Fly Hunter: The Story of an Inquisitor - страница 8

There were few papers, and those that interested Aman-Jalil were nonexistent, but he timed it so that he could finish with them only late in the evening. And then he immediately expressed a desire to leave for another vilayat.

– "Such perfect order, I swear by my father. I could have stayed away. But you understand, sardar, orders are not discussed. They are only executed. Quickly executed… Forgive me for bothering you, respected one…"

But Sardar Kareem, as willingly as we fall into a trap set for us, insisted that Aman-Jalil and his companion spend the night:

—"I won't let you go. It's dangerous at night in the mountains, I warned you, they shoot… You are our honored guest, can we allow anything to happen to you… And they haven't told you the news yet…

—What news?.. Just rumors: 'The Beard' has split from his old wife, the battle companion who went through all the underground in the Serra mountains with him…

—It can't be… 'The Beard'… Married a young one?

—He didn't marry. He lives with two young cousins. Loose women with such improper surnames that even to repeat them would dirty the tongue… Nadir – your friend?..

—The only one! – Sardar Kareem's smile broadened.

—Nika is highly esteemed by Iosif Besarionis… It's amazing that Sardar Kareem is so modest. Think about it, huh, why not move to the Emir's palace? The capital is not a district center…

—Which palace? – Sardar Kareem laughed happily. – My scoundrels would overrun any palace…

—They have marble toilets with golden toilets…

—What is that?

– What's this, I don't even know, heard it around town: seems like it's a toilet, but one you'd want to live in…

– Wow, what a life is coming. In two years it'll reach us too, we'll live like people…

Sardar Kareem had no desire to rush to the capital, even though his friend Nadir held an honorary position in the palace and invited him over. Nadir owed him his life; during a battle, Ali shielded Nadir from a point-blank shot, and now the bullet-scarred bone ached in damp weather. Kareem felt he belonged where he was, the most content man alive, yet the war with Ahmed drained him of strength and health: Ali couldn't stand by as Ahmed plundered the entire region and replaced old seasoned fighters, whom Sardar Kareem had fought alongside in the mountains, with his sycophants and freeloaders… Ali's naive soul saw goodness and loyalty in everyone, ideals they had fought for over the years in the harsh conditions of the Serra mountains, where their leader, the brave hero Kareem, had supported everyone with his courage in the darkest hour, when Renka's forces tried to storm the main rebel base. Kareem painted pictures of a bright future: justice and love would reign in the land, once they expelled the exploiters (a word Ali had been practicing for a week, still pronouncing it syllable by syllable), turning all wastelands into gardens, draining swamps, demolishing prisons to build palaces in their place "…with golden toilets. The boy told the truth. Ahmed sent it mockingly, checking to humiliate his enemy, undoubtedly."

After Kareem's death from a brain fever, power unexpectedly passed to Iosif Besarionis. "The struggle continues!" he declared firmly. He needed the struggle, he hadn't yet held the entire country in his chubby little hands… The diminutive men filled ministries, flooded party and administrative apparatuses; the shorter the stature, the greater the ambition. They began inventing enemies, a bottomless barrel: no matter how much you pour in, it never fills; one enemy begets another, and merely proclaiming "enemy!" demands proof, such frightful times.