Ahriman’s curse! Kier mentally berated himself. I didn’t get one bloody point. The fool! Brutari was right. Should’ve paid these bums three hundred. What can I do now?
The situation after the fiasco at the CALL seemed catastrophic for Kier. He turned out to be the only vor in the whole Empire who didn’t pass the CALL. Of course, many graduates of the state simple schools didn’t pass the exams each year because they didn’t have three hundred yellows. Some were left without parents; others belonged to families that were so poor that such a sum was out of the question. Instead of the standard charter of basic education, these poor people got the certificates of auditing the school courses. With such a “certificate of imbecility” one couldn’t hope to find a decent job. Theoretically, one could retake the CALL in a year, but in practice the “weak-minded” almost always went into the Civil Service.
An incident when a vor, and a son of the ruling count, didn’t pass the CALL and, moreover, failed at the physical training exam, was unique. Brutari could have come to an agreement with the red-faced instructor about a good mark on the physical exam for a relatively small sum. But correcting the results of the CALL at the school tier was impossible. One had to appeal to the Ministry of Education and Moral Breeding of the Empire to make changes in the electronic database. Since the situation was unprecedented, the costs would be colossal.
Five thousand yellows, or more, Kier estimated. We don’t have such a sum. Of course, I could wait another year. The Civil Service is not a threat, but what would I do for all that time? The count would soon take interest in the fate of his youngest son, who had reached adulthood, and would know the truth. His wrath would be terrible. Brutari and Elena could suffer.
Upon returning home from the exam, the discussion with the henchman and his daughter was hard.
“I’ve warned you, my lord!” the corporal declared to his ward in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. After a little silence, he added, “I’ll try to get the money, though I may not succeed. Don’t go anywhere.”
Soon after that order was given, Brutari disappeared.
Now left alone in the flat with Elena, Kier experienced yet another shock. The girl suddenly pushed him with such force that Keir flew to the wall and fell on the floor.
“Pitiful loser! Dweeb! Thought you were Mr. Clever! Idiot!” Elena shouted. “Not only does my father love you more than he loves me, you’ve managed to set him up! Where would he get the money to pay for your tricks? Will he sell the flat? And then where will we live? And who will pay for me? I don’t wanna go to the Civil Service, that brothel!”
Elena is even prettier when she’s angry, Kier thought as her words swirled around him.
Usually, Brutari’s daughter had a very reserved manner, but his failure today was the last prick of a pin and she spewed out all her damning grievances. Casting a distasteful look at the young vor, the dark-haired girl strode into her room. Kier couldn’t object to anything she had said and remained silent.
In the evening, Brutari didn’t turn up. Anxiously, Kier tried calling Brutari on his mobile comm, but it was switched off. After midnight, tossing and turning in his bed, Kier knew he would be unable to get any sleep.
Slow thoughts floated from the bottom of his tired consciousness.
It seems Elena is right. I have really set up her and Brutari. I must do something.
Ultimately, the strained feeling of guilt urged the young vor to immediate action.
I must contact the father and take all the blame, Kier decided. I’ll tell him I forbade Brutari to pay for the CALL. It’s the truth. Most likely, the count will scold me, and then send me to the Military Academy. Yet, he’d solve the problem with the education charter. More importantly, I’d get to stay with Brutari in New Roma. And then I could possibly get the chance to transfer to the Juridical College. In the end, I may be enrolled in the Military Academy, but I’m not obliged to actually study there. I could play sick or something like that …
At this optimistic thought, Kier shot up from his bed and rushed to the stationary comm in his underwear, but then realized he didn’t know his father’s comm number. On the net, he found only the official number of the Count Vorsmith’s mansion in Zassadar. When he tried to call, the screen showed the Vorsmiths family’s coat-of-arms, a golden-brown stag-beetle on a red background, and then the voicemail came on.
Shivering with cold, Kier put on his school jacket and then remembered that some three years ago Brutari had given him an unusual plastic card. At first sight, it was just a small gray rectangle; however, when Kier held the card, a chain of numbers bled through.
“Through this you will be able to contact your father,” Brutari had said. “But you should do that only in case of emergency. For example, if I were to die.”
Back then, this had sounded a bit melodramatic, but Kier took the henchman’s words seriously. He had inferred that the relations between Count Vorsmith and Brutari were far from simple. The youth had put the card away in the room safe, where Strabon’s book and other precious things were stored. During the last three years, Kier had never touched the ciphered plastic, but now he dashed to the safe.
