This is a fan translation of Cold Shores (Холодные берега) by the Russian science fiction and fantasy author Sergei Lukyanenko. The novel is the first in the Seekers of the Sky (Искатели неба) duology.
Note: Footnotes can be found at the end of the chapter.
Chapter 4
In Which I Am Taught Piety, and I Teach Reason
At the sight of the orders signed by the bishop and his late secretary—not that anyone knew of Brother Castor's death yet—the entire temple showed commendable zeal.
Ruud had immediately sent off to his cell. That was where I sat, staring dumbly at the tiny image of the Sister hanging on the wall.
Tell me, all-merciful one, had there really been a reason to kill the priest? Even if he had been the House's earpiece, the temple had basements, cells for repentance of offending brothers. Even the jail.
They could've just locked him in, and that would've been it…
But no. One brother killed another without hesitation.
But then why should I wait? If the interests of the faith forced holy brothers to stab one another! Who was I to them? A ridiculous title, a casually given rank — would any of that stop Brother Ruud? As soon as I told everything I knew to Successor Julius, I would no longer be of any use them and…
The thoughts were unpleasant. Heavy and almost sinful. A holy paladin wouldn't commit a sin without the Sister's permission. If the Sister had permitted it, then Rudd did the right thing!
But the Sister was far away, in the kingdom of heaven. And to err was human. Had the kindest Bishop Ulbricht been right when he gave Brother Ruud his rank? Had it been the Sister speaking with his mouth?
I remembered the glint in the bishop's eyes when he was speaking of Prince Marcus and felt ill at ease. The holy brother knew something that even Rudd probably didn't. To say nothing of me. Something very important about the little runaway prince. I shouldn't have gotten involved in the games of the powers that were! They had an ace prepared for each of my trump sixes. I'd get swept off the board the moment I was no longer needed.
There were footsteps outside the door, quick and confident. Brother Ruud entered. Only I didn't recognize him right away.
The cloak on him was now crimson with a blue hem. The cloak of an ascetic priest that could both use a weapon and the word of the true faith. There was a long sword on his waist, and I could guess even by the stern beauty of the handle and the sheath that the blade was nice too. Leather boots, the sacred pole gleaming on his chest. He'd decided not to hide it under his clothing; maybe that was the right decision, more respect from the others…
"Get dressed, Brother Ilmar."
He gave me the clothes of a missionary, everything made of fawn cloth, unnoticeable and modest. It was rare seeing it within the State's borders. The fate of a missionary was to bring the light of the faith to savages: in the jungle, in the desert, in the swamp. It was exceedingly rare to run into one in a port town, usually running to get on a ship setting sail for distant lands. It was even rarer for them to return…
Maye that was my fate as well. As soon as I told them all I knew, they'd remind me that the rank hadn't been given me for naught. I'd get sent to the Kongo, Canada, Nippon, or some other edge of the world. Carry the light of the faith, former thief Ilmar…
I was thinking all that while changing under Ruud's piercing gaze. I hadn't been searched, but now my companion knew all my things. He saw my money, and various trinkets like a comb and a pocket toiletry bag. And the slug-thrower.
"Can you shoot?" Brother Ruud asked.
"I've done it a few times."
"Good. The road will be difficult."
That was all the discussion. We left his cell, and I followed my new traveling companion through the endless corridors. The stable wasn't exactly on the temple grounds, but it turned out that an underground tunnel ran to it under the square. Everything was dug up under large cities, with secret passages like this one, with ancient catacombs, with sewers, if the city was very large and wealthy. And under Lutetia—or, if speaking plainly, without State pomposity, Paris—they said that the underground city was almost three times the size of the surface one, you might even be able to walk to Versailles without seeing the light of day.
"Remembering Brother Castor?" Ruud asked suddenly.
I said nothing.
"You are. I can see it."
Even if I was. What did he care? I wasn't saying anything, not teaching a monk the truth faith.
"I don't know what is so important about Prince Marcus," Ruud said suddenly. "But the Successor said that right now he is as important to the faith as a foundation to a temple. You don't say words like that without a good reason. The faith will forgive a minor sin, as long as a greater one is not done…"
"I've spilled blood before, Brother Ruud," I answered. "But I've never considered it a minor sin."
