The followers of the Mother of God, the holy elders, were called upon to support and strengthen everyone's duty to protect our fragile world from the world of magic and monsters. After being ordained at the Mother's Eye (bathing in a round font with icy water that is in each sanctuary), the novices become "enlightened and see the truth" and go to the settlements to bring the light of knowledge to men.
Here, in fact, all this I have told, if possible heartfelt. There is a blissful silence hanging in the disciple's room. I see, not before my story, but before the feat of the Mother Progenitor.
I looked closely at the inkwell for fear of raising my eyes on the curator. The silence was lingering. With my head raised indecisively, I was surprised to look at the man. I was surprised because I was sure the Lord of the Capital would now laugh all over Riverstein, such laughs beating the tap in his nutty eyes!
But, of course, it seemed to me. I don't think a curator from Starover could have made the Order's story funny. Naturally, Lord Darrell did not laugh, not even smile, but still silently, kept looking at me. I lulled, not knowing whether I could sit down or continue to stand, waiting for more questions.
- All right," he said, surlyly, and finally, "sit down.
I fell down on the shop, feeling my knees trembling. But, thank heaven, I'm a little behind today. In careful observation, I did not lift my eyes, but the whole skin felt the heavy look of the new curator, and this look became scary.
Chapter 7.
By lunchtime, Ksenia showed up at the refectory. Pale and weak, she did come and sat down next to me with a strong brush aside from the questions of the novices.
I cried out joyfully and hugged my friend. It immediately became easier and more fun, though I was not going to tell her everything yet, for fear of Xenia to get nervous. But it wasn't easy to get rid of my persistent girlfriend's questions, so I waved my hand and decided to tell her everything.
We buried ourselves in a small cubbyhole of the left wing, where we hid as children.
I started out reluctantly, "squeaky," but then I got caught up in the story, even doing some face painting. And all told her: about the dull snake Argard, the Black Earth, the call that tormented me, and the missing children. And even Danila and his "dreams."
Untrained Xenia listened to me surprisingly, silently, never interrupted me, only lips bit with anxiety.
In the last sentences, I was exhausted, suffocated and silent. Xenia still silently looked at the ring on my finger.
- Don't you think I'm crazy? - I complained, I asked.
- Of course not," her friend was surprised, "and then... I remember my grandmother telling me strange fairy tales... or rather, I thought they were fairy tales. About magicians inhabiting our lands, about the magic that was spilled here and the wonderful creatures... perhaps not everything in these fairy tales is fiction. Anyway, I believe what's going on has to be dealt with.
- Yes, but how? - helplessly, I asked, what can we do?
Xenia patted me on the back.
- Let's not run in front of the mare, but we'll ride in a cart... somewhere and come. We need to find this Danila of yours and talk to him, maybe we can work something out. Now let's go to the penmanship before they rush to look for us. Oh, by the way, this horny guy, maybe he can share a little something with me, too. Aki rose will blossom too!
And we giggled together.
Xenya didn't go to class, she turned into Danina's closet. I was worried that I'd put it out to her, but I promised not to bother her... here's the pale, weak...
But a friend winked at me soothingly.
- Well, am I the one who's willing to learn? Never! I'd rather be sick!
But I've seen that Xenya feels bad, he's recovering slowly. Although, what I'm surprised is that it's been so little time, a few days. However, the conversation has made me feel better. The burden, divided into two, becomes twice as light. And if you count Danila, it's three. I was afraid to ask the herbalist about the guy, so she wouldn't worry, and how to explain her interest? And yet, why didn't he come? And will I be able to sneak out to the chapel today?
I went to my penmanship class without thinking of anything.
Mistress Bronegoda was remarkably absent-minded today, and it seems the arrival of the capital's curator has caused considerable confusion in Riverstein's measured life. The prioress dressed up. She had on her head a ceremonial cap, a lilac dress, a gentle face, and all sweet and heavy like molasses. Even suspicious.