Later, Kier would wonder about his behavior, but at the moment it seemed he was doing the right thing. With the gray card in hand, the young vor once again dialed the numbers on the comm-net terminal. The screen displayed the disgusting beetle, which was soon replaced by a strange bald head, with an egg-like shape.
“Tsapis. Top-manager of Count Vorsmith,” the image officially introduced itself.
“I’m Baron Kier Vorsmith. I wish to speak with the count.”
Tsapis’ dark bushy eyebrows shot up.
“One moment, my lord.”
Once again his family coat-of-arms filled the screen, and then the image on the screen cleared. A plain, gray-haired man who bore a distant resemblance to Brutari looked at Kier with a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
The youth hardly recognized his own father.
“You! What the Ahriman?” Ariel Vorsmith snapped, after a long pause.
Kier realized that his father had also not recognized his son at first. As the young Vorsmith haltingly told the elder of his life events, the count became increasingly sour-faced. Judging by several signs, Kier realized that his father was not completely sober, but it was too late to retreat. Having ended his tale, the young man felt he had done something wrong. The count reeled a bit and then snapped, “Good, I’ll sort this out.”
The screen faded to black.
Kier didn’t sleep that night. Instead, he roamed his room, went to bed, and got up again. Feeling hungry, the young aristocrat went to the kitchen where he found a chocolate and a half-empty bottle of red wine. He returned to his room and tried the bittersweet chocolate and austere wine. It seemed a good combination to him.
A short time later, the rising sun turned the surrounding buildings red, and Kier suddenly felt horrified. He had never suffered from insomnia, although he had often gone to sleep late. For some reason, he’d always thought that night was the natural barrier between yesterday and today—and now, the summer night had passed too quickly. For the first time in his life, Kier realized that there was no barrier. A great, distant and bright future now seemed an illusion and time itself an insane chaotic flow.
Maybe I don’t have any future? Maybe nobody has? Maybe we are all just falling in the dark, bottomless abyss from which nobody returns?
Kier felt dizzy and plopped onto his narrow bed. Landing on the empty bottle of wine he’d thrown down on the matted blanket earlier helped return him to the reality of the material world. Kier threw the bottle on the floor, rubbed his long-suffering buttock, and at last felt the urge to sleep. Before long, the young man curled up under the blanket with his head covered and submerged into blissful deliriousness.
* * *
Kier woke after noon, cheerful and in a good mood. The sky was blue outside and the sun was shining brightly. All the night’s worries now seemed silly and ridiculous. Without even bothering to dress, he opened a heavy window and breathed in the relatively fresh air of New Roma. It was summer warm, but the heat hadn’t yet come to full power.
When Kier made it to the kitchen, he found the familiar mess. Elena had gone away somewhere while he was asleep. The young vor had a breakfast of microwaved eggs he made himself, sandwiches, and strong bergamot tea. When he returned to his room, the door warning signal sounded and Brutari appeared at the door. The corporal looked deadly tired. The noticeably darkened skin under his sunken eyes sharpened his face.
Brutari came into Kier’s room, took off his jacket and gun holster, and threw them on the chair. Then he sat down on the couch and somberly said, “I haven’t managed to get the money, my lord. At least … not yet.”
Kier was about to tell him of his talk with the count, but was interrupted. The warning signal echoed once again, and the screen displayed people standing in front of their door.
Upon seeing the visitors, Brutari shot up and grabbed the holster with his weapon, then pressed his finger to the green circle for the door. When it opened, Count Vorsmith himself entered the flat, accompanied by four muscled henchmen unknown to Kier, all four dressed in dark brown uniforms and armed with pistols and machine guns, one even nonchalantly grasping a mini-grenade launcher with a laser sight.
Brutari was clearly taken aback. Awkwardly, he put his gun holster onto his shoulder, saluted, and tried to straighten up in front of his master.
However, the old henchman wasn’t allowed the time to strike the rightful pose as the count whipped out a red-handled, golden pistol from his coat pocket and fired at Brutari point-blank. The bullet struck him in the stomach and he fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. Brutari tried to say something, but was unable to speak. His master greedily looked at his servant, and then without a word shot him three more times; first in one eye, and then in the other, and finally in the forehead. Brutari went silent.
Kier froze. He stood stiff and still near Brutari’s body, full of terror over the suddenness of what had just happened.
“Family honor restored! Pack up! You are coming with me!” the count snapped to his son. “And you, check everything in here!” He pointed the pistol at his men, who ran to execute the order, their machine guns a-tilt.