"Too bad, brother. Faith doesn't just stand on kindness, much blood has been spilled for it. If Brother Castor really was innocent, then the Sister's grace will not abandon him. And if I'm right, then I saved his soul from betrayal."
It was all so smooth. I decided not to argue.
We finally came out of the tunnel straight into the stable, to a covered court where the coach had already been prepared. A strong carriage for long voyages, on iron springs, with six black horses. The windows were silvered, no one outside would be able to look in. Two coachmen, also dressed as priests, were sitting on a covered seat. They were probably junior brothers.
"Get in," Ruud said. He walked up to the coachmen to speak with them. I climbed into the carriage.
It was comfortable. No complaints. It seemed the bishop himself had used it. Two soft couches, for sitting or sleeping, with warm blankets on them. A box with food and bottles secured inside. A bright carbide lamp, a fold-out table, a tube for speaking with the coachmen, even a travel wash basin. Far more luxurious than the first class in even the finest stagecoaches.
Settling down on the couch, I felt weariness spread over me. Was I really going to break out of the trap by the Sister's grace?
Brother Ruud climbed in after me. The coach began moving immediately, the gate was opened, and we rode out into the cold rainy night.
"Make yourself comfortable, my brother," Ruud said. "The road is long. Right now we'll go to Brussels, the Guard will be less suspicious that way. Then we'll head for Rome."
The coach was rolling through the square, gently, without any annoying shaking. The patrolmen around the temple glanced at the carriage but didn't stop it.
"Join me, brother," Ruud offered good-naturedly. He took out a bottle of wine from the box and poured it in beautiful steel glasses.
"What about your vows? I thought you didn't drink wine," I pointed out, accepting a glass.
"It is not the time to mortify the flesh," Brother Ruud answered calmly. "A sip of wine is not a sin right now. Only fanatics keep to the fast and stick to their vows when it's time for battle."
"Are you expecting battle, brother?"
"I'm expecting everything, Ilmar."
His eyes glinted.
"Remember… my brother… you have to keep yourself safe now. You're the strand that could lead us to Marcus."
There it was. A very pleasant task.
"Thanks, Brother Ruud, I'll stay safe," I promised. We drank, then Ruud put the wine away without a word.
The carriage finally left the square and rumbled down the uneven pavement along the Prinsengracht.
"Relax," Ruud suggested. "They'll be checking us on the way out of the city anyway."
How was I supposed to relax after that?
I looked out the window at the houseboats floating along the canal. Some of them had lights in the windows, and since the local custom didn't favor curtains, it was easy to see inside. A woman knitting, probably waiting for someone, since she was still up past midnight. A half-naked man lifting stone dumbbells. And there was an entire crowd in one window, spinning around in a dance, with crystal goblets glinting on the tables. Let the Guard catch a convict, let the House send out threatening decrees, let the redskins slaughter settlers at the edge of the world — what did a simple burgher care for that?
I was momentarily touched by a yearning. For this sort of calm, for a settled life, for not having to tense at the sight of a guard…
"Secular life is seductive, hiding many charms and temptations in it," Brother Ruud said. "I understand how to reject it for the Lord, for the Redeemer and the Sister. But tell me, Ilmar, what led you away from the honest path?"
"Curiosity, Brother Ruud. Curiosity… Tell me, which of these people have even left their own province?"
"Few."
"And I've been to China, passed through the Russian Khanate, talked to living Nipponese, lived in Egypt for half a year—not in the State's own Alexandria, in the pagan Meroë—even dug up ancient temples in the savage Africa."
"Curiosity is a divine trait given to man," Ruud agreed. "But not everything can be learned by man."
"I don't want much, Brother Ruud. I don't lament the mysteries of divine creation. I want to see how the people of other countries live, to step onto distant shores."
Brother Ruud said nothing. It seemed I was talking about something dangerously close to heresy but not stepping over the line.