As it turned out, my suspicions are not groundless. Only we laid out our notebooks on the tables and dipped the feathers in the inkpot, the door opened, and Lord Darrell appeared in his own person as a student. Sadly, I was the only one who was against his presence in class, though I kept it to myself. The other novices had noticeably revived, straightened their backs, and coquettishly inflated their sponges. For them, the most boring lesson had acquired an unexpected charm.
The only person in solidarity with me is Mistress Bronegoda. She didn't smile at all at the lesson under the scrutiny of the inspector. However, she had nowhere to go and began to dictate, grinding her teeth unhappy. The feathers slipped on parchment, the novices were recording, the curator seemed to have missed her. From time to time he walked between the rows, looking into our records and making the students nervous. I began to think that he was just having fun, watching as he approached, the students' hands began to shake finely and fat blots decorate notebooks and the surface of the table.
I myself have firmly decided that I will not give him such pleasure. So when the Lord stopped behind my shoulder, pushyly looking over him, I did not notice that I noticed it. Though it was very difficult not to notice the moving hair of breath over my ear, even with my eternal distraction.
I was focused writing, the curator was also focused nozzle to the back of my head.
No, it's still unbearable!
I couldn't stand it, I turned sharply, almost stuck my nose in his face. Green eyes with a squint looked skeptically at me. I got mad and stared at him. The Lord hummed, curled up and almost whistled, walking down the aisle.
And I was grimly looking at the giant blot that adorned my notes.
Mistress Bronegoda, who awaited the end of the class as much as I did, gave us the tasks for independent preparation in advance and let go with a sigh of joy. The novices reached for the exit, throwing flirty looks at the curator. He did not even look in our direction, tensely frozen near the window and looking into the distance.
However, as I hurriedly packed my notebooks and went to the door, Lord Darrell woke up from looking around, and in two steps he caught up with me and blocked my way.
- Mrs. Belogorskaya, - I was surprised to look at him.
Naughtinesses are not called that, most of us are not of high class. The same Xenia was born into a simple village family, like many other girls at the shelter. The rich and wealthy usually had relatives who were able to look after the orphaned children, as well as the remaining inheritance. We were approached simply by name, and after the initiation the name will be added to the title of "educator" or "abbess," depending on the path chosen. Doesn't the lord know about this?
- The novices are not called "mistress"? - I did.
The curator took a thoughtful look.
- Well... Vetrina... that's your name, isn't it? I'd like to ask you to show me Riverstein... won't that be a problem? So to speak... as the old-timers of this lovely establishment!
I thought he was making fun of me again. But the Lord's face was rarely serious. It occurred to me what he was asking me to do. He's asking, ha! Those like him only give orders, even if they put their words in the begging form.
I was confused, not knowing what to say. Fortunately, Mrs. Bronegoda intervened.
- Lord Darrell, if you'll excuse me, but I don't think it's...
- I forgive her, Mrs Bronegoda," the curator replied seriously and retreated, letting me through very eloquently. I had nothing left to do but go out the door, accompanied by the Lord
, leaving behind the baffled Prior.
In the corridor, I stopped in indecision.
- Which part of the building would you like to see, Lord Darrell? - I asked without raising my eyes.
- Shaider.
- I beg your pardon?
- My name is Schyder.
I stubbornly raised my chin.
- And yet... so what part of Riverstein should I show you? Lord Darrell?
Lord Darrell smiled. I was shivering. And, unfortunately, out of fear.
- At your discretion... Chickenpox. Though I think we'll start with the west wing.
I was astonished to jump in.
- But, Lord Darrell, the west wing is now abandoned, all living quarters, refectory, apprentice, all located in the east wing!
- Well, that's wonderful! - I don't know what the curator was delighted to see and confidently walked towards the abandoned wing, forcing me to splash from behind. It's not clear who's showing who the orphanage is. It seems to me that a man is perfectly oriented here even without me, at least to the left branch, has walked, not once lost. But the dark corridors of the shelter are very confusing and intricate.
