X X X
Ashinik returned to the construction in three days and Bemish was very happy since it was quite difficult to manage things without him. Bemish happened to send Ashinik to villa several times for important papers or with some orders and Ashinik always drove there with a visible delight.
Soon Inis appeared in Bemish's office again as a secretary and Ashinik's frequent trips to the villa came to an end. Ashinik and Inis were quite a bit younger than Terence Bemish — she was seventeen, he was twenty — but Bemish just didn't notice how Inis' blushed when his young deputy entered the company director's office and how often Ashinik and Inis ate together in the company cafeteria or in one of the port's restaurants that had grown around like mushrooms.
Although, Terence Bemish declared at his first meeting with Inis some words about the freedom of will, in reality this freedom of will extended only as far as him making Inis his secretary — while Inis was a nice and kind girl, blindingly bright she was not. Bemish was quite happy when she handed him a clean shirt and socks in the morning, excellent coffee at noon and spent nights in his bed — when, of course, the Assalah company head was not having fun in a capital bordello or at a high rank official reception that would usually come to an end in the same bordello.
Bemish took as good care of her as he did of expensive house furniture but he knew that nothing better than a secretary could come out of Inis — a nice pleasant girl with a warm heart and, let's admit it, not a very smart head. And Terence Bemish assigned automatically any unintelligent person to a place at the very bottom of his rating list.
X X X
The next week, Trevis visited the construction. The meeting had been planned a while ago and had nothing to do with the zealots' affair but Trevis probably heard something during the flight. His first question upon arrival was,
"Terence, what's going on here? They say that you appointed some zealot to be your deputy?"
"Let me introduce Ashinik to you," Bemish said.
Ashinik bowed. Trevis stared at the youth.
"Do you consider me a demon?" Trevis inquired.
"I am not familiar with you," Ashinik answered seriously, "But what I've heard about you makes me think that a lot of people would call you a demon and you wouldn't take an offence at this name anyway."
Trevis laughed out.
"Well, even if you are a zealot, at least you are not crazy," he said.
X X X
On the eighteenth, Bemish spoke to the sovereign Varnazd. It happened the following way.
Bemish collected quite a number of papers requiring Shavash's signature and he arrived to the capital in person bringing the papers and gifts with him. He was told that Shavash was in the palace and he would be there till morning. Bemish went to the palace. He entered without an issue.
Umpteen pavilions and inner yards and the gardens breathing with freshness were so unexpectedly beautiful that Bemish, tired of the banging concrete blocks and of all the filth of his huge construction, forgot everything walking thoughtlessly amidst the dancing gods and pompously cackling peacocks. Suddenly somebody called him out of a carved gazebo.
"Mr. Bemish!"
Bemish turned around and came closer trying to recall where, out of all the endless receptions, he saw this young official with a nice and uncertain face and eyebrows pulling upwards like a sparrow's tail.
"Don't you recognize me?" the official asked smiling.
"Oh, my sovereign," Bemish exclaimed, going down on one knee, "How can one not recognize you?!"
The sovereign pointed Bemish to a woven chair deep in the gazebo. Bemish sat in the chair and pushed the paper folder behind his back.
"I wanted to ask you," the sovereign continued, "What is "unfathomable?"
"What?" Bemish was astounded. The sovereign picked a volume lying in front of him and read, stretching the vowels slightly.
Unfathomable sea, whose waves are years,
Ocean of time, whose waters of deep woe,
Are salted with the salt of human tears…
Bemish lowered his eyes looking at the front page — it was Percy Bysshe Shelley.
"Ah," Bemish said, "Unfathomable means bottomless. It's a poetic word. I don't think anybody would need it now."
"Yes," the sovereign nodded, "A lot of poetic words disappeared from your language. But numerous abbreviations appeared, didn't they?
Bemish nodded.
"It's a pity," the sovereign said, "that they don't translate your old books. They translate dictionaries and manuals but not Shelley."
"Do you like Shelley?" Bemish asked with trepidation to maintain the conversation, even though the only Shelley he had read was a certain A.D. Shelley, one of the co-authors of a book Assembling Radiowave Beacons on Geostationary Orbits in Order to Correct the Spaceship's Trajectory in the Proximity of Planets."
"Yes," the sovereign said, "Reading him I understand that we and Earthmen are very much alike. Or we were alike. You know this representation of time that brings downfall to the best and the proudest, goes backwards…"
The sovereign paused.
"Were you looking for someone?" he said suddenly, nodding at the folder a corner of which was sticking out of the armchair.