"Merchants, missionaries, geographers, the House's secret servants — many travel the world," he said finally. "An entire expedition recently went to the cold lands beyond Africa. They found an icy continent. No one lives there, only animals no one has seen before. Birds that can't fly but swim like fish, for example… I don't believe that wanderlust alone knocked you off the honest road, Ilmar. There's no villainous nature in you, no murderous anger."
"True," I admitted. "It wasn't just curiosity. Also laziness. I don't want to do painstaking work day after day, brother. Get up in the morning, put on my tie, adjust the feather of a bureaucrat on my hat, go to work… No. I don't want that."
"It's a sin. The Lord admonishes us to work hard."
"A sin," I conceded. "But the Redeemer himself neglected the life of a carpenter and said that each has their own road in life."
"Stop, Brother Ilmar! You speak of dangerous things!"
"Brother Ruud, are you not supposed to interpret confusing parts of the holy books?"
Brother Ruud nodded.
"We are, Brother Ilmar. Forgive my temper. Speak, doubt, I will be happy to dispel your misconceptions. Ask, brother."
It seemed he really was prepared for a conversation. I thought about it. Speaking about faith with a holy paladin was a rare chance, a once in a lifetime opportunity, and not many got it.
"Tell me, brother, what is the Word?"
"The Word of the Lord was given to man as an example of an everyday miracle, accessible to worthy people. The Word allows one to hide any item you own for a time in the spiritual space, under the Lord's gaze…"
"But Gerard the Lightbringer wrote that the Word is a temptation given to man as a test…"
"And the worthy Gerard is right. The Word is like a touchstone on which each of us adjusts their soul. Some can polish it to a worthy sheen, while others will turn to rot.
"But are not all people equal before God? So then why are those with the Word not in a hurry to share it with the others?"
"Each of us who is worthy will find their own Word sooner or later. Upon doing so, they get a direct path to the Redeemer's soul. Then it becomes their will on how to use what they obtained."
"The Word rarely serves the good. Fine, Saint Nicholas walked to poor houses on the eve of the Redeemer's Birthday, pulling out coins from the Cold and giving them to the poor. Saint Paracelsus hid medicine in the Cold, healed the sick. Except even here they could've just used money, and criminals can be convinced with an ordinary word… I can remember a few others. But, for the most part, Brother Ruud, if someone gets the Word, it's nothing but passions coming out! Hide, accumulate, conceal from the human eye."
"Yes, Ilmar. That is so. This means we're still far from the Lord. That is why there is no kingdom of love and kindness on earth. Have you heard of the gunpowder plot in London, Ilmar? The one Britain never recovered from?"
"I have."
"A conspirator smuggled in gunpowder using the Word of the Lord and blew up the parliament… King James, who ruled Britain at the time and didn't recognize the Possessor's authority, put all the treasures of his crown into the Cold out of fright and went mad. He wasn't able to get anything back."
"They say," I added quietly, "that some of the treasures were on the Lord High Treasurer's Word, except he turned out to be a traitor. He refused to give it back to the heirs, ran away, and died himself soon after, never using them himself…"
"Maybe, Ilmar. Four hundred years have passed, no one knows the truth anymore. But what was the result? All the British heritage was in the Cold. No money to pay the armies, no weapons to give to the soldiers. The government collapsed, fighting began, Britain drowned in blood. Is that good or evil?"
"Evil."
"What about the fact that after that the islands returned under State authority, accepting the truth faith without complaint? What if there wasn't a single authority in Europe right now, if separate provinces had their own laws and fought real wars? Now, when slug-throwers are in use and gliders can drop bombs. So what did the Word serve?"
"Good. Probably good."
"And there it is, my brother Ilmar. The weak human mind is incapable of comprehending the outcome of any single action. A small drop of blood today can put out a large fire tomorrow."
I fell silent. It wasn't for me to argue with a real priest skilled in verbal subtleties.
"The Word is a mystery, great and unknowable," Ruud said thoughtfully. "Now imagine we never had the Word! None at all! What would have happened to the world? Where would the nobles keep their valuables safe from thieves? Yes, thieves, my brother Ilmar… Instead of the hidden Word, on which a county's entire treasury is stored, hundreds of guards not doing real work. Instead of hiding taxes in the Cold to deliver them to the House, entire wagon trains would start moving on roads, which means these roads have to be raised, fixed, kept in working order…"
Just then we shook, and I chanced adding, "Good roads are useful to ordinary people too."