The west hall greeted us with dust and cobwebs somewhere. Daylight shyly oozed through the long unwashed windows, lying on the floor in yellow shaking squares. I sneezed a couple of times, wiped my nose and froze scaredly, looking around. It was clear that there was nothing to see in the hallway.
The Lord had walked down the hall, leaving clear prints of his boots in the dust.
- It's a bit... untidy," I said in an apology tone.
- La, I noticed. - The curator turned sharply. I suppressed the desire to lose my temper. I was getting more and more nervous. Why did we come here? He's strange, this lord...
- Maybe we should go back. - I said. In the hall's bubbling emptiness, my voice sounded so miserable, it was embarrassing. Well, I'm not! He's not going to eat me. And I don't think he's gonna give me my maiden's honor. The shelter is full of nicer objects for passion. And more agreeable, too.
These thoughts have made me blush. And I blushed even more when I realized that the Lord had detached himself from the contemplation of the web hanging from the corners and was now looking at me very carefully. And the nastiest thing is, I'm sure he guessed from my crimson face what I thought! and his lips trembled in mockery.
Terribly embarrassing!
I took a bite of my lip and hung up my chin. I won't let him laugh at me! Let him be Lord three times and four times in the capital, and I won't let him laugh at me!
As if in response to my thoughts the draught flew down the corridor and slammed the hall door in a swing, sweeping up a cloud of dust.
I sneezed again.
The curator didn't take his eyes off me.
- Very strange... He muttered unexpectedly.
- Excuse me? - I asked angrily, and I was serious about getting out of here. Let him admire the beauty of this place! Right now I'm turning around and...
- Chickenpox. Tell me about yourself.
Such a simple question stopped me half a turn.
- What do you want to know, I was surprised.
- I was surprised. Who are your parents?
- I am an orphan, Lord Darrell. As is everyone at this orphanage!
- Yes, I understand. But before I got here... where were you born?
- I don't know who my parents are or where I come from, Lord Darrell. I was found by the Prior at Riverstein Gate thirteen years ago in a canvas shirt and a warm handkerchief. There were no recognisable emblems, signs or inscriptions on my clothes. They gave me about five years in appearance. And since no one came after me later, I stayed at the shelter. My memories begin with Riverstein. So, alas, I can't enlighten you on the subject.
All of that I burned dry and indifferently, not letting even the tiniest emotion get through to such an inconsequential story. I hope it will discourage him from asking questions.
But it seems the lord's tact was no different.
- And you've lived here all thirteen years?
- Yes, Lord Darrell.
- And your name? Who called you that?
No, he's certainly not in his right mind!
- The prioress gave me the name. They just listed the names that came to mind, and I answered. I don't know what's strange about it, I couldn't help it, it's not uncommon in the Borderlands.
- Yes, of course it is...
The Lord has frozen again, staring at me. I thought he was muttering something under his nose. Holy elders and Blessed Mother! Precisely said! How else can I explain such strange behavior?
I stared suspiciously at a man and carefully moved away from him. Okay, one step at a time. He didn't even notice. Then another one. And then another...
- Lord Darrell, are you sick? - I squeaked, may I run out and get some water? You know, we have very good water, spring water, it'll help you...
One more step... the main thing is to go to the door and jump out into the corridor, and there I'll give you a shit so that the demon will not catch up!
Two steps later, the man caught up with me and said almost funny:
- I'll certainly try your healing water, Vetryana! I'll try it right now! - and gallantly opened the door in front of me.
We came back in silence. The man was thinking hard about something, and I only dreamed of getting rid of his company. In the common hallway, I sighed a sigh of relief. Lord Darrell nodded at me, muttered that he would find his way, and went the other way quickly. I looked at him perplexingly and went to the refectory. In the end, the lords are lords, and lunch is on schedule.
I was almost late for the meal. When I came in, the novices were already arguing with spoons. I nodded affectionately to the flushed Avdottier, but it was as if she hadn't noticed. The cook was concentrating on something, glancing at the hall with her blind eyes and a canvas in your hand. A strange, crazy expression appeared on her face from time to time, followed by an equally strange smile.
