Читать книгу Andromedum - Sergey Brezhnev - Страница 4

The new beam for the barn was a thing of dark oak, as thick around as a man’s waist and longer than Jack could have reached stretched full length. There was a socket in the end, cut by Henry to fit in with an almost identical one he’d cut in a cross beam. Jack grunted as he struggled to haul the beam into place, sweating as he lifted, the weight of it almost greater than he could manage. For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t be able to lift it at all. After his time running, he was simply too weak. He let it fall to the floor in the barn. Beside him, Henry looked on with an even expression.

“Are you planning on leaving us?” he asked.

“No,” Jack said, the way he’d said it all the other times the old man had asked. “I’m just taking a rest.”

“We can rest when the job’s done,” Henry said. “Or can you not lift a simple piece of wood my daughter could haul up?”

That was enough to sting Jack into movement. He lifted the end of the beam, getting it up to his shoulder as he crouched. Steadily, he drove with his legs, ignoring the way his lower back complained at the movement. He wasn’t going to let this old man embarrass him like that. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself.

He lifted, and the beam slid slowly upwards until it was level with the slot Henry had cut. For a second or two it looked like it wouldn’t fit, but Jack gave a last shout of effort and heaved it into place. The beam locked in neatly, like it had always been meant to be there.

“We’ll make a carpenter out of you yet,” Henry said. It was as close to praise as he ever got.

Jack had learned that the hard way over the past weeks. Whatever he did, Henry wanted more from him. Jack rose at dawn every day and didn’t get to sleep until the sun was long fallen. In between, he worked hard. Hard enough that his muscles ached with it. Hard enough that for the first few days, he’d been convinced that the old man was planning to work him to death long before the month was up.

Slowly though, Jack’s body had started to harden under the effort. He didn’t know what had happened to him before his run, but the combination of it and his panicked flight from the city had left him weak as a newborn kitten. Now though, his body felt like it could move more smoothly, and the aches were less after each day’s work.

“Let me see your hands,” Henry said.

Jack frowned, but held them out like a child half expecting to take a stick across them.

“Yes,” the old man continued. “They’re hardening up nicely. You didn’t have many callouses when you came here. You had soft hands. An officer’s hands.”

Jack pulled his hands back, putting them by his sides as though that might hide them. “You know something about me, don’t you?”

It wasn’t the first time he’d asked it, but it was the first time the old man gave him anything more than just knowing smile and a shrug.

“Yes, I know something about you.”

“Then who am I?” Jack asked. “What am I doing here?”

Henry shrugged again. “You already know the answer to that. You’re running. What more do you need to know?”

That wasn’t good enough though. Jack knew that he was running, yes, but the rest of his past seemed as locked away as ever. “I should be able to remember.”

Henry shook his head. “You’re trying to force things. I told you before, it’s better if it happens naturally. It takes-”

“Time, I know. Just tell me.” Jack flexed his hands. “You know something, so what is it? You’ve dropped enough hints, talking about my hands. Do you know who I am?”

A note of compassion entered Henry’s expression. “I don’t know exactly who you are, no. But there are some things it’s easy to work out. Do you remember the phrase you said when you showed up here?”

“Let no scrap of information be lost,” Jack replied promptly. He had no problem remembering anything since he’d crawled out of the mass grave in the capital. It was everything before that moment that seemed cut off, shut away like it was on the other side of a locked door. Occasionally, fragments would creep through, like snatches of conversation coming through that door, but the door itself stayed shut.

“That phrase,” Henry said, “is one they use in the army. But not just anyone. It’s the mark of an officer, and one who was trusted. One who knows enough to be part of the round ups of books and those who know more than they should.”

“About physics,” Jack said with a faint smile.

“About anything to do with the past,” Henry replied.

Jack looked levelly at the older man. “Which just happens to be something you know all about.”

“Some of us like to preserve what we can,” Henry said. “We keep in contact. We make sure that knowledge isn’t lost.”

“So you’re some kind of wise man?” Jack asked.

“Wise? Ha!” Henry spat on the straw of the barn floor. “If I were wise I probably wouldn’t do any of this. I certainly wouldn’t live way out here. And don’t start thinking that I know everything. Do you know how this world came to be, Jack?”

“Are you about to sell me your religion?”

“Hardly,” Henry said. “And I don’t mean the world as a whole. I mean this world we live in now. I mean this world of kings and queens and the capital.”

Jack shook his head. “No.”

“Neither do I,” Henry said. “Oh, we all know that something happened. There are those who think that there was a war, and others who think that there was a natural disaster. There are a few who think that things simply fell apart, and people decided that things would be better without the old governments, or technology, or anything else. But no one knows, not really.”

