They only got to the city three weeks later. The quarantine was reduced - everyone who could be sick and was sick was cured or removed from the recruit camp, the rest continued to be subjected to the most severe drill from morning to evening.
There were rumors that the quick release from quarantine was the result of the activity of the Isfir army, plotting around the islands, and that the kingdom urgently needed new "meat" for the war, but as always - the rumors were only half true. Now it was not about the islands, but about a strip eighty li long and twenty li wide along the border with Isfir. The army of this country captured this piece of Zamara land, and was urgently digging in for retaliatory action. Therefore - the exhausting, old, like the decrepit trousers of a beggar, war continued and continued, taking more and more souls of people into the furnace of battles.
Generation after generation, people were born and died in a state of slow war, and no one remembered that it could be any other way. Each king, ascending the throne after his predecessor, solemnly promised that he would put an end to the war, that his people would live happily and richly. And each king, dying, handed over to his successor a country in a state of war with three neighboring, related states.
We must give credit to the current king of Zamara, despite the fact that during his reign no progress was made towards peace, he managed to eliminate one of the biggest troubles that plagued all three states - he brought the Ards, a northern people of pirates, robbers ... and travelers, to heel. It was difficult to do this, but strangely enough - Iunakor was able to do it, creating a powerful marine corps, into which he poured huge amounts of money. And this corps gave a return - after a raid on the islands of the Ards, a peace treaty was signed, which the Ards strictly observed.
However, they did not comply because they felt a sacred horror before the paper signed and decorated with royal seals, not at all. A corps of five thousand cutthroats, half-bandits, ready to do anything on the king's orders restrained the rebellious sailors better than any papers and admonitions.
Marine Corps Zamara. Each Marine proudly wore a polished Marine Corps badge on his dress cap – the three initials of their unit. They were proud of this badge. And they knew that not all of them would live to see demobilization. Well, if every second one did. And if life didn't shine ahead, why not live on the money that the King generously gave them?
And when the recruits, having received their "mortal" gold, were released into the city, it was bursting at the seams. Wine flowed like a river, prostitutes greedily raked in coins, fleecing drunken customers, innkeepers did not have time to cook, emptying their storerooms in one day of the soldiers' leave.
Once, when there was one small garrison of a hundred people here, the city was quiet, patriarchal, although quite large - ten thousand people, this is no joke. After the construction of the Marine Corps base, the city's population increased threefold, practically switching to serving the needs of the corps. Someone supplied food, someone supplied water, someone sewed and made boots for the army - everything was done nearby, in the town. It was simply stupid to bring uniforms and boots here from the capital.
And this entire stormy flow of supplies went through Colonel Heverad, the base commander, who generously paid for all purchases from the army treasury. Part of the money immediately returned to him in the form of bribes, and then settled in the imperial bank. However, not all of it. The lion's share of this money went to the top, to the commander-in-chief of the army, Zamara. But there was enough for everyone. The army, as it often happens, was corrupt to the last degree. Or rather, not the entire army, of course, but the top leadership. The lower ranks, starting with lieutenants, were content with their salaries and dreamed of climbing higher, to at least pinch a little from this sweet pie.
It is interesting that all the locals disliked the soldiers and treated them with rather disdain, which did not stop them from fleecing the customers. They smiled at them to their faces, but behind their backs they called them dumb soldiers and "caps", not missing an opportunity to stab them in the back. Therefore, when the command released the soldiers on leave, they strictly ordered: only go in groups, do not stray from the group, and also - obey the corporals supervising the process of pumping wine.
And that was the most disgusting thing. For everyone. For soldiers – because some idiot would hang over their shoulder and whine, preventing them from enjoying their freedom, and for corporals – who wants to catch a dozen soldiers crawling like lice on a beggar's head? And in a state of "drunker than wine"? If you don't keep an eye on them, some freedom-loving or just stupid infantryman will run away – you'll get a cash deduction in the form of a week's salary (for each lost one), plus – you can get up to five hot sticks if the outflow of military meat is too great. That's why the most authoritative, the strongest fighters were taken as corporals, and moreover, those who themselves did not look to the side when going on the run.
Usually the training sergeant would assign corporals after the recruits had been in quarantine for a week or two, when the guys had gotten used to each other, bonded, and it became clear who was who.
However, things were not left to chance. The unit had a special security service that closely monitored the moral and psychological state of the units. Major Shentel was in charge, each regiment had its own security major, and all the information about the soldiers flowed to them. How? In the usual way – through denunciations.