I wouldn't go near her, I squeezed the barrel at the end table, sat down. Once again, I sat down on Avdotya. She was still smiling as she looked at the wall. If that goes on, Riverstein would have to be renamed the "shelter of the said and knocked". Who doesn't get poked, everybody's out of their mind.
No wonder they sent us the curator, as they say, the brother-in-law...
In an unwise word, a designated lord appeared at the door. The mad harpy was followed by the prioresses, pushing something against him, and even trying to block the Lord's way.
- Lord Darrell! - the voice of God, Lord Darrell. Believe me, you have absolutely nothing to look at here!!! I assure you! Everything, absolutely everything is in order...
- There's a wonderful lunch on the second floor for you..." Mrs. Bronegoda echoed her.
- You don't belong in the common refectory at all," Harpy sizzled.
The Lord was only swinging at them as if they were annoying flies.
The phenomenon of such a picturesque company at the refectory door caused an involuntary cough, ochs, and cramps from the wrong soup.
- Lord Darrell! - ...has already frankly woke up Beaujolais, an unimaginable breach of the rules...
- Really? What rules did I have to break, may I ask? - the man turned so sharply towards her that the Goddess, inertia, almost stuck her nose in his chest. It was an outrageous fact that made such a crushing impression on the Mistress that she shut up. Or she just bit her tongue on impact.
- But to dine in the common refectory? With the novices? It's...unimaginable! - furiously came to the rescue of Beaujolais Harpy. The rest of the prioresses threw their heads at each other.
The lord was thinking. The prioresses were quiet, waiting. The novices sat grabbing out their eyes. A spoon fell on one of the younger girls with a deaf knock. Everyone flinched.
- As I recall, His Majesty the Crown King of the Northern Kingdom, Amaron, gave me the right to be anywhere in Riverstein, at any time, taking any action I deem necessary," Lord Darrell melancholy
quoted. We have wandered amicably. In fact, the king has given Lord Darrell the right to own Riverstein with all its inhabitants. It's because our abbesses are so overwhelmed.
- So what exactly was the rule I broke, dear Mistresses?
The prioresses have turned pale. There was obviously nothing to complain about. And for the Lord, the ethical part of his behavior didn't seem to exist at all!
- ...but, um...
- By the way, the man drove his nose like a big dog - and what's that, I'm sorry, does it smell so... stink in here?
And he turned to us. I was sorry to sit at the end table with my lunch. The Lord looked suspiciously at the contents of my plate, took away my spoon, shamelessly interrupted, watching the rare pieces floating up to the surface, and wondered:
- What is it??
- A chowder, Lord Darrell," I replied humbly.
- Yes? What's it... is it?
- Uh... porridge, Lord Darrell!
- Oatmeal, that's how... what else do you have for lunch today?
- Anything else? - I was genuinely surprised. Oh, yes. More bread, of course!
- Well, how's that? Does it taste good?
My stomach rumbled eloquently, I blushed, eagerly looking at the plate. Why did he get attached? It's delicious, it's not delicious... whatever, it's hunting!
The man leaned on my gnawed edge and straightened himself out. He turned to the prioresses. I couldn't see his face, but he seemed to have made a lasting impression on the Mistress.
- Avdotya! - Harpy screamed, Avdotya! Come here!
The pale cook jumped out of her corner, swaying with frightened eyes.
- Avdotya! Will you explain what you have prepared for lunch today!
- As you always say, Mrs. Karislava! Everyone as you say! Here's some rye bread, with bran, a little moldy, but you've forbidden the horse, you said it would work... and here's a bread with a porridge, corn there, a little more oatmeal for satiety, and potatoes, even though you did not tell me to, it's me, it hurts girls are skinny, forgive the fool... do not ruin!
On her face frozen martyrdom expression and awareness of his own dashing outrage by adding to the soup of banned potatoes.
The Wind of the North Page 10