Jack stood there for a moment or two. “You mean it hasn’t always been like this?”

Henry laughed at that. “No, it hasn’t always been like this. And my guess is that you knew that once.”

“But I don’t now,” Jack said. “So what does this have to do with me?”

Henry looked a little disappointed at that, the same way he did whenever Jack tried to shy away from completing a chore or argued too hard with Dahlia.

“That’s for you to decide, Jack. Maybe nothing. Maybe something. For now, I’m going to head back to the house.”

There wasn’t an invitation for Jack to join Henry, so instead, he stood in the middle of the barn. On impulse, he clambered up into the loft space where he’d been sleeping, coming back down with his sword in his hand. Jack stripped off his sweat soaked shirt, standing in the middle of the barn with the scabbard of the sword held in his left hand. He closed his eyes, and drew it with his right.

The first movements came smoothly, his body remembering what it had to do even while his mind couldn’t. Jack thrust at imaginary enemies, parrying blows that weren’t there before returning with sword strokes. The movements became more complex, taking in strikes from his hands and feet. Jack’s body moved slowly at first, aching with the stiffness of work and with the lack of practice. Gradually though, he sped up, whirling and spinning. He didn’t know how he was doing it. Jack reached for the movements, trying to feel his way through them. Trying to find whatever memories they were attached to. Jack tried to focus on each movement, knowing that the answers had to be in there-

His feet caught and he tripped. The floor came up to meet him, slamming into his knees as he fell. The sword went spinning away as he hit the ground, clattering away with a noise that was only matched by one sound: the noise of Dahlia’s laughter.

Jack’s eyes snapped open, staring at her. She stood with a plate of food in one hand and a small bundle of clothes tucked under her other arm. Jack was more interested in the amused expression on her face. Dahlia could be beautiful when she smiled, although she did that rarely enough around him.

“Enjoying my discomfort?” Jack asked.

“That and the view.”

Jack swallowed as he realized that he wasn’t wearing his shirt. He grabbed for the rough one he’d been wearing, holding it up in front of him.

“Father told me to bring you some spare clothes,” Dahlia said. She threw the bundle she held at him. There was a shirt of pale cotton there along with trousers in rough blue material. Jack toweled himself off with his former shirt then put on the new one. He left the trousers. He wasn’t about to undress any more in front of Dahlia.

“Is that food for me too?” Jack asked.

“I’m not carrying it here for the good of my health,” Dahlia snapped back. But she put the tray down on the floor for Jack. There was bread on there, and cheese, and a few slices of spiced sausage that he knew from plenty of meals there tasted of tomatoes and hot peppers. “You fight people who aren’t there pretty well. You know, for a man who likes to run away so much.”

Jack sighed at that. Dahlia was obviously in a mood to be sharp tongued today. Just as she was so many other days. Another day, Jack might have let it go. “Have I done something to offend you, Dahlia?”

“Where to start?”

“Seriously,” Jack said. “Your father wouldn’t give me a straight answer, but have I met you before? Because I can only assume you would be this angry with me for this long if I’ve done something to hurt you.”

“You hurt us just by being here,” Dahlia said. “The sooner you’re gone from here, the sooner you get running again like the deserter you are, the better.” She smiled again. “Sorry, were you hoping that your boundless charm would make up for it?”

“What does it matter to you if I’m a deserter?” Jack asked.

Dahlia frowned at that. “Aside from the part where they’d execute all of us if they found us harboring you?”

With anyone else, Jack might have believed that. “No, that isn’t it. It’s something else.”

“Maybe I just don’t like a man who runs away from his responsibilities,” Dahlia said.

Jack walked over to his sword, picking it up and carefully cleaning it before he sheathed it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know as much as my father does. That you’re one of them. One of the ones who come around to take every scrap of knowledge. You’ve got scars on your body, Jack. Who were you killing while you got those?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “You know that.”

“I know that. I also know that I’m supposed to applaud you because you’ve run away from all that. But what did running ever solve?”

Jack didn’t owe her an answer to that. He didn’t owe her anything. So why did it feel like he did? “It will keep me alive.”

“And is that such a great achievement?” Dahlia shot back. “There are plenty of people out there who just drift through life. What does that do?”

“I take it you have a better idea?” Jack said. This was probably the most that Dahlia had said to him at any one time. Previously, she’d spoken to him only as much as necessary. She had been there to relay her father’s instructions, or bring food, or tell him to do things better. No more than that.

