Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 12

“Nik said, I can't infect anyone yet. And he will heal me. So fuck off.”

“He should have cured himself for a start! I'll talk to my doctor, find some good medicines for you!”

“He cannot be given medicine,” Nikto intervened, “then bleeding will begin in the stomach so much that you cannot stop it.”

“Yes…” Kors could hardly restrain himself from cursing. “What's with the stomach?”

“That's really fucked up there,” said Nikto.

“And hepatitis? It too?”

“What's this? Kors, you just throw in the names of diseases, I don't know the names, especially in black,” said Nikto displeased.

“This is what you and the prince had. I cured Arel in the Prison Hospital.”

“I seem to have infected him again,” Nikto said. “If you mean it.”

“I don’t have it,” said Lis. “I always use only my syringe, and I don't give it to anyone.”

“I injected Arel with my syringe,” said Nikto.

“Are you crazy?” Kors looked at him with undisguised horror.

“I’ll cure everyone. What are you afraid of? You're not going to inject yourself with my syringe. Otherwise, you will not get infected, only through blood.”

“Do you think I'll take drugs with you?”

“Yes.”

“Demon, are yourself?”

“Not really,” Nikto laughed. “Not myself. I am in your son.”

“Damn, I am now afraid to sit next to you! What was I just thinking about!”

“Kors, don't be silly. Lis is not contagious. And Karina. Only through a syringe can you get infected from me, and even then I'm not sure. Don't bitch out so openly.”

“This is not fear, but common sense.”

“I'll cure everyone. You are behaving like a child!”

“Although…” Kors thought. “There is some logic in this, you are a Demon. Dead people, dangerous addictions. It's not for you to grow flowers, in fact…”

Nikto looked at Marcus, who was still kneeling in front of them, and it was clear that he couldn’t bear it all, hear all this, and he was completely crushed and disoriented.

“By the way! This fauna,” said Nikto, “is it all kinds of plants? And the mushrooms? Can he grow mushrooms?”

“Fuck you mushrooms!” Lis remarked irritably.

“Fooljumpers.”

“Nik, take off his gloves.”

“He’s a slave.”

“Nik, he can't make drugs with gloves!”

“He can't do them anyway!” Nikto grunted.

“He will make gunpowder, he will read the books of the reds, figure out the proportions and make us gunpowder and all sorts of fiery lighters that explode.”

“What?”

“What you have heard!”

“Is it flora or fauna?”

“Free him! I need him for the war!”

Kors looked at Lis with some respect.

“Let him do it first,” Nikto remarked skeptically.

“Why are you such noble sirs and Higher Powers, motherfuckers! You demand the devil knows what, but you only limit yourself! You are surprised that everyone except you is so stupid, and you don’t allow yourself to develop. He is a simple man, let him breathe freely, support, and don’t interfere! And you will get a hundred times more!”

“Lis, he doesn’t want to do anything, doesn’t want to make you gunpowder, weapons, he is not grateful to you. He wants to commit suicide as soon as you leave him alone. It’s always the same! Tie him up, that’s my advice to you. Put on the mask, handcuffs, fix, so that he doesn’t injure himself. Don't repeat my mistakes. Call Arel, Arel knows how to handle slaves. He will train him in a couple of lessons. Give him unbearable pain. He must understand that he cannot commit suicide, he cannot die. And he has only two choices: either endure unbearable torment, or obey unquestioningly, and then his life will become a little better.”

Lis was silent:

“I'll figure it out myself,” he said finally. :Gather your unclean ones better in the square.”

“Okay.”

Lis turned to Arel:

“Prince Arel, will you make a speech?”

“And to whom should I speak it?” Arel said. And despite all the horror of his position, his completely slave existence in the cruel hands of Nikto-Demon, in Arel’ voice one could still very clearly hear, albeit quiet, but some kind of patronizing intonation, the way he seemed to lazy stretch out the words a little. The intonations of a born lord, prince, characteristic of a person accustomed to order, command, dispose. And it was hard to say how much time and humiliation it would take for them to disappear, and whether it would ever happen.

“To whom should I make a speech?” He repeated. “Before the unclean? Congratulate them on their victory after seeing me naked and crawling on my knees at the feet of their White Lord? I was exactly like Marcus now. Or praise the noble black of Kors for their bravery? This would be very appropriate, especially considering that for them I am a fallen prince, a painted hole. Ah-ah, you probably mean my people, my peasant militias? How many were there? More than two hundred, and they fought bravely. And who should I congratulate? They all died.”

“Not all,” Lis replied quietly. “About ten left.”

“That's lovely! I don't have people anymore, Lis. You made warriors out of my peasants. And now there are no warriors or peasants. The land is not cultivated and there will be no harvest. Those remaining in the Estate will starve to death. You have robbed me of all my subjects. You, Lis, threw my people into the red meat grinder.”

“What was left for me? To send there the noble black Kors?”

“I don’t know,” Arel shrugged, “you are a genius of strategy. Not me.”

“Forgive me, prince,” said Lis seriously. “Sorry, nothing personal.”

Arel looked at him indifferently:

“I don’t care. Spit on it. Lis, don't bother yourself.”

“Lis used the tactics of reds,” said Kors. “Reds worship fire, for them people are like matches. And people are still not matches to burn with boxes! I was against it from the very beginning!”

And Lis couldn’t resist:

“What is it! Whatever I do, I will never be your equal! You treat me like shit! The demon perceives me as shit, Kors is true black, you perceive me as shit, aren’t you nuts?! I do everything! And thanks to my plan, you are here! Do it better! Why didn't you do?! You enjoy the fruits of my labor, bathe in warm baths and shit on my head!”

“I don’t shit on your head,” Nikto said.

“And I too,” Kors didn’t keep himself waiting, “we are grateful to you.”

“Fuck you!”

“Lis, I will order everyone to gather in the square so that you, our most important and beloved military leader, congratulate everyone on the victory. Yes?” Nikto asked.

“Yes!” Lis snapped. “Gather them. I’ll take Marcus off and come.” He pulled the chain:

“Marcus, get up and follow me.”

“Tie him! And put on a mask,” Nikto shouted after him, but Lis didn’t answer and didn’t turn around.

“We're going downstairs,” Nikto said when Lis left. “We need to call Karina. Valene! Call Karina, quickly.”

And Valentine rushed to carry out, but either he was still poorly oriented in the new environment, or he was in a great hurry, when suddenly, not fitting into the doorway, he bumped into the doorframe, hitting it at full speed. Only the muzzle rang. Valentine was literally knocked over on his back. He fell and lay motionless.

“Oh-oh-oh, you motherfucker!” Nikto said. Kors approached the boy, bending over him. Valentine groaned softly, shaking his head weakly from side to side, stirred and slowly sat down. Stunned by the blow, he clearly didn’t understand anything.

“I think I'll go get my daughter myself,” said Kors.

Lis led Marcus into a basement room filled with massive wardrobes stuffed with old folios and expensively bound books. On the table were stacks of plump notebooks.