Brother Ruud smiled a little.
"No argument there, brother. When the time came, roads were built. But what miracle would Russian myriarch [Footnote 1] Suvorov have used to move cannons across the Alps when there was a battle in the Swiss Province? What miracle besides the Word? And how would our holy brother Samuel van der Putte have managed to deliver to Europe from China the secret of gunpowder not long before that battle? Carried it across the Russian Khanate: slug-throwers, gunpowder, secret books. How would he have managed to deliver jade and iron to China for bribes? If the House fought against the Russian Khanate without cannons and slug-throwers, we'd be living under a yoke! Everything is connected in the world, brother. The Word brings misery to some and good to others, saving them from misery."
"I've heard that they used to know gunpowder in Europe long ago," I countered. "Then the secret was lost, hidden on the Word, and the master was killed. They had to deliver the secret from the Chinese lands anew."
"What of it? As you can see, the Word is working all the time, some things are lost, others are found. There's both good and evil in it."
I nodded.
"The Redeemer has created the Word to be unknowable, and in that was his great wisdom. Everything is very simple to another person's eye. Someone says something, reaches somewhere, and gets a thing from out of the Cold. And now think: would Prince Marcus have been able to free himself from the chains?"
"Of course not. You need skill."
Brother Ruud chuckled, "What if he took the chain binding him and placed it on the Word?"
"But…" I broke off, trying to picture it. The boy touched the chain… hid it into the nothingness… remains free? "He didn't have the strength?"
"That's not it. The chain didn't belong to him, he was the one chained. Now if he first removed the chain and felt power over it, then it would've gone into the Cold without delay. Even Saint Thomas said that what we possess with our hands is in the spirit's power… All right, now picture a rope or a chain, one end is free, the other is tied to a donkey or chained to a man. Prince Marcus takes this rope or chain and places it onto the Word. What happens?"
"The Word has no power over the living."
"Right. What about something tied to the living? Will the binds go into the Cold, leaving the prisoner free?"
"I don't know."
Brother Ruud smiled.
"Tell me!" I asked. "Tell me, brother!"
"That, Ilmar, depends on the one who possesses the Word and the one being bound. Maybe they will disappear, maybe they won't… All right, now imagine that two people knowing the Word grab one thing. And each is hiding it into the Cold. Whose property will it be?"
I said nothing. Everything was a jumble in my head. There was no answer to these questions, I couldn't say anything.
"What if…"
The carriage suddenly jerked, began turning to the curb while stopping. I looked out the window.
"Brother Ruud, it's an army patrol!"
"Don't fear, brother…"
The patrol was a serious one. Two officers in polished copper cuirasses and ten soldiers with short spears and swords. One officer was holding a double-barreled slug-thrower in his hand. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it seemed they weren't satisfied with the coachmen's answers.
"Brother Ruud…"
"Calm down, brother, think about this instead. If a man with a Word walks up to a composite thing. Like our carriage. He grabs a wheel and speaks the Word. Will just the wheel itself go into the Cold, will the entire carriage, or will nothing happen at all? And what about us, sitting in the carriage? We can't go into the Cold, so will we drop to the ground? Or maybe it can't work while we're inside…"
The door opened. The officer with the slug-thrower looked inside and said respectfully, "Holy brothers…"
"Peace be with you, servant of the House," Ruud replied calmly. "So think about it, brother, what is going to happen?"
"I don't know," I said politely, bowing my head. "Everything is the will of the Redeemer and the Sister…"
I wasn't going to tell him how Mark had jumped into the glider to keep the flyer from putting it on her Word.
"Holy brother," the officer repeated a little more emphatically. Brother Ruud turned to him, "Peace be with you. Speak."
"No one is allowed to leave the free city of Amsterdam," the officer said authoritatively, but there was uncertainty hiding under that false hardness. He'd probably turned back several coaches tonight, but he didn't know what to do now.
