"Christopher, John - Tripods 03 - The Pool of Fire 2.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Christopher Barbara)

"They may not lie," Beanpole said, "but they do not always tell the full truth, either. He said he was opposed to slavery. What about the plan to turn our air into the choking green gas they breathe? Has he said anything about being opposed to that?"

"He's never said anything at all about it:"

"But he knows about it: they all do. He has not spoken of it because he does not know that we know. He may be not quite as bad as some of the others, but he is one of them. They have never had wars. The loyalty they have to their own kind is something which we probably do not understand any more than they can understand the way we fight among ourselves. But if we do not understand it, we must still reckon with it. And we must use every weapon we can against it. If this involves putting him to some discomfort-if it involves killing him-that is not so important. Only one thing is important: winning the struggle."

I said, "You do not need to remind me."

Beanpole smiled. "I know. Anyway, his food will be normal next time. We do not want to kill him if we can help it. There is more chance of his being useful to us if he remains alive:'

"Not much sign of it so far."

"We must keep trying."

We had been sitting out on the ruined seaward battlement of the castle, enjoying an afternoon of still air and pale wintry sunshine; the sun was on orange disk dropping toward a haze-filled western horizon. The peace was interrupted now by a familiar voice, bawling from the courtyard behind us.

"Parker! Where are you, you useless lump of awkwardness? Here! And at once, I tell you."

I sighed, and prepared to stir myself. Beanpole said, "Ulf is not getting too much for you, I hope, Will."

I shrugged. "It would be all the same, if he were: '

He said, "We want you and Fritz as Ruki's attendants because you are both used to them, and so are better at noticing anything strange and reporting it. But I do not think Julius realized how much friction there would be between you and Ulf."

"The friction you get," I said, "between a log of wood and a saw. And I am not the saw."

"If it is too difficult . . . it would be possible for you to be transferred to other duties:"

He said it diffidently, as much as anything else, I think, because he did not wish to emphasize his own higher status-that he could in fact arrange something like this.

I said, "I can put up with him."

"Perhaps if you did not make such a point of doing just that . . :"

"Doing what?"

"Putting up with him. I think it makes him angrier."

I was astonished. I said, with some indignation, "I obey orders, and promptly. What more can he ask?"

Beanpole sighed. "Yes. Well, I'd better be getting back to work myself, anyway."

I had noticed one difference between Ulf of the Erlkonig and the one who now made my life a misery at the castle. The old Ulf had been a drinking man: the whole business of Beanpole and me leaving the barge had started when he did not return on time and his assistant suspected that he had gone drinking in one of the town's taverns. Here he did not drink at all. Some of the older men would take an occasional nip of brandy, against the cold as they said, but not he. He did not even drink the beer, which was a more common drink, or the rough red wine that was served with our dinner. At times I wished that he would. I felt it might help to sweeten his temper a little.

Then one day a messenger from Julius came to the castle. I have no idea what message he brought, but he also carried with him a couple of long brown stone jars. And it seemed that he was an old acquaintance of Ulf's. The jars contained schnapps, a raw colorless spirit which was drunk in Germany and which, it seemed, he and Ulf had often drunk together. Perhaps it was the unexpected sight of an old friend which weakened Ulf's resolution, or perhaps it was just that he preferred schnapps to the drinks that had been available in the castle. At any rate, I noticed the two of them sitting together in the guardroom, a jar between them and a small tumbler in front of each. I was glad to have Ulf distracted by anything, and happily kept out of the way.

In the afternoon, the messenger went on again, but he left the remaining jar with Ulf. Ulf was already showing signs of intoxication-he had not bothered to eat anything at midday-and he broached the second jar and sat drinking on his own. He appeared to have settled into a melancholy mood, not talking to anyone and seemingly not noticing much of what was going on around him. This was, of course, very wrong in a guard commander, though it might be said in his defense that the only conceivable danger to the castle were the Tripods and that things anyway had settled into a routine in which we all knew our duties and carried them out. For my part, I was not concerned either with censuring or finding justification for him, but simply glad of the absence of his raucous voice.

It had been a dark day, and light left the sky early. I prepared Ruki's meal-a porridgelike mess, more liquid than solid, from ingredients supplied by the scientists-and crossed the guardroom with it on my way to the corridor leading to his cell. The natural light in the guardroom came from a couple of windows, high up and now shaded by dusk. I could only just make out the figure of Ulf, behind his table, with the jar in front of him. I ignored him, but he called to me, "Where d'you think you're going?"