Kier imagined what would happen if they found Elena, and closed his eyes tight. He had never experienced such horror in his life. The henchmen returned quickly and one said to the count, “My lord! It seems no one is here, but a woman lives in one of the rooms. We found her stuff, cosmetics, and it smells of perfume. What should we do?”
“A woman?” Ariel Vorsmith looked bewildered. “Brutari’s whore? Or, it seems, he had a daughter?”
Kier, spurred by fear for Elena, interceded. “It’s my girlfriend. She’s not here right now.”
Fortunately, Elena managed to escape. I hope she will not come back too soon, Kier thought.
Curiously enough, the simple lie worked.
“Ahriman with her! You’ll find another one,” the count said coldly. “Well, why are you standing here? Go and pack! And you,” he said, hiding the pistol and waving to his people, “pack this carrion in the sack. And remember, Brutari attacked me first. This was self-defense. In this case, I won’t pay the fine and all his property is mine. When we officially present the body, and register the death in the out-satrap office, you can split the money for this hut between yourselves. Equally! Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord!” the choir of voices answered.
* * *
Kier squirmed on the back seat of the luxurious black auto. He was sick from the full-voice radio, but didn’t dare ask the driver-servant or his father’s henchman to turn it off.
Young Vorsmith was being driven to his High School №169 for the farewell party. Of course, it was all just another formality, as were most Imperial traditions. Nevertheless, the graduates were to get the official charter of education from the hands of their school director, and then celebrate this event in the company of their former classmates.
Three days had passed since the death of Brutari. All property possessed by the poor henchman had passed into the ownership of Vorsmith-senior. The sudden “treason” of Brutari to his master never raised any questions in the out-satrap office of Northern Heartland. Count Vorsmith had also easily solved his son’s educational problems. The transfer of several thousand dariks to a certain bank account had transformed Kier’s CALL score to one hundred percent. The school instructor, frightened out of his wits, gave an excellent mark to the youth, purely out of free will (and the fact that the count’s men were lucky enough to find him at home).
Elena Brutari managed to escape and, as far as Kier knew, nobody was looking for her. Young Vorsmith decided not to undertake any attempts to contact his beloved. It’s too dangerous. I’m sure all my contacts are tracked by the count’s people.
Ariel Vorsmith himself hadn’t deigned to give any explanations of his actions. Having repeated once again “Family honor restored,” he had returned to the family mansion in Zassadar. He ordered that after the graduation prom, Kier was also to be transferred there. The driver-servant and Sergeant Underman, a henchman in his forties, stayed behind to ensure compliance of the count’s will. They didn’t leave the lad alone for a second.
Kier could only guess at the causes for all that had happened. The most evident reason of violence to Brutari was his old, and too-intimate, relationship with Lady Judith. Ariel Vorsmith must have known or guessed about the affair between his wife and the henchman. But then the question of the right timing for punishment arose.
Why didn’t he kill Brutari right after grandfather’s death, instead of exiling him to New Roma with me? Kier’s question was reasonable. What has the count been waiting for all these fourteen years?
The hypothesis that Ariel Vorsmith learned about his wife’s affair only after all these years and then decided to take revenge under the principle “better late, than never” seemed much too freaky.
Kier took another guess. Perhaps the newly-minted Count Vorsmith was aware of everything, but was afraid of his own people? Kier knew all too well that a vors’ power was primarily based on armed force. Kier remembered Brutari explaining that he had served in the Special Corps in his youth, under the command of Ariel Vorsmith. This was before Kier’s parents had met. When Ariel started to de facto control the business of his severely-ill father, Brutari was appointed as the count’s senior henchman, and most of the other bodyguards were his Special Corps comrades in arms. Of course, all of them went through the Gomorrian fights and were devoted to their former commander; otherwise, he wouldn’t have let them stand behind him with guns in their hands. But how would they behave in the case of a direct conflict between Brutari and Ariel Vorsmith? These people were not the usual cowed simples; they went through the Special Corps and, as the count’s henchmen, were serving as direct viaducts of his power. Brutari probably had an authority amongst them.
Ariel Vorsmith could have reasonably concluded that his own henchmen would take Brutari’s side or, should an opportunity arise, take vengeance for the death of their old comrade in arms. That was why the former corporal had been exiled to New Roma—allegedly, with the honorable mission of guarding the youngest son of the count.
Years passed. Gradually, Ariel Vorsmith got rid of all the former henchmen who knew or might have been loyal to Brutari. The time of reckoning had finally come. Over the years, the count could have forgotten the old insults, but then, suddenly, the matured son turns up and reminds him of Brutari, the dead wife …
When it dawned on Kier that it was probably he who had triggered the murder of Brutari, his own stupidity made him sick.