"I know, officer. But does that order apply to us?"
"The order says to turn back everyone without exception…"
"Recite the order verbatim."
The officer nodded, clearly pleased by the suggestion. He half-closed his eyes and said, "In the name of the Redeemer and the Sister, by the order of the House, no one is allowed leave the limits of the free city of Amsterdam without exception. All coaches, as well as separate travelers, are to be checked in search of the escaped convict Ilmar, after which they are to be turned back. If the convict Ilmar or junior prince of the House Marcus are spotted or there is a suspicion—"
"All right, officer. Do you believe the Sister forbids its servants to leave the city?"
"The order does not mention any exceptions."
"What is your name, officer?"
"Reinhardt, holy brother."
Ruud pulled out the papers without a word. He handed two sheets to the officer. He began reading them, silently moving his lips. Then he raised his wide eyes to Ruud.
"I, a holy paladin of the Sister, am rescinding the order in the part that applies to our coach by her will. By will of Bishop Ulbricht, we, two humble brothers, are on our way to the city of Brussels on a mission of great importance."
"I am forbidden from allowing anyone to pass!" the poor Reinhardt exclaimed with pain in his voice.
"I am taking your offense on myself, brother," Ruud replied serenely. "In the name of the Sister, I forgive your sin."
He picked up the sacred pole on his chest and touched it to the officer's sweaty forehead.
"There is no sin upon you. Have your men clear the road."
"I have to request permission from headquarters…"
"You've been given a higher permission!" Ruud raised his voice. "Inform your headquarters of it."
"Give me your word that the escaped convict Ilmar and Prince Marcus are not in the coach," the officer whispered.
The order was probably a strong one if the officer dared to demand something like that from a holy paladin.
"There are merely two priests of the temple of the Sister here," Ruud answered. "That is all. Go and sin no more."
The officer nodded and glanced at me.
"Bless me, holy brother."
It was a trick of some kind. There was a flash of alarm in Ruud's eyes, while the officer was waiting.
In a moment, I remembered all the blessings that had happened before my eyes. Then I said with relief, "You've already been honored with parting words, my brother. What is clean cannot be made any cleaner. Go in peace."
"Thank you, brothers." The officer stepped back. "Soft journey, holy paladin. Soft journey, holy missionary."
He closed the door and waved to the soldiers. Whips snapped, the carriage began to move and rolled out onto the road.
"All we need is some trumpeters," I said. "A dozen trumpeters and a pair of heralds."
"What do you mean, Ilmar?" Ruud asked in surprise.
"To have the trumpeters gather everyone, and the heralds announced, 'We're going to Brussels, definitely not Rome. A holy paladin is nothing out of the ordinary. And a modest missionary in a bishop's carriage is a commonplace sight. No need to look surprised, good people. Pay no attention to us.'"
Brother Ruud was silent. His face was slowly turning red.
"You think we're giving ourselves away?"
"Of course, brother," I said in surprise. "What we should've done is walk on foot. Or on horseback, but definitely not in a carriage."
"What about the patrols? They barely let us pass with all our documents…"
"Brother Ruud, you give two or three coins to any peasant, and they'll take you ways where you won't run into a single guard."
"Those are thieves' habits."
"Of course. But maybe we should've remembered them for this holy task."
The priest thought about it. It was nice to see that I was able to teach him some things as well.
"You have a point, Ilmar. But we passed through the post. By the time they inform their superiors, by the time the senior officers speak with the bishop, while they're wondering whether there's something off here, we'll already be in Rome."
The horses really were galloping down the road. Maybe at such speeds, with frequent horse changes, and on good roads, maybe we really would get to Rome in five days, even by way of Brussels.
"I'd still have preferred not to attract any attention…"
Brother Ruud chuckled. His confidence was back.
"Don't worry about it, brother. We'll get there."
He removed his shoes, lay down on the couch, threw the cloth canopy, the one meant for security riders, on top of himself, and secured it.
"You should get some sleep. We need to rest while the road is smooth."
Oh, holy paladin! Was your new rank draining your brains?
