Arkady Strugatsky - Hard to Be a God

“My noble friends!” Doctor Budach finally said in a ringing voice, stood up, and fell on Rumata.

Rumata gently put an arm around his shoulders.

“Is he done?” asked Don Condor.

“He won’t wake up until the morning,” Rumata said. He lifted Budach in his arms and carried him to Father Cabani’s bed.

Father Cabani said enviously, “So the doctor can indulge, huh, and Father Cabani can’t? It’s bad for him, huh? That’s not fair!”

“I have a quarter of an hour,” Don Condor said in Russian.

“I’ll only need five minutes,” answered Rumata, barely managing to control his irritation. “I’ve told you so much about it before that I might only need a minute. In full accordance with the basis theory of feudalism,” he furiously looked Don Condor in the eye, “this commonplace rebellion of the citizens against the barony,” he shifted his gaze to Don Gug, “turned into a provocative intrigue by the Holy Order and resulted in the transformation of Arkanar into a base of feudal-fascist aggression. We’ve been racking our brains, vainly trying to squeeze the complicated, contradictory, enigmatic figure of our eagle Don Reba into the ranks of Richelieu, Necker, Tokugawa Ieyasu, and Monck, and he turned out to be a petty hoodlum and an idiot! He betrayed and sold out everyone he could, got tangled up in his own schemes, got scared to death, and ran to the Holy Order to be saved. In half a year he’ll be slaughtered, and the Order will remain. The consequences of this for the Land Beyond the Strait, and then for the empire as a whole, I shudder to think about. In any case, the entire twenty years of work within the empire has gone down the drain. There will be no room to maneuver under the Holy Order. Budach is probably the last man I’ll save. There will be no one left. I’m done.”

Don Gug finally broke the camel shoe and threw the halves into a corner. “Yes, we dropped the ball,” he said. “Maybe it’s not that bad, Anton?”

Rumata just looked at him.

“You should have removed Don Reba,” Don Condor said suddenly.

“What do you mean, ‘removed’?”

Don Condor’s face broke out in red spots. “Physically!” he said sharply.

Rumata sat down. “You mean killed?”

“Yes. Yes! Yes! Killed! Kidnapped! Replaced! Imprisoned! You should have acted. Not sought the advice of two idiots who didn’t understand a damn thing about what was going on.”

“I didn’t understand a damn thing either.”

“At least you felt something.”

Everyone was silent.

“Was it like the Barkan massacre?” Don Condor asked in a low voice, looking to the side.

“Yes, approximately. But more organized.”

Don Condor bit his lip. “It’s now too late to remove him?” he asked.

“It’s pointless,” said Rumata. “First of all, he’ll be removed without us, and second of all, it’s not even necessary. He, at least, is under my control.”

“How so?”

“He’s afraid of me. He guesses that there’s power behind me. He’s already even offered to cooperate.”

“Yes?” Don Condor grumbled. “Then there’s no need.”

Don Gug asked, stammering a little, “Come on, comrades, are you serious?”

“About what?” asked Don Condor.

“Well, all of this. Killing, physically removing… Come on, have you gone insane?”

“The noble don has been struck in the heel,” Rumata said very quietly.

Don Condor said slowly and emphatically, “Extraordinary circumstances call for extraordinary measures.”

Don Gug, moving his lips, looked back and forth between them. “D-Do you… Do you know what this could come to?” he asked. “D-Do you understand what this could come to, huh?”

“Calm down, please,” Don Condor said. “Nothing is going to happen. Enough about that for now. What are we going to do about the Order? I propose a blockade of the Arkanarian region. Your opinion, comrades? And be quick, I’m in a hurry.”

“I have no opinion yet,” Rumata insisted. “And there’s no way Pashka has one. We need to get advice from the Base. We need to look around. Let’s meet in a week and decide.”

“Agreed,” Don Condor said and got up. “Let’s go.”

Rumata slung Budach over his shoulder and went out of the hut. Don Condor was shining a flashlight for him. They approached the helicopter, and Rumata laid Budach on the backseat. Don Condor, rattling his sword and getting tangled in his cloak, climbed into the pilot’s seat.

“Will you drop me off at home?” Rumata asked. “I want to finally get some sleep.”

“I’ll drop you off,” grumbled Don Condor. “Just be quick, please.”

“I’ll be right back,” Rumata said. He ran back into the hut.

Don Gug was still sitting at the table, staring fixedly in front of himself and rubbing his chin. Father Cabani was standing next to him, saying, “That’s how it always is, my friend. You try to make things better and they just get worse.”

Rumata scooped up the swords and slings into his arms. “Bye, Pashka,” he said. “Don’t get upset, we’re all just tired and irritated.”

Don Gug shook his head. “Be careful, Anton,” he said. “Oh, be careful! I’m not talking about Uncle Sasha out there; he’s been here a long time, it’s not our place to teach him. But you…”

“I just want to sleep,” said Rumata. “Father Cabani, could you be so good as to take my horses to Baron Pampa? I’ll be there in a day or two.”

Propeller blades whirred softly outside. Rumata waved and ran out of the hut. The bright glare of the helicopter’s headlights made the thickets of giant ferns and white tree trunks look strange and eerie. Rumata clambered into the cabin and slammed the door.

The cabin smelled of ozone, organic paneling, and cologne. Don Condor lifted the machine and guided it confidently over the Arkanarian road. I couldn’t do that now, thought Rumata with a touch of envy. Old Budach was peacefully smacking his lips in his sleep behind them.

“Anton,” Don Condor said, “I wouldn’t… uh… want to be tactless, and don’t think that I… uh… am interfering in your private affairs.”

“I’m listening,” Rumata said. He immediately guessed what he was going to say.

“We’re all operatives,” said Don Condor. “And all that is precious to us must be either far away on Earth or inside us. So that no one can take it away and use it as a hostage.”

“You’re talking about Kira?” Rumata asked.

“Yes, my boy. If all I know about Don Reba is true, keeping him under control is a difficult and dangerous task. You see what I’m trying to say.”

“Yes, I see,” Rumata said. “I’ll try to think of something.”

They were lying in the dark, holding hands. The city was quiet, except for the horses that would occasionally thrash and whinny angrily somewhere nearby. From time to time, Rumata would doze off and then immediately wake up again, because Kira would hold her breath—in his sleep, he would squeeze her hand very hard.

“You probably really want to sleep,” Kira said in a whisper. “You should sleep.”

“No, no, tell me, I’m listening.”

“You keep falling asleep.”

“I’m still listening. I feel very tired, it’s true, but I miss you even more. I’m sorry to sleep. You tell me, I’m very interested.”

She gratefully rubbed her nose against his shoulder and kissed his cheek and started telling him again about the neighbor’s boy who came that night from her father. Her father was laid up. He had been kicked out of his office and beaten severely with sticks as a farewell. Lately he hadn’t been eating anything at all, only drinking—he’d become all blue and shaky. The boy also said that her brother had turned up—wounded, but cheerful and drunk, in a new uniform. He gave money to his father, drank with him, and was once again threatening that his boys would roll over everyone. He was now a lieutenant in some special squad; he’d taken the oath of allegiance to the Order and was about to be ordained. Father asked that she not come home under any circumstances. Her brother was threatening to settle scores with her for getting mixed up with a noble, the red-haired bitch.