Мариам Петросян - The Gray House

“You see... Noble decided to try Moon River. The effect of this stuff on the human consciousness is unpredictable to the extreme. Some just feel sick. Others start behaving strangely. There are those who experience absolute bliss. Which doesn't look nice on the outside. I knew a guy who after a dose of River started talking in iambic pentameter. And then there was one who completely forgot how to talk ...”

Smoker's attention is so rapt that I'm barely in time to stop myself from expounding on all side effects of River I've had the opportunity to learn about.

“You get the idea. Drinking it makes you a human guinea pig.”

He nods. “I understand. It's a drug. So what happened to Noble?”

I shoot a quick look to the wrinkled covers in the corner of the bed. The place where the dragon was sitting. Frozen. Lifeless.

“He went stiff. Turned to stone. Wouldn't respond to anything. That's not a particularly bad reaction, by the way. The important thing in those circumstances is to stand back and not interfere. Except someone needs to be nearby. Just in case.”

Smoker sighs with relief. He wasn't here to look into the wide-open eyes of the live statue for five hours straight. Or to hear Lary's whining and Jackal's prophesies. There is nothing scary for him in what I'm saying.

I am trying to stick the damned Band-Aid back in its place by rubbing it against the bars of the headboard, but no such luck. Breakfast will be over soon. Time to wrap up the story.

“Black volunteered to stay with Noble over lunch. When we returned, Noble wasn't here. This moron hauled him over to the Sepulcher. I've no idea if he lugged him all the way there himself or asked Spiders for help. But it doesn't matter, really. That's about it.”

Just as I expected, this is clearly far from “it” for Smoker. He looks so shocked that I begin to suspect that something must have filtered through from my side, something bad. I felt like I was talking without bringing any emotions into this, and anyway I am already far removed from the way I was yesterday, but some feelings are very hard to hold inside, they find a way out. My dislike of Black is one of those. As is his dislike of me, naturally. Smoker doesn't need to be burdened with this, but I might be too late, at least on my own account. He's already caught some of it.

“I think”—Smoker's eyes flee, hiding behind the lashes—“maybe he thought that would be for the best? Maybe he was afraid for Noble and decided that he'd better make sure. In the hospital wing they know how to take care of people after... after things like that.”

“Of course. They know a lot of things there. And Black wanted what was best. And what's best, in his opinion, is that we get rid of Noble. He's much too unstable.”

“That's a strange way of putting it, Sphinx... It's not like they'd eat him alive there.”

That's the most unbearable feature of all newbies. They constantly need obvious things explained to them. I feel like an idiot doing that. Especially when I'm wrapped in a wet towel. But I am also firmly against avoiding it, since sooner or later we always run into problems stemming from things left unsaid. From one of us being misunderstood.

“The medical records kept in the Sepulcher,” I forge on bravely, “have these stickers on them. Yellow ones, blue ones, and red ones. They are also put in the personal files. I'm not going to talk about yellow and blue right now, but one red stripe means that you are antisocial and unbalanced. Two, you have suicidal tendencies and require a psychologist. Three, you have a psychiatric disorder and require inpatient treatment, which the House is not capable of providing.”

Smoker frowns, trying to remember if he saw any stripes in his personal file. I want to laugh, although heaven knows there's nothing funny about this.

“One,” I say. “You've been thrown out of your group, that's a sure way to get it. But everyone has one, so don't worry. Here only Tubby managed to avoid it.”

“And Noble has ...”

“Three. And I'm afraid that, barring a miracle, someone is going to finally notice them this time.”

“Does it mean he has schizophrenia, then?”

I take a huge breath, but then the strengthening roar and clatter of an avalanche rolling down the hallway reaches my ears and all the nasty words stay where they were. Smoker also hears the sound of the imminent arrival of the well fed.

“Oops. I guess I better go someplace,” he says. “While there isn't anyone there.”

He manages to sneak out just as the avalanche reaches our door. Jackal, riding his Mustang, is the first to burst in. Yogurt mustache, a pack of sandwiches under his arm.

“Why, hello, Sphinx! Doing a one-man strip show? Could have waited for your friends!”

Humpback shoves him aside, places a packet of juice on the nightstand, and goes on to take Nanette out for feeding.

“Yummy sandwiches, look!” Tabaqui tempts me. “I can even put some sauce on top.”

Alexander, a bunch of clothes in his hands, pushes his way through.

“This is cheese and this is cream cheese,” Tabaqui persists. “All lovingly made by these very hands!”

“Smoker's back. Why don't you ask him if he's hungry?”

With a triumphant yell, Tabaqui backs out of the door and, by the sound of it, proceeds to break down the door to the bathroom.

“Smoker! Light of my life! Are you in there? Talk to me!”

Alexander finishes buttoning my shirt.

“Are you going to go see Noble?” he asks.

Sure. That's about the last thing I need right now. Go to Noble and explain to him the circumstances leading to his current whereabouts.

“Leave me alone,” I snap. “Can't you see I'm not in a condition to drag myself over there?”

He just holds the jeans for me. He doesn't argue, he doesn't question me, and this makes me that much more miserable.

Jackal, the sunny go-getter with the yogurt mustache, the exuberant noisemaker, is back. Along with Smoker, who's chewing on a sandwich from that packet, and Humpback, who slaps Smoker's back excitedly, preventing him from enjoying his food with a barrage of questions about his time in quarantine.

“How's the Cage? Is the blasted thing still standing?”

Smoker nods. “Of course it is. Still there. What could possibly happen to it?”

I observe the lightning-fast disappearance of the sandwiches and swallow hard.

“You're so thin,” Lary observes with concern. “Was it hard for you over there?”

Smoker nods again, then mumbles through the layers of the sandwich, “Hate those yellow flowers!”

Which precipitates another explosion of reminiscences from Humpback and Jackal about the hours they spent in quarantine.

“So the last time I was there, I ...”

“One night is nothing, I was in for four in a row once ...”

“Yellow is child's play! Now blue, on the other hand ...”

While they are all comparing notes, I suddenly discover Blind's hand on my shoulder.

“I think,” the Great-and-Powerful pronounces thoughtfully, “that it might be a good idea for you to walk down to the Sepulcher. Have a talk with Janus. You two are friends, after all.”

Another one. The destination is the same, the quest just got harder, and Blind, unlike Alexander, I cannot just brush off. I mean, I could, but that would be unwise.

“Is that an order?”

Sightless One is surprised.

“Of course not. Just a suggestion.”

He lets go of my shoulder and walks off, not giving me even a moment to grumble. Time to run to the Sepulcher. And I mean run right now, before Tabaqui joins the well-meaning advisers, before Humpback tells me all he thinks about it, and before Lary volunteers to accompany me there. We've been living side by side for far too long. Our sides have merged, and we all share common habits now. Soon we won't even need to open our mouths anymore to express an opinion, everyone will already know everything.