Almost every soldier was dragged to the security guard and demanded to inform on his comrades. They were interested in everything - the mood in the unit, the attitude towards the king and the whole country, whether someone was inclined to escape or whether he was going to engage in all sorts of criminal acts. Many refused to inform, but many agreed - for refusal they promised various vague and not so, troubles, for agreement - they hinted at concessions in service and future career growth, which would certainly be provided to loyal infantrymen.
Ned was also called to the security officer, and he refused to give information about his comrades. Not because he was a hero and considered it impossible for himself. He simply did not want to do it, just as he did not want to be a corporal. He was not interested in career advancement, and he did not need the goodwill of his superiors - which he immediately stated. Everything suited him, and he had no complaints or requests. Which, incidentally, was true.
His comrades, Oydar and Arnot, did the same, both in words and in reality - he probed their thoughts, and they completely coincided with what was said.
Oydar was outraged by the offer to become a snitch, and Arnot simply pretended to be a village idiot, barely understanding what was being said to him.
As the cunning guy explained, it would be possible to agree for the sake of appearances, to give evasive and false reports about nothing from time to time, but... if your fellow soldiers, half of whom had a criminal past, find out about your denunciation, then you can actually get a knife, or a crossbow bolt to the back of your head. And no one will find out, investigate - how it happened. Not an officer. Then prove that you lied to the command, that you were framed, called a snitch, but in fact you are a great guy - it's too late when there is a knife sticking out of your back.
However, Ned suspected that most of those who spoke so violently about informers were informers themselves. Or rather, he didn't suspect – he knew for sure, but he couldn't tell his comrades this directly. Only like this: "I suspect…", or "It seems to me…"
Whoever was in him - or, as he thought, was in him - forbade him from giving anyone any extra information that could harm Ned. Talk about anything but your abilities, your skills, and wait for a convenient opportunity. What kind? Ned didn't know that yet. A convenient opportunity...that could mean anything. And wait forever.
Not much had changed in his life since the day he killed the boy in a duel. Contrary to expectations, Ned had not been promoted at all, well – except for the rank of corporal, of course. And who needed him anyway – an illiterate country bumpkin who only knew how to kill. The place for such was in the war, where he would soon be heading.
The colonel tried several times to organize a fight between Ned and one of the soldiers, but they categorically refused to participate in the suicide, disregarding all threats and promises of generous rewards.
Oddly enough, the terrible death of Ned's opponent served as a good shield, protecting him from attempts to make a prize fighter out of the boy. Seeing the futility of his efforts, Heverad abandoned the idea and forgot about Ned - which pleased Ned quite a bit. There was no need for close attention to his person. For now, he needed to remain quiet and lie low, like a flounder escaping from a predatory fish. The danger would pass, and he would be able to swim out into clear water.
But no matter how much Ned thought about it, he couldn't understand - what danger? What threatens him? He's in the army - even if they find him now and charge him with killing ten people - he's clean, according to the law.
Mages. That's what worried him. As soon as he thought about being near them, he would shudder and want to hide as far away as possible. Fortunately, there were no mages at the Marine Corps base, not even mage-healers. They lived in the city, as did almost all the Corps officers. Right here, in the city, the mages studied, trained, and when the Corps went overseas to fight, they would appear on the ship, and even then, they lived in separate quarters and never interacted with the "meat." Never.
This was the highest caste of the army, contemptuously treating even officers, not to mention ordinary soldiers. There was a chance that Ned would encounter magicians. But it was very small. And it was unlikely that they would look out for a magician, a black magician, a demonologist among the gray mass of soldiers who had wormed their way into the ranks of the spearmen.
By the way – this point was the most terrible. What would they do if they found out that Ned was not just a black magician, but also a demonologist, and also…. Ned was afraid to admit it even to himself – a POSSESSED black magician?! In their place, he would have simply chopped off such a guy's head… if he could. Therefore – Ned developed a plan of action for the coming years:
1. Learn everything the army can give and get as far away from the village where he is known as possible. Why? So that they don't lead the mages to him.
2. Understand his abilities and make sure he can control them as much as possible. (This will help him survive.)
3. The most important thing is to survive, to survive under any circumstances. And for this – study, study, and study (Which does not contradict the first point).
