“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.
Yes, thought Rumata, she definitely shouldn’t go home. And it’s absolutely certain that she can’t stay here, either. If anything happens to her… He imagined something bad happening to her and felt himself turn to stone.
“Are you asleep?” Kira asked.
He woke up and opened his hand. “No, no… And what else did you do?”
“And I also tidied up your rooms. It was really a mess in here. I found one book, Father Gur’s work. The one that’s about a noble prince who fell in love with a beautiful but wild girl from the other side of the mountains. She was completely wild and thought that he was God, but she still really loved him. Then they were separated, and she died of grief.”
“It’s a wonderful book,” said Rumata.
“I even cried. I kept feeling that it was about you and me.”
“Yes, it’s about you and me. And just about any people who love each other. Only we won’t be separated.”
You’d be safest on Earth, he thought. But how would you manage without me? And how will I manage here alone? I could ask Anka to be a friend to you there. But how will I manage here without you? No, we will fly to Earth together. I’ll pilot the ship myself, and you will sit next to me, and I’ll explain everything to you. So you won’t be afraid of anything. So you’ll never regret your terrible home. Because this is not your home. Because your home has rejected you. Because you were born a thousand years ahead of your time. Kind, loyal, unselfish, self-sacrificing. Those like you have been born in every age throughout the bloody histories of our planets. Bright, pure souls who don’t know hatred, who reject cruelty. Victims. Pointless victims. Much more pointless than Gur the Storyteller or Galileo. Because those like you aren’t even fighters. To be a fighter, you must know how to hate, and that is precisely what you don’t know how to do. Just like us nowadays…
Rumata dozed off again and immediately saw Kira standing on the flat roof of the Council with a degravitator on her belt, and a cheerful sardonic Anka impatiently pushing her into the mile-deep abyss.
“Rumata,” Kira said, “I’m afraid.”
“Of what, little one?”
“You just keep being silent. I’m scared.”
Rumata pulled her close. “All right,” he said. “Now I will talk, and you will listen carefully to me. Far, far away, on the other side of the saiva, there is a formidable, impregnable castle. In this castle lives the merry, kind, and funny Baron Pampa, the kindest baron in Arkanar. He has a wife, a beautiful, loving woman, who really loves Pampa sober and can’t stand Pampa drunk…”
He paused, listening. He heard the clatter of numerous hooves along the street and the noisy breathing of many men and horses. “This the place?” asked a coarse voice at the window. “Seems to be.” “Stop!” Heels clattered on the front steps and several fists immediately started rapping on the door. Kira flinched and clung to Rumata.
“Wait, little one,” he said, throwing back the blanket.
“They’ve come for me,” Kira said in a whisper. “I knew it!”
Rumata freed himself from Kira’s arms with difficulty and ran to the window. “In the name of the Lord!” roared below. “Open up! If we have to break in, you’ll be sorry!” Rumata pulled back the curtain, and the room was flooded with the familiar dancing torchlight. There were numerous riders outside—sullen men in black with pointed hoods.