"Yes, I was looking for Shavash. I need his signature."
"Maybe I could sign something here? I am sure you don't have anything… reprehensible."
Sovereign Varnazd smiled shyly saying these words and Bemish had an unpleasant feeling. What does he mean, "anything reprehensible?" Does he mean that Bemish is not a swindler? Or that all the filth doesn't touch the papers?
"So would you like me to sign anything?"
Bemish hesitated. On one side, two papers indeed required the sovereign's signature — he would have to wait three weeks to get it. On the other hand, what if Shavash gets displeased? He will think that Bemish crept into the garden, found the sovereign behind the Shavash's back, told him God knows what, left Shavash without rightly earned gifts and, to conclude, acted improperly.
Bemish raised his eyes. The Emperor suddenly smiled bitterly and spoke. "I am sorry. I know that my signature doesn't mean much but I often forget that it can also cause damage."
Oh, my God! — Bemish was astonished — he understands everything! But why…
"I would like to do something nice for you," the sovereign said.
"You… I have seen some of your paintings. May I see others?"
The sovereign smiled.
"Let's go."
In five minutes, they passed through the sovereign's bedroom into a light room with eight corners. The guards gaped, if any Earthmen — Van Leyven or Nan — had found themselves in the guarded halls, at least, it had happened a long time ago.
Bemish wasn't mistaken — the sovereign's Varnazd drawings were wondrously good. He probably wasn't a genius painter, he likely followed one of the old masters — every single drawing was done in a traditional manner with light watercolors, slightly faded from the beginning, — and there was something sad and defenseless in all of them, something that resonated surprisingly well with the face of the sovereign of Great Light Country. "I wouldn't hire him even as a department head," Bemish thought.
Bemish stopped for a long while in front of a certain drawing. It depicted a view out of a window — probably a palace one, judging by a curled frame corner — a view of a winter garden. Huge wet snow sheets pushed dry flowers to the ground, four commoner gardeners looking like sparrows with ruffled feathers, were starting a fire in the middle of a large black clearing. A forlorn spear was poised behind the fire. It was clear that the painter felt bad for these people but he thought that he couldn't change anything. It was winter coming year after year. Unfathomable sea whose waves are years…
"Well," the sovereign Varnazd said, "Which one do you like the most?"
Bemish pointed at the drawing with the gardeners at the fire.
"What else?"
Bemish picked another one.
"You have an excellent t
aste," the sovereign said. "These are the best."
"Have you painted them a while ago?"
"Yes, it was seven years ago when I was a Khanalai's prisoner. These are my guards. Do you see the spear?"
Bemish paled. Yes, sovereign Varnazd was a Khanalai's prisoner seven years ago and not just a prisoner — Khanalai did everything but starved him, wiped his fingers at Varnazd's hair during his feasts, and just waited for the full victory to execute an unworthy emperor…
"It's possible that to draw well, you have to suffer. I had a reason then to pity myself."
"You seem not to pity yourself," Bemish dared. "You seem to pity the peasants that guard you."
They left the eight cornered room for a terrace. A light armchair with a golden head and spreading wings at the sides — it seemed to be flying — stood next to the balustrade and several foot stools stood next to it. The sovereign sat in the armchair and showed Bemish to a stool. They sat down, the sovereign paused and asked.
"They write in your newspapers that I should have a parliament elected and transfer the power to the people — that is, they say, the only way to manage corruption and power abuse. And my officials keep pointing out that the people are poor, lost and embittered and that there are a lot of underground sects in the country. If only rich are allowed to vote, a rebellion will fire up and if everybody is allowed to vote, crazy zealots will make one half of parliament and the officials bribed by the criminals — another half. They also say that an assembly can rule only during easy times, and one man should rule during uneasy times. It is in assemblies' nature to think slowly and in the uneasy times one has to make fast decisions and any slow decision in uneasy times will be a wrong one. What do you think?"
Bemish felt uncomfortable sitting on a gilded perch — he wasn't a parrot, was he? He stood and said.
"I think that one can always find a thousand reasons why democracy is not good. And I think that all these reasons are untrustworthy. I don't think that people are as stupid as unscrupulous politicians picture them and I bring you my apologies, sovereign, but I am sure that it is more difficult to fool a million of stupid commoners than one smart emperor."
Varnazd paused.