The tasks were precise, military-like, and Ned followed them, guided by the instinct of a man accustomed to surviving his entire life, and also... listening to the strange thoughts emerging from the depths of his consciousness. As long as they did not contradict the three points of his program...
- Drink! - Oydar plopped a full mug of wine in front of Ned, who stared at the dark, smelly liquid with distrust - what are you looking at, drink! Wine! What, you've never tried it? Good, red, expensive, damn it! And anyway - everything is expensive there! Hey, innkeeper, why is everything so expensive with you?!
"Is it really that expensive?" Ned whispered, leaning towards Arnot's ear.
- You know... - he winced - about one and a half times more expensive than we would have paid for the same thing in Shusard. Oydar, stop yelling - the innkeeper will also call the guards, and Ned will get into trouble for us. Better keep an eye on those two idiots - it looks like they're trying to run off somewhere. It's clear that everything is more expensive - the city is more alive due to the Marine Corps, and it's extracting money from us. Ned, have you really never tried wine?
- No... I haven't had to - Ned leaned over the mug again and took a small sip with apprehension. He winced and stated with disgust:
- How disgusting! How do you get drunk with it? It's bitter, disgusting! And it even smells of resin!
- With resin? Oh, the little bastard! That's right - with resin! - Oydar took a sip. - Now I'll go to that goat who slipped us this slop instead of good wine, and I'll tell him everything I think about him!
- Oh, you're drunk, - Arnot shook his head, - I'm telling you for sure - this will end badly!
- Yes, we will... yes, we will... hey, idiots! - he perked up - where are you going?! The corporal is sitting here, and where are you going?
- What, do you want it more than anyone else? - a guy of about thirty, with a predatory, narrow face, asked menacingly - sit down and don't move! We'll come back, don't freak out! And we'll give you a share!
"You guys won't go on a robbery," Ned said calmly, clasping both his hands together. "If you leave the tavern now, I'll catch up with you and break your bones. Do you believe me?"
- What are you doing... a corporal? - the guy asked sharply, and the second one, similar to him with a wolfish expression in his eyes, frowned, glaring at Ned's face - do you think too much of yourself?! Do you think that if you are the winner, you can now tell us how to live? What to do and what not to do? Remember - you will not always be on your feet. Someday you will have to sleep. And when you fall asleep - you may not wake up. And martial arts will not help you! Better let us go - calmly, without noise and fighting, and we will fork out your share, and you will live quietly and peacefully, as before. Okay?
- No. It's not good, - Ned said quietly, barely drowning out the dashing music to which two tipsy couples were dancing. - Boys, I've already told you - you won't commit robbery while I'm your corporal. And you won't leave the tavern without my permission. Ditas, do you understand?
- Got it. Have you seen how people change, boys? You were a normal guy, and now? In essence - who are you? A country bumpkin! A bastard! Like the rest of us! And as soon as you put on a stripe - you immediately became taller than everyone?! Well, nothing, nothing... as long as you're a corporal, you say? - Ditas grinned promisingly, and an image popped into his mind - a dark barracks with rows of beds three stories high, and Ned sleeping on the bottom bunk under his comrades. A hand with a knife, piercing his heart... Ditas really was going to kill him, there was no doubt about it.
Ned stood up, slowly, as if he was being dragged by force, approached the man, whose smile reluctantly slid off his face, replaced by a grimace of fear, and then, without swinging, slapped the palm of his right hand, folded into a boat, on Ditas's chest.
The robber suddenly wheezed, fell to his knees, his eyes rolled back as if he had been hit on the head with a huge log, and then fell silent, losing consciousness. His accomplice backed away, looking into Ned's terrible, black as a pool eyes, fell, tripping over a stool, and squealed thinly:
- No! Don't touch! Please! We're not going anywhere! Don't kill!
A puddle spread out beneath him - the boy was as scared as if he had been attacked by a red mountain bear, capable of tearing a person in half with one movement of its paw.
Ned exhaled, touched his head, which was suddenly aching and the blood was pounding in it, and said hoarsely:
- Go to the toilet, clean yourself up. It stinks. Give this one some wine. He's alive.
Ned leaned over to the boy lying there, his eyes wide open, and said quietly:
- If you go against me again, I won't let you live again. Got it?
The guy nodded his head slightly and, choking, began to swallow wine from a mug that one of his fellow soldiers had handed him. They had been standing around all this time and watching as Ned dealt with the malcontent. And everyone understood – Ned almost killed him. And he would have killed him – but… he didn't do it.