Traveling in comfort was a great temptation, especially if there was no sin in it after many years of ascetism…
But I didn't say any of that, of course. I lay down and strapped the canopy over me. All I said was, "You weren't afraid of the soldiers, holy brother… You fear someone else."
Brother Ruud didn't answer. Only his breath caught for a moment.
I wondered whether as a missionary I was supposed to pray to the Sister in some special way. Maybe on my knees or something. But Brother Ruud wasn't encumbering himself in anything of the sort, so I decided not to bother either.
On a good road, in a carriage with elastic springs, while lying on a couch, sleeping was no worse than at a hotel. After getting used to the bumps and the sways, I stopped noticing them. Only once, just before morning, I woke up to notice the carriage had stopped. I looked outside and saw that the coachmen had climbed down to take a leak. I followed their example then stood near the carriage for a little bit, staring up into the starry sky. It was cold but without rain, the clouds had almost dissipated. It felt damp, so we were probably moving along a river or a canal.
"Time to go, holy brother."
The coachmen were good. Silent, uncurious. And strong, no wonder they carried swords on their belts. Maybe I'd been telling Ruud dumb things, and lone travelers were in greater peril. We could've run into a gang of murderers, and what then?
I climbed back into the carriage. The holy paladin didn't seem to have moved, but he opened his eyes slightly. He was vigilant.
I lay down and slept until midday, until we reached Brussels.
In twelve hours, we'd ridden two hundred kilometers, almost without stopping, without any delays. And even though the horses looked tired, they were moving evenly. We stopped at an ordinary city horse station instead of at the temple of the Sister. One coachman was wiping the horses, while the other one went to the station. He returned and quietly told Ruud the situation. I didn't listen in, preferring to walk around and stretching my legs. After the flight on the glider, I was determined to treat my body with greater care. A thief was fed by their legs… then again, I wasn't really a thief anymore… or was I?
It was an interesting question: could I simultaneously be a count, a missionary, and a thief? If all sins were equal before the Redeemer, if the Sister forgave everything, then maybe that was also possible.
"Brother…" Ruud walked up to me. "There are no good horses at the station. The coachmen are suggesting that we let ours rest until evening and then continue on."
"Why not?" I agreed. "We slept well, so we can spend another night on the road."
"Then it's settled."
Ruud waved to the coachmen, and they began to unharness the horses.
"Do you know where we can have a decent meal and rest up?" he asked.
"Of course. Let's go, holy brother. Except…"
He looked at me, waiting for me to continue.
"Should we change our clothes? A holy paladin, especially accompanied by a missionary, is not a commonplace sight."
"Are you again suggesting that we hide, Brother Ilmar?"
"Even the Sister didn't spurn the clothing of a slave when she came to see the Redeemer…"
"And do you remember what the Redeemer told her? 'Choose clothing that fits your soul. Cast off what is not yours, be what you are.'"
It wasn't my place to argue with a priest when it came to the knowledge of holy texts.
I bowed my head, "Your will, brother. Let's go."
I was so annoyed that I took hm to the busiest and most famous place in Brussels: the Jeanneke Pis statue. Naturally, everyone on the streets kept looking at us. Primarily at Ruud. Sometimes they'd approach him with their heads bowed, and Brother Ruud would humbly bless the faithful.
I was entirely lost in the shadow of his popularity, behind the luxury of his crimson cloak.
Oh boy!
It seemed Ruud really had been a humble brother at the big temple. And suddenly there was luck embodied in me. It had just happened, due to secrecy, due to God's Stepson's decree to not tell people about Ilmar, due to the bishop's weakness and illness, making him unable to go to Urbis with me himself.
That was how it happened.
Brother Ruud had basically gotten permission from the Sister to do whatever he wanted. Worldly pleasures were one thing, the Sister had never spoken against a swig of fine wine or a delicious meal. But pride… pride was worse than drunkenness. Whoever gave in to it would find it very difficult to calm down.
Brother Ruud was walking ahead of me, touching his humble hand on cripples, ladies of the night, law-abiding burghers, little children, neat old women, wise old men, dirty paupers, well-educated young men, finely dressed beauties. He was giving out blessing… not to everyone, but to whomever asked for one.