And I wanted to make it all better, the young vor thought.
After Brutari, who had done so much for him, had been murdered, Kier felt frozen. He didn’t doubt that Brutari loved him more than his own daughter—Elena had told the truth!—but it seemed that now he felt nothing at all.
The youth had distantly taken his father’s lie of Brutari’s “treason” and had been living like a lamb at a luxurious hotel room under the supervision of Underman for the past three days.
Probably, I’m a real beast. I suppose it’s hereditary, Vorsmith-junior decided.
The black auto drove up to High School № 169 at about eight o’clock, just as the farewell party was beginning. It was overcast and chilly, but it wasn’t raining. The school looked unaccustomedly festive and loud, rhythmical music blasted from it. The driver rakishly cut in front of someone’s sloppy car and stopped right in front of the main entrance. Kier got out of the auto, accompanied by Underman, and plodded to his alma mater.
There were already several drunken youngsters near the entrance. According to an old Imperial tradition, male graduates had to wear white shirts and black dinner jackets. Such outfits, made from cheap synthetic cloth, were usually rented for half-a-hundred greens. Kier preferred the quality made dark suit that Underman had bought for him though it appeared ordinary. There were no strict traditions for the girls, but almost all wore mini-skirts and very short colored camisoles that left the shoulders, back and tummy bare. Even in June, the New Roma climate wasn’t appropriate for such immodest outfits and the girls, who were stomping about on unaccustomed high heels, got to the school shivering from cold.
The center of events was at the ceremonial hall, where the CALL had taken place earlier. The same presidium table was on a dais, with the same people seated at it, but the rest of the hall had undergone a considerable transformation. The mini desks had disappeared. Along the walls were narrow benches for the students, their parents, and guests. In the center of the room was another large table made of poisonous green plastic, laden with cheap snacks and bottled beer with bright stickers. The heavily worn, dirty red carpet had been rolled out along the center of the hall, ending at the presidium. The students were to walk along it when called to receive their education charters.
Approximately two hundred people were stuffed into the relatively small space, and if not for the open windows it would have been hard to breathe.
Kier looked around, but saw no sign of Elena.
I hope she understands it’s dangerous in here, he thought. Underman doesn’t know her, but the surname, Brutari, would get his attention.
The wall loudspeakers produced a sort of death rattle before the toad-mistress took over, exclaiming, “My children!”
Following that announcement came an energetic, half hour speech. It seemed that the voice of the headmistress, powered by the sound system, was booming out of every corner.
Kier, who hadn’t slept well, sat on the uncomfortable bench and leaned back against the wall. Soon, he fell into a half sleep, almost comatose state. Sergeant Underman took a seat nearby and began looking over the naked legs of the young alumnae out of sheer boredom. Many of the people present were openly yawning. The bellowing speech finally ended and Kier was roused by the sudden silence. Sluggish applause followed, which was immediately drowned out by loud, specially-recorded ovations coming from the wall loudspeakers.
The headmistress then began shouting student’s surnames and names, who responded by stepping up to the presidium table, one after another. Before presenting each student with their charter, which looked like red or blue plastic cards, the dynamics played a flourish of trumpets that was followed by “natural” applause. The loudest applause went to Arnold McGregor.
Kier noticed that Elena Brutari’s surname was not read out loud. His surname was among one of the last to be read to get his red charter “cum laude”. After the compulsory flourish, even Underman didn’t applaud Vorsmith-junior.
When the official ceremony was over, Kier decided to leave the school as soon as possible.
It was already dark in the street. Leaving the brightly-lit hall, Kier and his guardian went through the twilight corridor toward the exit. They passed some fellow in a dinner jacket kissing an ugly, fat girl, his hand shoved under her mini-skirt. Drunken laughter tumbled out of the darkening shadows.
As he was passing the dark, dusty stairs leading down to the school cellar, Kier heard some strange sounds. He stopped to peer into the twilight and was terrified to suddenly recognize Elena. She was on her hands and knees atop an old broken desk. Her beautiful face was upturned and a torn, white T-shirt was the only piece of clothing left on her. The dark red lace panties that had long been the subject of Kier’s utmost dreams were hanging from one of her delicate ankles. Behind Elena, having split her long legs, stood a naked Arnold McGregor. Kier and Elena’s eyes met and Brutari’s daughter suddenly screamed. The lace panties dropped to the dirty floor.
Underman stopped near Kier and smirked. The youth staggered back a step, and then silently headed for the exit.