- What was that? - Arnot asked quietly, looking at the excited, lip-biting Oydar - what did he do? He only slapped him on the chest!
- He stopped his heart - the watsu master answered just as quietly - stopped it for a while. And if he wanted, he could stop it forever. With one touch. It's called "God's Palm". Imagine a killer passing by you and accidentally - completely accidentally! - slaps you on the chest. Or on the head. Or on the shoulder. And you fall and die. And no one can understand - why? How did this happen? Oh gods... I'm sometimes afraid of our Ned...
"Is he a murderer?" Arnot asked in a whisper.
- I don't know. He doesn't say anything, the damned lad! How I wish I knew - I would give everything for this knowledge! Maybe they still have the last shantzu masters in that remote village? Maybe they still take students and I can learn secret knowledge from them?! I'm just going crazy from ignorance and the desire to know everything!
Ned walked to his place and sat down, not paying attention to his friends who were standing frozen next to him. Oydar looked at his friend searchingly, while Arnot pretended that nothing had happened and demonstratively watched the two girls dancing so that their skirts were lifted up to their waists, and then it was clear that they were not wearing underwear.
- Look at what he's doing, guys! - Arnot smacked his lips in admiration. - Oyd, what about women?
- Yes, they... yes, I... in general, I'm an expert at seduction! I can persuade anyone - the boy responded boastfully - only if I had more money... For some reason, they don't like it without money. I wonder how much it costs to buy a woman? What about it, guys, maybe we should get busy? I'll go and find out how much he wants. We still have plenty of time - we're only getting to the base two hours after dawn, so we could spend the whole night!
Oydar jumped up from his chair and went to the counter where one of the girls of a certain profession was bored. Arnot looked at him with envy and said with regret:
- You know, I've never been with a woman. I don't even know how to negotiate with them.
"Do you think I know?" Ned smiled. "And I've never been with a woman. I've only seen her… and that was just… spying."
- And I too - sighed Arnot - peeped, and... in general, peeped! There's nothing to laugh about! - Arnot couldn't help but giggle, and then excitedly whispered - look, look, he's bringing her to us! Oh!
- Guys, this is Zelena, she agrees to be with everyone in turn. Two pieces of silver per person. I'm first! We get a discount for wholesale, then it would be three pieces of silver. I'm going!
The woman was quite young, even younger than she seemed – she was aged by bright cosmetics, powder and specific clothes that emphasized her profession – a tight bodice with protruding breasts and colorful skirts, slightly faded from constant washing. She smiled, and through the smile one could see the absence of one tooth in the upper jaw. As she left, the girl blew a kiss, and Arnot fidgeted in place, shaking his silver coins out of his purse:
- Finally, I'll become a real man! Here it is!
"Do you think a real man is distinguished by whether he's been with a woman or not?" Ned asked with interest, taking a bite of the pie lying on the wide plate in front of him. He had eaten a huge pie that evening, and he wanted more - it was very, very good. The cook here added some spices to the meat, which gave the filling a special aroma.
- Well... yeah! - Arnot chuckled - if the gods gave us this tool, it would be a sin not to use it, right?
- Hmm... I guess - Ned shrugged, watching his subordinates scatter around the hall, hugging girls and getting drunk on wine. Ditas had already left and was sadly sitting by the window far from Ned, staring at his plate and listening to what his partner was telling him. Ned tried to listen to their thoughts, but they were quite far away and besides - it was very difficult to make out anything in this noise of thoughts and voices. A minute later, Ned's head began to hurt and he turned off his extrasensory perception.
- Why are you so boring?! - Arnot cried out indignantly. - Now you're going to go to a woman, for the first time in your life - what's not to make you happy? I've heard so much about it, and I've even seen it... ahem... but I've never tried it myself.
- What, there wasn't a single woman who would sleep with you?
– I would lie down and get up – not a single one. I'm young, not very handsome… why are you smiling? It's easier for you! Look at you! You're so tall, with a pretty face, a handsome man! And me?! Chubby, with a belly… true, the belly is gone now – thanks to the Dragon – but you can't get rid of the mug! And that means that for women to love me, I need money. And I've always had a problem with that.
"What makes you think I'm handsome?" Ned asked in surprise.
