"The historical meaning of the reforms of Usurper Sammarius, the keeper of the City and the zealot of the Heart, is yet to be realized. In spite of their seeming obviousness, not everyone understands what a significant role they played in the fate of the City and how they have yet to prove themselves. I see especially often those who reproach the Cult for supporting him, especially in the scientific community. But my beloved science misses an important point. In the very fact of our existence lies the miracle. We live by the daily miracle of being in the City of the Heart. I watch it beat every day. And that alone makes me a believer. Certainly, we are going through a difficult time right now. We, and by saying we, I am not excluding myself, have gone too far in using the Heart. Our factories and plants, our power stations and plantations, our desalination system, after all, it all runs on its beat. And that beating is fading with each passing day. There may come a day when it can't take it anymore. For every day of the last lunar year, one or another heretical prophecy of the final beat has been set. People feel, people are waiting for the end. But has anyone done anything to make a difference? Has anyone stopped using electric light bulbs in their excess and luxury?" the Supreme Head waved his hand carelessly toward the 'supplicants' where the nobility had gathered, "I'll tell you the answer. No. We continue to live as if the Heart were eternal. We continue to draw from it, to use its power. Before, at the time of its greatness, this power did not require that it be drawn from the Heart. Everyone who was in direct contact with this great artifact possessed it. And now we, like parasites, drink its blood, turning its power daily into black smoke that feeds our industry, our guards, our power.
He wiped his lips with his tongue and took a sip from the goblet next to him on the small table.
"Yes, yes, you heard right. And all the more astonishing that it was the holder of this supreme power who took the first steps toward change. Sammarius was a cruel man, no doubt. A tyrant. But he had a higher purpose and acted for it. Under his reign, four large factories were closed, and more than a hundred small black-smoke enterprises were eliminated. The entire filtration system was converted to an ancient well structure, and all but one power station was shut down. And this is only a small part of it. All scientific development was stopped, the University was closed. Yes, he drowned the City in blood. Yes, we took a step backwards in development. And yes, that's the only reason the Heart is still beating. And yes again, that's the only reason we're still alive."
The old man tapped his palm on the table and rose from his chair. The audience applauded. The neophytes jumped up from their seats. Cries of "bravo" were heard from the gallery. Kee, looking out from behind the screen, was expecting flowers to fall at the Supreme Head's feet, but they didn't. The students hissed and scurried out of the classroom. Someone came up to the Supreme Head with questions. Kee had to wait until the hall was empty and the old man, left alone, tiredly sank back into his chair.
"Yes, my dear, come in. Have you been waiting long?" he asked, pouring water from a decanter as the last student exited through the front doors in the center of the amphitheater.
"No, Your Eminence. I was only able to catch the moment of your triumph."
The Supreme Head laughed, a tinkling, croaking laugh, and took a sip.
"Yes, over the years I've gotten better at training impressionable young minds, so to speak," he said with a chuckle. "The cadres come out decent."
He glanced furtively at the duchess and turned his gaze to the long green curtains, where the light of day was coming in full force.
"Are you here on business or just to check on your old teacher?" he asked, in a drawling manner.
"I am certainly glad to see you in good health. But, as you may have noticed, I am on business. On several businesses," replied the duchess, taking a seat in the chair next to the rising amphitheater of student desks, "One of your... um... students is anxious to have me imprisoned."
The Supreme Head coughed and, helping himself with his hands, crossed his legs.
"Albert?"
"Yes, the Drill," smirked the duchess.
"What are his reasons?" the old man asked, adjusting the sleeves of his cloak.
"He doesn't say it out loud, but he seems to suspect me of treason and aiding and abetting the terrorists who stole the rune from the University vault. And I have no doubt that he will also implicate me in the recent tragedy in the Old Quarter," the duchess said, looking directly at the Supreme Head.
He withstood her gaze and asked point-blank:
"Are his suspicions justified?"
"Of course not," Kee shook her head, adding a pinch of indignation.
"Then what are you worried about, my child?" the Supreme Head threw up his hands in amazement.
"I'm worried because Albert is a man of great power today, and I..." the duchess hesitated.
"And you have ceased to be a favorite of the Usurper," the old man finished for her.
"Yes... though we..." she began, but stopped.
"Yes, I've heard this lovely story of the White Maiden on the Dragon," the Supreme Head nodded. "The whole City is talking about it."
Kee gripped the hem of her dress tightly and looked at her hands in silence.
"I understand how you feel, my dear. That must be the real reason for your visit. And our fellow Albert is only the consequence."
The old man got up from his chair and slowly walked over to the lady, sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
"Don't worry, it's not worth it. I understand how much is involved in these feelings. Your father, his sister, your kinship, the position of your house. And now, this Albert keeps pulling your braids like when you were a child," he whispered in the duchess' ear, almost in tears. "Having said that, who else might he suspect?"