“There are people trying to make a real difference to the world,” Dahlia said. “People who try to preserve some of what we’ve lost from the past. People who want to bring back things that will make life easier for the people around them.”

“People like you and your father,” Jack guessed. He watched Dahlia’s expression, catching the small flicker of surprise that flashed through her eyes.

“He told you?” she demanded, but didn’t give Jack a chance to answer. “He shouldn’t have done that. You could be anybody. You could tell people what you’d seen.”

“Are you thinking of killing me with the crossbow or the poison?” Jack asked. He forced a smile, but beneath it, he was serious. He doubted that Henry would ever harm him, but Dahlia seemed like she would do whatever she needed to do to protect herself and her father. There were days when Jack even suspected that she would relish the opportunity.

“My father shouldn’t have told you,” Dahlia insisted.

“You think I wouldn’t have noticed anyway?” Jack said. “You’ve got forbidden books on your walls, a wind turbine on your roof…”

“How do you know what that’s called?” Dahlia asked.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“That’s becoming too convenient an answer,” Dahlia said. She narrowed her eyes. “How do I know that all this isn’t an act? How do I know that you’re not just here trying to find out what we know and who we’ve told it to? The army knows that there are people who keep knowledge alive. I know that much. I know how many have been killed…”

The memory hit Jack like a hammer, the smell of fear and death. The heat as they were forced to stand there, lined up as neatly as if they’d been on parade… and then the killing started.

“What is it?” Dahlia asked.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. A fragment of something. It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” she insisted. “If you can’t give me a good answer, if you can’t give me something, then regardless of what my father says, I’ll-”

Jack didn’t get to find out what she might do though, because that was the moment when they heard the argument coming from the front of the house.

They set off in the direction of it, and Jack hadn’t realized how quickly the two of them were moving until they got closer. Maybe it was something about the tone of the voices, or maybe it was simply something about the fact that these were the first voices other than those of Dahlia and Henry he’d heard while he was there. Either way, it seemed clear that there was something very wrong there. Jack rushed forward as far as the side of the house, holding out an arm to stop Dahlia while he tried to work out what was going on.

There were four men there, all in the red and black of the royal army. Three of the four wore partial armor; fragments of plate and chain that glinted in the sun and afforded them some protection while still leaving them free to ride. One was older than the others and unarmed, carrying a ledger where they carried swords. Swords of a similar pattern to Jack’s own, he noted. Their horses stood in the farmyard, the one from the farm with them. It hadn’t seemed safe to have the horse there while Jack and Henry repaired the barn. Now though, with the horse tethered there to the others, Jack found himself wondering if that had been such a good idea.

Henry obviously didn’t like what was happening either. “You cannot take my animal.”

“Of course we can,” the older man said. He sounded too much like he was enjoying the immunity that came with having three soldiers behind him. “It is needed for the royal armies, and as part payment of the taxes you owe on this farm.”

“What taxes?” Henry demanded. “I owe no one anything.”

The other man smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “This farm stands on land owned by the great kingdom. The king stretches out his hands to protect it, providing safety with the presence of his army. In his munificence, he provides health and wellbeing for the masses, security and stability for the kingdom. In return, all must contribute to the royal coffers.”

“It’s kind of him to do that,” Henry said. It seemed the old man couldn’t help himself. “Although I don’t remember seeing any royal soldiers around here.”

“We’re here now,” one of those with the tax inspector said. He was thinner than his more muscular colleagues. Too thin, so that it seemed like his armor hung loose on him. Faded scars crisscrossed those parts of his skin that were exposed. “And you need to pay.”

Henry spread his hands. “And how much do you claim I owe?”

“The king is generous,” the tax inspector said, “and has set the tariff at just one tenth of all goods produced in this year. I take it you have records of what you have produced on this farm.”

Henry’s expression gave Jack the answer to that. Jack continued to press back tight to the wall, carefully out of sight. He didn’t want trouble here.

“Of course not,” Henry snapped back.

Jack guessed that most people wouldn’t. It was an obvious trap. Perhaps a few wealthy landowners would know what was required of them and would keep meticulous records. For the majority, though, their lack of records would mean that the tax officers could simply come in and take what they wanted. Even so, Jack didn’t want trouble. The last thing he needed was to risk being recognized, and the scabbarded sword in his left hand made his past all too easy to see. If they saw him, it would be bad for him, for Henry, and for Dahlia. Jack turned to make sure that Dahlia was staying back as well, but it was too late. She was already pushing past him.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Dahlia demanded as she got closer.