- Handsome - Arnot grinned - I'd give anything for a figure and a mug like yours! Girls must be throwing themselves at you! It's not clear how all this time you've never been with a woman! You're hiding something, buddy... Okay, okay - I know you never talk about yourself! That's it, I'm going. You shot back pretty quickly, Oyd! - Arnot said sarcastically and immediately received a slap on the back of the head:
- What are you talking about! I was trying for you! I wanted it to be quicker! Go away, you bastard - second floor, third room, she's waiting for you. Or are you going, Ned? And what about him later?
- I'll go, I will! - Arnot almost fell over his chair, rushing towards the stairs - I'm already in the mood!
- He's in the mood! - laughed Oydar - it was great! The woman is fire! You'll see! She'll raise the dead! Do you want me to tell you how it was?
- I don't feel like it, - Ned admitted, and suddenly asked, - tell me, Oyd, when you've finished your service, what will you do? Where will you go? What will you do?
- I'll open a school - my friend answered without thinking - I'll teach people watsu. I'm a master, don't think that because I'm such a slob, I can't teach. I know the whole system of teaching. You know what - let's work together as soon as the term is up? Let's teach people martial arts? Just tell me - where did you learn shantso?
- Again? - Ned frowned - Leave me alone! I won't tell you anything. Consider that I have a ban on this. To anyone. To anything. Forgotten!
- Okay, forget it - the guy sighed - and what were you planning to do? What to do after the end of the service? You don't plan to carry a shaft with a spike forever, do you?
- Why not? Maybe I decided to remain a military man for the rest of my life, - Ned shrugged, - look, Dragon serves his whole life, and nothing.
- Have you seen his mug? Do you know that he has no family, no wife, no children? They say that once a month he gets drunk to the point of shitting, and lies on the floor in his room. And then he spends another month drilling idiots like us. And gets drunk again. And so on for the rest of his life. Is that what you want?
"I don't drink wine," Ned muttered, confused.
- You'll start... you'll start drinking. Out of hopelessness, out of boredom, out of melancholy, out of the fact that there's nothing in life except this parade ground and our mugs. Just look at Arnot - you'll definitely get drunk - he chuckled, looking at his friend, shining like a polished shield, coming down the stairs. He said - I shot quickly, but what about you? What about you?
- Everything is great! - Arnot nodded blissfully, and plopped down on a chair, greedily sucking on a mug of stale beer - Go, Ned, she's waiting! Oh, she's about sixteen, no more! And so hot! Wow, what a beast of a woman! Go, Ned!
"No, guys… I'm not going," Ned refused hesitantly.
- What's wrong? - Arnot didn't understand. - Go, everything's fine! He's waiting!
- No. I don't want to! After the entire Marine Corps has been there...no.
- Ooooh! Look, Arnie, we have a neat freak! Just look at him! He's squeamish! You've got to forget what squeamishness is, Ned! You're a soldier!
- I'm a soldier. But if I want to drink, I'm not going to do it from the first dirty puddle I come across! - Ned snorted. - If that's the kind of love that suits you, go ahead, have a nice trip. I won't. That's it.
- You owe me two pieces of silver anyway - Oydar got angry - I agreed on a discount for everyone! Then I'll go instead of you!
- Take that! And shut up! - Ned slammed the coins on the table, his friend brushed them away with his palm and, expressing complete displeasure with his entire back, went to the stairs.
- What are you so mad about? - Arnot asked, confused. - The girl is really good. So young, firm, boobs - wow! - he showed them on himself - it smells a little, but it even adds piquancy.
- What does it give? - Ned did not understand, thoughtfully chewing another piece of pie. Over the past month, he had broadened his shoulders considerably - a lot of meat had grown from good, hearty food, and now his figure resembled that prize fighter he had killed on the court - muscular, powerful, only a little drier and his face had become younger than it had been. That touch of bitterness, readiness for trouble, had disappeared. Ned even began to smile, which had happened very rarely before.
"Spicy things… you're such a country bumpkin," Arnot waved his hand hopelessly, "delicacies, that is."
"Did you eat it?" Ned looked sideways, and they both burst into laughter, snorting and dropping crumbs of pie from their mouths.
We returned to the base in the early morning, the whole crowd. One half carried the other. Ned had to carry Oidan, who had drunk himself into oblivion and for some reason mistook his friend for a master of the Uatsu school. He kept trying to bow, but in doing so he fell, hitting his forehead on the pavement and lifting his skinny butt up. We had to put him on our shoulders and, grunting, carry him like a sack of grain.
