For a few moments heads swiveled as everyone tried to figure out who was going to lead the discussion. Finally Talon ventured, “I told the general we would support his leadership of the eastern Essentialists, if he would help us.”
The singer was finishing a long crescendo. Her voice rang out loudly.
As soon as the refrain finished, Cecile asked, “Well general, can you help us?”
Nobura said, “Would you trust a stranger in a foreign land, in the lands of your historical enemy?” He stood up from his chair and paced around the group, looking each of them up and down in turn.
“I understand the facts and risks as presented to me,” Nobura said. His voice came out as a harsh whisper, and he clutched at the bandage around his throat at times to improve the intonation. They all had to lean in to hear him, both tables tilting in tandem with each step the general took. “I even understand the threat this Gail represents. And I control half the Essentialist army. I could engage twenty thousand men to this cause, if I thought it worthy.”
He stopped pacing and stared them down. “But frankly, the only one of you I trust, who I know is honorable, is Talon. But he is young. He could be fooled. He could have been lied to.”
The singer had started another, slower song, and fed Potsie another catnip leaf.
Nobura began making another circuit around the table. He glanced over at the cat dancing on the wall, and the woman playing the organ daintily. “And now I am in this forlorn, peculiar place—a place where it is so noisy one cannot even hear one’s own voice. I see a faction of misaligned people, more inclined to shoot one another than to drink at the same table, and I find myself wondering, are these people one can trust?”
“Hardly,” Nobura said, answering his own question. “I will give you this, however. One needs to reach far down the throat of disbelief to regurgitate these fanciful tales.”
As Nobura’s gaze continued to linger around the room, his brow furrowed slightly, and he turned away from them. The man in the corner seemed to have caught his eye.
Nobura drifted over to the distant table, drawn by some unknowable curiosity.
“Don’t worry about him,” Duncan said, raising his voice over the song. “He came in more than an hour ago, ate and passed out. He’s been out cold ever since.”
Nobura didn’t heed Duncan’s words. He drifted ever closer, and he moved his hand to hover over the man’s head. Then all of a sudden, he grabbed a tuft of scraggly hair and lifted his face off the table for all to see.
It was Mehta.
Mehta’s eyes were startled open. He ejected fragments of half-eaten pizza from his mouth, spraying Nobura’s face. Despite this, Nobura managed to slam Mehta’s head back down into the table. At the same time, Nobura deftly snatched a knife from his side and cut with a backhand toward Mehta’s neck.
At the last instant, Mehta pulled his head back with such violence that the hair in Nobura’s hand was torn off. Mehta’s inertia made him fall into the back wall of the room. There he shook his head, trying to shake off his coma and make sense of what was going on.
Nobura dropped the torn hair and paced in Mehta’s direction, wielding his knife menacingly.
How was Duncan supposed to convince these people to help? It seemed there was no end to the interminable distractions and surprises. He bolted out of his chair. “What’s this all about? Stop it!” he said.
“This is none of your business,” Nobura said. “This man’s death is overdue.”
Cecile had also risen and was approaching the two combatants, who were now circling each other. “Wait, wait now. Let’s talk about this,” she said. “Mehta has helped us. We could use him.”
Mehta grabbed a table by the legs and lifted it up in the air. Unsure of Mehta’s next move, Nobura stepped back. Mehta then smashed the whole table against the wall. On the second smash, one of the table legs separated. He dropped most of the splintered wood on the floor and wielded the table leg, shifting it back and forth between his two hands.
Ralph called out from the back of the room. “You’ll have to pay for that!”
Ralph didn’t appear to be put out by the altercation. He simply watched them with interest, shotgun ready and in hand. Betsy also seemed to think this was some sort of perverse theater for her enjoyment. She held Potsie and petted the cat’s head, watching closely as the scene unfolded.
Nobura said, “This man stuck me in the neck with a hen bone. He is the reason I will talk like a swarm of bees for the rest of my days. He also broke the nose of his own friend and colleague.” Nobura gestured toward the blonde merc. “Someone he worked with for many years. Then he fled like a coward, killing several men along the way. He is a beast, without honor. He needs to be put down.”
Mehta laughed heartily. “I may be a beast. I won’t deny that. I have been called much worse. But you are the one without honor here. I fought back only after you threatened to kill me. Any sane man would have. Any man with half a brain would have run rather than be put down like a gelded horse.”
“Enough!” Cecile screamed, waltzing in between Mehta and Nobura. “Every second that goes by we lose ground to Gail. Whatever happened between you two is irrelevant!”
“She’s right, you know,” Mehta said, tilting his head, a glint in his eye. “You can spend your time exacting your vengeance, general, but ask yourself, how will it help you to kill me? How will it help your precious Prefectorate?”
Cecile said, “General, if you can help us, we stand a chance. More will flock to our side.” She gestured at the mules, who had their chairs pushed back against the opposite wall. They were making frequent glances for the exit. “We may even have a decent shot.”
“I will not engage with anyone I do not trust,” Nobura said, his eyes still fixed on Mehta’s tense body lurking behind Cecile.
“But you trust Talon, don’t you? If you give us time, we can prove ourselves to you, as he has,” Cecile said.
Nobura said, “There is no time for that, and you know it.”
Mehta said, “Ask yourself, Shinogi, if you would do the same as I did in your shoes. If what I did isn’t honorable in your Prefectorate, then piss on your honor.”
Nobura’s face went lobster red. Mehta’s words were doing nothing to soothe his anger. Instead, he looked about to explode with rage. “Out of my way, woman,” Nobura wheezed, gesturing at Cecile to step aside, “unless you wish to perish along with your friend.”
Before Nobura could make his move, Talon slipped in front of him and knelt down. He bowed his head to the floor, eyes closed.
For a moment, it looked like Nobura might strike him down, despite the fact he was unarmed, such was the rage on his face. “Talon, you… stubborn boy,” was all he managed to say.
Nobura stared at Talon’s prostrated form for some time. It seemed he couldn’t bring himself to even move around him. Gradually, Nobura’s breathing moderated, and his face lost its crimson color. He held his chin for a time, with the whole room watching. Then, slowly, Nobura turned, stepped forward, and sat down in the middle of the room.