Kee raised her tear-filled eyes to the Supreme Head and recoiled from him, jumping up and backing toward the curtains.
"And you? You..." she said, losing her voice.
"Oh, come, come, my dear, I'm joking," the old man said in a conciliatory tone, his eyes glinting under his hood. "I'm just reasoning, like Albert's reasoning. The electric cable was cut just where it goes to the library tower. The robbers apparently had a detailed plan of the Beam Tower. They knew in advance how they would leave it. You can't do that without a person on the inside, much less a person who could hand them the keys to the public part of the library. And it's really his job to think along those lines. Who could be the link that would be most willing to abet the elements playing against our beloved House Yomera? Who could want revenge for the tainted honor of the house and the dead relatives? Who else but you, my dear?"
Kee huddled in the curtains, continuing to listen to the Supreme Head.
"Surely he will do anything to get to you. And since your main card is beaten by some commoner, you need another ace up your sleeve against my main bloodhound. And that's why you're here. Make a deal with me."
The duchess swallowed, feeling naked by such candor.
"However, in order to agree with me, you must be frank with me to the end, otherwise how can I help you?" the old man threw up his hands, then stood up and went to the jug of water.
Kee was breathing heavily, swallowing her tears. She felt silly, and she felt even sillier about the letter burning the sleeve of her dress. The message had been given to her by the girl, Gerda, and she was to give it to the old man. The resistance, if it wanted to overthrow the Usurper, needed the Cult. But something inside her was set against the need to take her cue from this man – she sincerely hated and despised him, but now he was her last hope. She could feel in her gut that he wanted her to give him the letter, and he was about to break her.
But an inexplicable sense of contradiction rose from her belly, allowing her to swallow her tears, straighten up, and take a deep breath.
"Forgive me, Your Eminence," she said, finally managing to pull herself together. "I have lost face, and I am ashamed in front of you. I'll come back another time, when I've gotten over my feelings."
With these words the duchess disappeared behind the screen. The Supreme Head glanced at her, poured himself some water, took a sip, and went to the window, behind which the Usurper's castle could be seen.
"Just like an old biddy," he said quietly and grabbed his side, which was pierced by a sharp pain, making him cringe and grunt, "So, is there no new Potions Master?"
The frightened face of the young cultist appeared from a small door in the pulpit, and he shrugged and answered sadly:
"Your Eminence, apart from that woman from the Mystic Quarter, there is no one else."
"Oh, okay, get her in here," the old man grunted, grasping his back.
129Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡORV1IgNVw8
The White Maiden, savior and protector, Milo Cinder sat at the table that had once belonged to Anastasia Amun, Usurper Sammarius' only wife. This sparklingly luxurious boudoir was next to Tamen's chambers. The former owner had left neatly arranged combs, hairpins, multiple boxes of jewelry, and the entire corridor of gowns. The young girl couldn't help but try them on. The two maids (Milo was somewhat intimidated by their ability to look solely at the floor) assisted her in her every request, and for hours she could not decide which she liked better: the green velvet dress with a gold pattern on it or the sparkling silver doublet with the dragon embroidered on it. She had just begun to try on these things of dizzying beauty that were just right for her. And her head was really spinning, both from the events and the way she felt about living in this vast castle full of wonder.
There was a knock at the door. One of the maids stood beside it, waiting for Milo to decide. She nodded (how could the girl, always staring at the floor, see her head move?), and the maid opened the door. A doll in a doublet with epaulets and an officer's hat entered. The animated one's large eyes blinked incongruously, hiding behind a pile of letters – they had been written to Milo by the citizens of the City, expressing gratitude for saving their family and friends. The doll walked over to the bed and placed the letters on it – there was already a mountain of expressions of love and adoration from the common people.
"Shall I read it out, Your Majesty?" one of the maids said.
"There is no Your Majesty here," Milo smiled embarrassed. "Thank you, no, that's enough for today."
In all the letters, without exception, people expressed the hope that now the voice of the people in the palace would be heard, that she would surely become queen – the first queen of the people. Others endlessly declared their love for her, wished for her fertility and a long life. And these were the same people who passed by her every day. The very ones, she thought, who would never have treated her otherwise than as a commodity, for her beauty, many times cheaply appreciated by the workers from the Salt Works, who had too much oblivion-water, or the rotten fruit vendors from the alleys in front of the lower market. And now they all look at her like a diamond in the Usurper's crown, admiring and nurturing the hope that she will care about them, remember, save and protect them. Milo felt that just a little more, and she could slip out of these contradictory experiences, fly up, soar over the mirrors, maids, fly through the ceiling decorated with fishnet ripples and ascend there, to the moons, the stars, to swirl with them in their universal dance and finally become free of all opinions and words in the world.
She opened her eyes. The doll had long since come out, and the maids were humbly waiting for her choice, standing with two new dresses in their hands. Milo realized that she had stood like that for quite some time with her eyes closed, swallowed, and pointed to the lush gold dress with the crown on the hem.