Already in front of the base, he began to sing some warlike songs, beating the rhythm with his fist on Ned's ass, to which the latter threatened to throw his friend into a roadside puddle so that he would sober up. To which he received a portion of sobs - Ned was informed that he was a father, and no one loved Oydar, since everyone was an asshole and a beast.
Arnot walked on his own, moving his legs as if they were made of wooden sticks – straight, fervently driving his feet into the stone pavement of the city.
The rest of the squad's soldiers were also in varying degrees of intoxication, but overall the entire drinking bout went off without incident - if you don't count the fight in the early morning, when they started figuring out who was tougher with the soldiers from the crossbow company, who had the misfortune of going into this tavern.
Ned didn't take part in the fight - they were afraid to pick on him, Oydar too - he was just sleeping on a bench and couldn't physically participate in anything. Arnot swung his fists a couple of times and was immediately driven under the table, where he sat until the end of the action. At the end of the battle, the soldiers who had destroyed half the tavern paid for the damage at double the price and began to fraternize, pouring cheap wine at an exorbitant price on their wounds and hugging like brothers after a long separation.
The road to the base was strewn with the bodies of snoring, completely drunk soldiers, some of whom had already been robbed - pockets turned out, and instead of wallets on their belts there were only laces. The returning ones stepped over these "corpses", but Ned noticed how some of them, looking furtively around, rummaged through the pockets of their comrades, hoping to snatch at least a copper coin left by the previous looters.
The base met the returning soldiers calmly - they came, and they came. Those who were lying along the road - will be collected later by a patrol in a special van. Those who did not return - will be found anyway - will be handed over by kind locals, and then reprisals will be inevitable and terrible. Flogging - sometimes to death.
The day after the dismissal was traditionally a day off - for those who went on leave. What good is it to have soldiers who lie around like logs, vomit and can barely make it to the toilet? It's just outrageous. It's disgusting to look at them. It's better to let them sit in the barracks.
Officially, the day after discharge was called "the soldier's personal day", when they were required to adjust their uniform, go to a doctor for a preventive examination - it was required to visit the doctor's house at least once every two weeks - for the prevention of contagious diseases such as scabies or other skin diseases. However, as a rule, this schedule was not followed and soldiers went to doctors when they felt the urge. For example, today...
- Ned! Ned! - pale Oydar stood swaying by Ned's bed, holding onto the wooden posts of the bunk, and tugged at the boy's shoulder - wake up!
"What?!" Ned opened his eyes with displeasure, looking at his friend's crumpled face.
"Hey, guys, I'm in trouble!" Arnot came up from the side, sat down next to Ned and bit his lip, clutching the bed.
"You too?" Oydar asked sullenly, sitting down at Ned's feet.
"What do you have – too?" Ned asked, looking at his gloomy friends, not understanding.
"I went to the toilet," Arnot began, "and this…I can't! It hurts! It really hurts!"
- Me too - Oydar nodded his head and asked accusingly - why didn't you stop us yesterday when we were going after that girl?! Ned, you're such a pest!
- The plague now is you, as I understand it - Ned grinned - and Arnot. In general - why are you sitting here on my bed? Go to the same idiots! Half the company is probably lining up to see the doctor right now. I told you - the whole base has been to her, and you?
- We, we... smart, it hurts - Oydar chuckled - take us to the doctor! I don't feel well...
- Aha! Do you know why it's bad? You should have drunk less wine. Okay, let's go!
Ned jumped out of bed, did a few exercises under the envious gaze of the shaking Oydar, then waited for his still not quite sober friends to leave the barracks, and followed them, making sure that the mobile structure of two unfortunate hungover guys did not fall to the ground.
No, they arrived normally and joined a line of the same sufferers, which had reached the white door of the doctor's office, on which was crudely painted the sign of the doctors – a man in a white cassock, stretching out his hands over a bedridden patient.
- I can't stand standing here! - Oydar groaned, holding onto Ned. - This is a nightmare! Everything itches, and I'm going to fall!
"Why the hell haven't you sobered up yet?" Ned frowned.
- So we took a little with us... it was so bad, we added. It got even worse! - Arnot smacked his lips - I'm going to throw up now...