“We’re collecting the legally required tax on this farm,” the tax inspector explained. “I should warn you that any attempt to delay us in our duties is a crime against his majesty the king himself.”

“I don’t care about the king,” Dahlia said, pointing at where the tax officers had tethered the farm’s horse. “You have no right to come in and take what’s ours.”

“Oh, we have all the right we need,” the slender soldier said, stepping up beside the tax inspector. “We’re the ones with the swords.”

Jack could almost see the thoughts running across Dahlia’s face. She was wondering how quickly she could get to her crossbow. Jack knew the answer to that as surely as she must. Not quickly enough. Even if she could, she would get one shot, and then the others would be on her.

“You’re no better than thieves,” Dahlia said.

“Careful, woman,” the tax inspector snapped back. “Talk like that borders on treason. Denying the right of the royal tax collectors to collect what is due amounts to denying the rights of our glorious king.”

Glorious. Jack’s memory flashed on a young man of barely twenty, left with a country to rule through his father’s sudden death. The boy dressed like a fop, seemed more interested in the toys and courtiers he could collect around himself than in ruling wisely, and smiled far too emptily. As before, his memory refused to give Jack any more information than that.

In the time it had taken for his mind to sort through the images, things had already taken a turn for the worse. The too-thin soldier had reached out, grabbing Dahlia by the arm and was now trying to pull her closer to him.

“Let’s stop playing games. We’re taking the horse. We’re taking whatever else we want. You’re going to give us what we want. Or we’ll burn this place to the ground with you inside it.”

Instinct told Jack that he should still keep out of the way. That Henry would find a way to resolve this. That it could still work out peacefully. Then Dahlia scratched the soldier’s hand, pulling away from him sharply.

The soldier raised a hand to hit her. “You little-”

Jack was there between her and the soldier before he realized he was doing it. He shoved the other man back, sending him sprawling more through surprise than anything.

“Well,” the soldier said. “What have we here?”

The other soldiers seemed just as curious about Jack’s sudden arrival. They stared at him as though wondering where he had come from. Or maybe more than that. One, with a straggly beard, stared at Jack more intently.

The slender soldier was the main problem for now though.

“Gentlemen, you should go,” Jack said. The main thing that surprised him was how calm he felt. A second ago, terror had been washing through him, keeping him in his hiding place. Yet now that violence seemed inevitable, everything with him felt clear. Obvious.

The soldier surged to his feet. He swung a punch at Jack, and at that distance it was an easy thing to sway inside it, using the still scabbarded sword in his left hand to smash into the man’s arm. His right hand came up, the palm of his hand smacking into the other man’s jaw while his foot hooked behind the soldier’s ankle to send him tumbling to the dirt.

“Striking a soldier of the king is a grave crime!” the tax inspector said, puffing himself up. Jack looked over at him, and there must have been something about that look that said just how much danger the man was in right then, because he scuttled back behind the soldiers.

The one Jack had hit was on his feet now. His uniform was stained with the dirt of the farmyard, while a purple and yellow bruise was already starting to form on his jaw. He drew his sword, taking his time about it.

“I’m going to kill you,” he promised.

Jack shook his head and took his own sword from its scabbard. He kept the scabbard in his left hand. “No, you’re not.”

It was hard to say where the certainty in those words came from, but it was there. Jack stood there calmly, his weapon not even raised. He knew he didn’t need to yet.

“You should turn around,” Jack said. “Get on your horse and leave. This doesn’t have to end badly for you.”

“For me?” the too-thin soldier said with a laugh. “What’s wrong? Can’t you count? I’ve got two other trained men. You’ve got an old man and a woman. I’m going to gut you, then we’re going to take everything there is worth taking from the farm and burn it until there’s nothing left but ashes.”

Jack shook his head. “You should go. There’s nothing here for you but death.”

The soldier charged at him then. That was stupid. If he’d told his two friends to attack, they would probably have done it, but as it was they didn’t seem certain whether to intervene or leave Jack to their friend. Jack needed to take advantage of that. He needed to end this quickly. A long fight would only draw them in.

So instead of backing away as his opponent came for him, Jack moved in. His sword met his opponent’s locking against it and pushing it aside long enough for Jack’s shoulder to slam into the other man’s sternum. That knocked him back, but the soldier was quick enough to avoid the follow up slash Jack sent his way.

He wasn’t quick enough to dodge when Jack threw the hand-tooled leather of the scabbard into his face though. It wasn’t heavy enough to cause real damage, but the move clearly wasn’t one the soldier had been expecting. He flinched, his hands coming up as though they could bat away the thing that slapped into his head.