Was it a good deed?
Except every good deed had a time and a place. Splashing water onto a burning building was a good deed, while doing that to a drowning man was a mockery and a crime.
But I said nothing. Only occasionally told Brother Ruud where to turn, as he didn't know the city well. We came out onto the square with the fountain and sat on the open patio of Snow Country, a restaurant with fine Russian cuisine. The serving staff walked around in fur hats and long red shirts in the fashion of the people of the Khanate. Then again, I'd rarely seen such clothing in Russia itself; it was probably only worn on holidays.
Brother Ruud accepted a luxuriously printed paper menu from the waiter and glanced at me. His gaze was confused. He didn't know what to get and what to avoid here.
"Please bring us some borscht," I told the kid, "Then beshbarmak and pelmeni. [Footnote 2] A bottle of vodka from a glacier, regular one, not cranberry, and salted mushrooms."
The young man nodded, pressed his hand to his heart in the Russian manner, and went to the kitchen. Soon we were served borscht, which was always kept ready in a huge cauldron and consisted of plates full of chopped boiled lamb, a vase of hot mustard, and black bread.
Giving me curious glances, Brother Ruud began eating. After finishing his borscht, he admitted, "Barbarian food is pleasant."
"Too bad China is far away," I sighed. "You should try what those people cook, brother."
"Delicious?" Ruud inquired.
"It is. Just unusual. They eat snakes, rats, insects…"
The holy paladin's face shuddered, and I broke off.
"I hope there's nothing like that here."
"No," I hurried to calm him. The people around us were already casting curious glances in our direction, and if the paladin felt ill and threw up in the restaurant…
After sating our initial hunger, we relaxed. My ominous thoughts began to disappear. We'd broken out of the Guard enclosure, after all! Who was going to stop us now?
Kids were playing on the square by the fountain. They were throwing stones at the Jeanneke Pis, which was busy doing its thing for five centuries now. The sculpture was dumb and in some ways inappropriate, but the city folk loved it with all their hearts. Legend said that, a long time ago, when Europe was still suffering from real wars, enemies had come to Brussels. They'd have snuck past the sleeping guards if not for a little girl that had stepped out to relieve herself and noticed the enemies.
It was a stupid legend. What kind of enemies were they if all their strength was in their stealth, and if a single little girl could wake up the entire city? Nothing but a pack of thieves… And how would the child had seen the enemies? Had the girl climbed up to the city wall to do her business? That wasn't exactly comfortable to the female sex…
And the sculpture itself wasn't great. They could've portrayed their heroine when she was raising the alarm, not before! And why not simply have a sculpture instead of turning it into a fountain?
But each city had its own customs. And so the marble girl was standing, well, sitting in the middle of the fountain, giving the city folks a forced smile.
"A foolish statue," Ruud said suddenly.
I nodded. The holy brother was smart and was sharing my thoughts.
"The chronicles say that it was actually a boy," he explained. "And he didn't raise the alarm, merely putting out the fuse of a bomb that had been placed under the barracks."
So that was how it had been…
"And it was an accident too…" Brother Ruud added, staring at the approaching server. He was holding a huge steaming tray filled with meat and boiled dough.
"Nearly all great deeds remembered for ages were accidental."
"Really? Why is that?" Ruud inquired.
"Why remember a deed done by a great and undefeated hero? Or a victory when the army was uncountable? There's nothing unusual in that. And such things are only remembered if the story is told well; people remember the story, not the deed itself. But when a girl comes out to relieve herself and spots an enemy, or when a man looses an arrow and accidentally hits the leader of another army… Or if someone pees and accidentally puts out a fuse. That is always remembered."
The dish was placed on the table in front of us. Brother Ruud's gaze searched for utensils, then threw a confused glance at the departing server.
"You're supposed to eat it with your hands," I explained.
"Barbarians," Ruud sighed but began eating.
Footnotes
1) A myriarch is a commander of a Turkic or Mongolian tumen, a unit of ten thousand soldiers.
2) Borscht is an East European beet soup. Beshbarmak is a Central Asian meat and dough dish in egg sauce. Pelmeni are East European meat dumplings.