When she had finished dressing and admired her reflection, she went to another door and opened it to look inside the hall, where she and Tamen had been sitting before the fireplace that anxious evening. There, standing in his black doublet behind a large map, Yomera was chatting about something with his counselors. In the corner was a stack of letters – like the one on her bed, but smaller. It both surprised and made her smile at her unexpected superiority over her lover. Tamen noticed her watching him out of the corner of his eye and smiled. Then he nodded to his counselors, and they left the room one by one, bowing to the Usurper in turn.
When everyone was gone, Milo looked out, made sure they were alone, and walked out to Tamen, glistening and shimmering in the rays of both stars shining through the panoramic windows of the castle.
"I think you're dressed too brightly for mourning," Yomera grinned, taking a step toward her.
"I'm just trying on your mother's outfits," the girl said embarrassed. "Oh, Heart! They are so wonderful! She was a real beauty, I saw the portrait in the assembly hall. What happened to people when they saw her in those lovely dresses?"
"Many would lose the powers of speech, and some even consciousness," Tamen smiled as he hugged Milo. "But I'm sure you'll be just as impressive when you get the chance."
"You know how to confuse a girl, Your Majesty."
"I have no doubt."
She poked his shoulder with her palm and turned away.
"Do you think I have to put up with these innuendos?" Milo said, with a proud shrug. "You can have anyone you want. And who knows who will be in this boudoir tomorrow instead of me."
"If you're not there, I won't be in this castle, because I'll be with you," Tamen said, walking over to Milo and putting his arm around her shoulders.
"Oh, moons! It used to turn me inside out when I heard it said to someone, but now when I hear it from you, I melt," she laughed, and she spun around the hall, wrenching herself from the ruler's arms. Tamen looked at her with an admiration and enthusiasm he had never felt in his life.
"I have a lot to do today. The industry representatives will continue to convince me of the appropriateness of their new laws, and tonight I'll be reviewing the renovation projects of the Old Quarter. So, I'm afraid we won't be able to spend as much time tonight as we wanted," he said as he returned to the table.
Milo stopped spinning and collapsed into a chair.
"Well, I'll just go home and check on my sister, then. I hope she's okay and that our little hashery isn't hurt," she said as she rested her head on the pillows.
"I don't think you should leave the Palace grounds," Yomera looked up from his papers.
"Why is that?"
"Now that our secret is out... You've become a person of a different... uh... breed. And those who recognize you will give you no peace. Think of the crowd in the square. They're like... like wild first-borns. The emotion of the crowd, you know, it only gives rise to primitive reactions. And when they see someone like you, you don't know what they'll do: pick you up or tear you apart with their hands."
Milo looked at him frightened and amazed.
"But there is one solution," the Usurper said thoughtfully. "You could fly on Björnveig."
Milo raised her eyebrows in surprise.
"At least this way I'll have peace of mind," he concluded, adjusting his sword with the rune.
The girl stood up.
"But will I..." she began, a little embarrassed by her question, "Will I ride?"
"Without the sword, you cannot fly in the dragon's chest," Tamen shook his head, "And I have no right to part with it."
"Why not?"
"For security reasons, ahem. My father used to leave the sword here in the study, which, in fact, ruined him."
"Ruined?"
"Yes, but that's a subject for another conversation in front of the fireplace," Tamen smiled and went to the balcony.
Milo was puzzled. The Usurper, standing in the bright counterlight of the sun, clapped his hands, took a deep breath of the fresh air of the gathering day, and whistled. Moments later, the dragon soared into the air, raising a whirlwind around Tamen, tearing leaves from the young trees and filling the hall with them. But then the beast landed and bowed its neck obediently beside the Usurper. Yomera made a sign to Milo.
"I didn't have time to change," she exclaimed.
"It's all right," Tamen held out his hand to her and smiled. "You're a different person now, you should get used to your new status."
The girl took a few timid steps, as if coming to terms with her new position, and then steadily walked to the balcony, took the ruler's hand and climbed onto the neck of the giant mechanical monster, which squeaked all the valves, letting out steam and black smoke. Yomera let go of her hand and, as she sat down in her chair, helped her secure her legs and body with straps. After bowing, he stepped back.
"Watch her until you bring her back here, and don't let a single hair fall from her head," he said sternly, staring into the dragon's dark-flame eyes. "Whatever she commands, do it."
The dragon lowered its head in obedience to its master. Tamen turned to Milo.
"Command," he smiled.
Milo hesitated, but then looked solemn and proclaimed loudly:
"Take me to the intersection of the Alley of the Blind and the Bypass Canal Embankment."
The dragon unfurled its mechanical wings with a rattle and creak, soared into the air, ducked between the peaks of the Palace to the gates and disappeared behind the city towers.
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