Jack thrust in that moment, and his sword slid under the other man’s ribs, up into his heart. Jack’s other arm came down to grip the soldier’s sword arm, because even mortally wounded he might still be able to attack. For a moment or two the two stared at one another from just inches away, closer than dancers would have been, closer than lovers, closer than brothers. Then Jack shoved the soldier away and he fell, his eyes already glazing over with death.

“Thank you for your service,” Jack said ironically.

The other two spread out, circling Jack. It seemed obvious that they were going to try to attack him from two sides at once. He couldn’t let them. Instead, he waited until they were almost separate, then made to charge at one, choosing the soldier with the beard who had looked at Jack too closely before. At the last moment, Jack stopped and kicked out behind him. The second soldier, who had taken that as his cue to try to attack Jack’s back, ran right onto the blow. It sent him sprawling.

He backed away now, trying to draw the two soldiers in. Trying to force them into a narrower space towards the house where he could force them to come at him one at a time. It was a dangerous strategy though. Even if he succeeded, he would still have to kill each quickly, and these men were cautious now, moving forward carefully, a pace at a time.

Dahlia’s voice came from the door to the house. “Come another step and I’ll put a bolt in you.”

The two soldiers paused where they were, and Jack risked a glance back. Dahlia had obviously run for the house the moment the fight started, because now she stood in the doorway with her crossbow. Jack could see the faint trembling as she held it aimed at the others. He hoped that the soldiers couldn’t.

“You’ve only got one shot,” the tax inspector called out. He was over by the horses, as far away from the fighting as possible.

“You’re right,” Jack said. He backed over to where Dahlia stood and took the crossbow. Very deliberately, he pointed it at the tax inspector. “There’s only one shot. But I think one should be enough.”

“You… you wouldn’t,” the tax inspector said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Take your dead friend and go,” Jack replied.

The two soldiers looked to the tax inspector for instructions. One of them took a step towards Jack. Jack kept the crossbow aimed at the older man.

“No, no! Stop,” the tax inspector ordered. “This… this is not the time for more violence. We… we should do as this man says.”

The soldiers didn’t look happy about it, but they did it anyway. They backed away from Jack, making their way to their fallen comrade.

“His name was Nicholas,” the one with the beard said, staring at Jack. “No one in our unit liked him, but he was still one of us.”

The threat there was obvious. The two soldiers lifted the body, tying it over the man’s horse. They made their way to their own horses and mounted. The tax inspector mounted too, then held out a hand until one of the soldiers handed over his sword. He rode up next to the farm’s horse and slashed downwards before Jack could realize what he was doing. Blood sprayed, the horse whinnied, and it fell.

“We’ll be back,” the tax inspector promised. He kicked his horse into a run before Jack could get a proper shot at him with the crossbow. The soldiers sped away with him. Jack put Dahlia’s crossbow down and moved to the spot where the farm’s horse lay dying.

“Damn it,” he said. He put his hand on the animal’s flank. There was no hope to save it. Not with its throat cut like that. “A month’s work! You were meant to be a month’s work!”

“And that’s all you care about, isn’t it?” Dahlia said. She walked up beside Jack and even though she was visibly shaking, there was no trace of it in her voice. Her voice had too much anger in it to hold fear as well. “You killed a man, we were attacked, and all you care about is a dead horse. What kind of man are you?”

Jack didn’t have an answer for that. Not one that Dahlia would listen to. She was scared and using anger to mask that fear. Jack could see that, but he had more than enough anger of his own.

“What do you want from me, Dahlia?” he demanded. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved your life.”

“And I’m supposed to fall to my knees in gratitude?” Dahlia shook her head. “We could have dealt with this. We could have given them what we had and they would have gone away.”

“You don’t believe that,” Jack said.

“Don’t tell me what I believe,” Dahlia snapped back. “We’d have been better off if you’d never come here.”

“You really think that?”

“What I really think is that you should go. You were only staying long enough to get your horse and run, after all.”

Jack shook his head. He retrieved his sword, cleaned it, and put it back into its scabbard. He headed for the barn, went up to the hayloft in silence, and retrieved his few possessions. He went back down to Henry and Dahlia.

“Henry, I’d appreciate whatever provisions you can spare.”

“You’re leaving then?”

Jack looked over to Dahlia, then to the dead horse. A month’s work, gone just like that. He looked back to Dahlia, tried to ignore whatever glimmers of feelings came up when he did. Some things were too dangerous to pay attention to.

“I’m leaving,” he said. “I don’t stay where I’m not wanted.”