He ran around the corner, and suddenly the door to the infirmary opened. The infirmary's doctor came out - a huge man, as tall as Ned, only four times as thick, and with a beard a span long. He silently looked at the line, which immediately fell silent under his gaze, and growled loudly in a bass voice:
- Hey, donkey-headed morons, rams, inadvertently wearing the Marine Corps emblem - those who yesterday had fun with a girl in the "Red Stallion" tavern - step aside, now we'll go to the city, to the magician-healer. I don't have the right powders for you, and you can't get rid of such an infection with powders. You tried hard, damned rotten wood! I would have burned that fucking "Stallion" as the source of the infection! And the girl, the girl... uuuu... idiots! When you arrive, there will be a lecture - how to safely fuck a whore! And even if one bastard evades, you will never come near me again! You will rot alive, idiots! And what are you laughing at, you poleaxe? And did you catch it, you fucking winner?
"No, sir doctor," Ned calmed down, driving the uninvited smile from his face, "I'm as healthy as…"
- That's good - the doctor interrupted - get out of here then, don't block the horizon! And you, donkey heads, get into the cart behind the doctor's, the duty sergeant will come up now and write out a pass. Hey, stop! Stop, shaft! What's your name again?
"Ned, sir physician," Ned turned around.
- You're coming with me. We need to keep an eye on these nits, otherwise they'll crawl around the city like infectious lice! And don't act like you've just discovered that someone's stabbed you in the back - you shouldn't have shown yourself to the authorities, you wouldn't have had any problems! Stand still and wait by the doctor's office!
Ned sighed and trudged back. It wasn't hard for him to accompany a team of thirty guys, but he really wanted to sleep in the barracks after a sleepless night, and for no one to wake him up or drive him, to think, to dream – now he had something to dream about. And also – he was worried about one thought – they were going to the healers-magicians! God forbid he should catch the eye of one of these magicians. The village healer immediately identified his aura. However – he thought – who knows that he can control demons? And then the thought surfaced: "Idiot! Don't even think about catching their eye! They'll send you to the agara, start digging – they'll immediately figure out the demonologist, and then, then it could end badly!"
The duty sergeant appeared half an hour later. He handed the medic a small paper with the regimental seal, the medic beckoned to Ned, and a minute later they were rattling across the parade ground toward the gates of the base in a long wagon that resembled a ship under sail. It was being pulled by two old, shit-stained nags with matted fur and withers worn out by age. However, the load of the wagon was little different from its draft force - pale, shaking, hungover faces.
The doctor looked back at the boys and winked at Ned, saying:
- Look! It seems that Isfir sent this girl to us! Even you, a warrior, can't take out more than thirty soldiers at once! That's strength, that's a weapon! Why didn't you go after her yourself? You were with them, weren't you?
"It's disgusting…" Ned shrugged. "Who was she with before me?"
- As they say - you didn't find yourself in a garbage dump, did you? - the doctor chuckled - that's right, well done. Smart guy. If you want a woman - I'll tell you the address. There's a mother and daughter there, they're not professionals, they earn extra money - well, many people here earn extra money as they can - so they're clean, they take care of themselves. A little more expensive, of course, but it's safe. And they'll feed you to boot. And only idiots like that collect dirt in taverns.
"How far do we have to go?" Ned asked, to avoid the sensitive subject.
- Here's what you're talking about - the healer continued, ignoring the question - near the temple of Praion, diagonally across from his statue, there's a small house with green shutters, clean. Nelga and Osara live there, go and say - from Zheresar. They hide the fact that they earn extra money, but from me - they'll take it. If you want - both at once, or just one. I guarantee - both are clean, I check regularly. Remember - near the temple of Praion, Nelga and Osara! The house with the green shutters!
"Thank you, I remember," Ned nodded, slightly blushing. He felt uneasy, and again tried to change the subject:
- What, will the magicians cure the guys right away?
- Right away, that's what magicians are for - the healer nodded - they are on duty, so they are obliged to heal. We, ordinary healers, treat minor wounds and injuries, but medium and serious ones - we take them to them. You see, they don't want to work at the base. White bones! Not like us, black-assed ones! - the healer spat, roared in a bass voice at the freezing horses and slapped the reins - hey, damned ones, pick up the pace! After all, you're transporting relatives, the donkey-heads!
Zheresar laughed and fell silent, looking ahead. Ned was silent too. He was thinking about how much had fallen on him lately that his brain was splitting with new knowledge. Yesterday had taught him a lot too. Especially that behind a beautiful facade there can be such nastiness that it is impossible to imagine. You have to be very, very careful…