"When I was Khanalai's prisoner, I thought a lot about it. I thought that my own errors caused the civil war and the worst of it was that it wasn't really my fault. It's just that if everything depends on one person, the officials around him want to solve all their problems by fooling this person and they, of course, succeed. And I decided that one man shouldn't rule the country because perfect sovereigns don't exist and only the sovereigns who consider themselves be perfect, exist."
Bemish grinned.
"I apologize, sovereign, but it's not really evident that you have chosen this way."
"I was talked out of it," Varnazd said, "By the Earthmen — Nan and Van Leyven. They started arguing that an election would cause anarchy, that the people would consider it to be a shame and a concession to the Earthmen who forced their decisions on the freed emperor, that even Khanalai realized that the Empire of Great Light existence was based on worshipping God-king while an elected assembly would be despised, not respected. It may all be correct, but the real reason was that Nan and Van Leyven knew it would be easier for them to rule in my name than in an elected assembly's name. Yes, they talked me out of it."
"I don't think so," Bemish said. "You let yourself be persuaded. You had shrunk away from power when you hadn't had it, but when you got it back you didn't really want to refuse it."
Bemish expected anger or an emotionless "no" but the sovereign lowered his head suddenly and tears showed at his eyelashes.
"It's so strange," Varnazd said. "I told myself what you've just said many times. And now you told me the same words and I am ready to hate you for it."
And he flapped his sleeves.
"Where is it, my power? You are even afraid to get your papers signed, the same ones that Shavash will bring tomorrow for my signature! You are afraid that Shavash will suspect you conniving something and will not let you use the papers signed by me! And you and Shavash are friends!"
"Sovereign," Bemish said, "if you understand everything, why do you act this way? Why wouldn't you set an election day?"
"Do you know," Varnazd asked, "who will become the Empire's first minister after the election?"
Bemish shrugged his shoulders.
"Shavash! I don't believe that my people will elect a zealot or a fool! They will elect a smart man. Shavash will bribe everybody and everybody will like him, he will even find a path to the zealots' hearts using his spies — but while I am alive, Mr. Bemish, I will not allow Shavash to rule my people. We don't have a god similar to your Satan but believe me, if we did, Shavash would be his son."
Before leaving Bemish, the sovereign Varnazd suddenly brought his guest to a pavilion where the paintings drawn the previous centuries hung. The paintings covered the wall like a spotty carpet — like an iconostasis — small marble altars, braziers and gold basins with fresh pine branches floating in them, stood in front of the most beautiful paintings.
Bemish saw a girl and a dragon immediately — an altar stood in front of it — and Bemish thought worriedly whether the brazier smoke harmed the drawing or, to the contrary, protected it.
"I would like to give it to you," the emperor said. Bemish bowed.
"Your Eternity, I can't accept such a gift."
"But I would like you to!"
"A man was killed because of this painting. It will always remind me about his death."
"Who was he?"
"It was my headman, Adini. The man, who swapped the original and the copy, following Shavash's orders."
Bemish hesitated, considering whether he was going to say something that would be taken as an affront, and finished.
"I would prefer the gardeners around a fire."
The sovereign didn't give Bemish the gardeners, of course. Two days later, he however bestowed a watercolor to the Earthman that depicted mermaids, imps and people in a dancing frenzy around a fire soaring to the sky. The colors were painfully bright, the people's pupils narrowed from the blinding light and the fire itself was formed by a circle of the intertwined transparent snakelike demons. One of the guests whispered to Bemish with a smile that somewhere around fifth century, the god of wealth secret worships had been depicted in such a way.
Terence Bemish had an overcoat, that such gifts were supposed to be accepted in, put on his shoulders and he kneeled and kissed the emperor's hand and the golden brush attached to the roll's right corner.
The very fact, that the emperor bestowed one of his own paintings to a man from the stars, brought forth many rumors — Terence Bemish was the first man born on the sky that received such a gift. The whispers started that the foreigner would soon be offered a Chakhar governor or a minister of finance position but better informed people shook their heads and said that nobody would change a bill prohibiting people from the stars from taking Empyreal appointments — this bill had been designed specially to kick Nan out of the country.
X X X
The day that Bemish spent talking to sovereign Varnazd, his first deputy Ashinik spent at the new site A-33. The place was barely developed — a tractor path wove in the middle of it but it was enough to step ten meters away to see birds fluttering out of the grass and lizards presenting their green back to the sun on the spotty rocks. When lunch time came, the workers climbed in a jeep and drove to the cafeteria. Ashinik wanted to spend some time alone. He walked up a sunlit hillock, sat on the grass and uncovered a rug his lunch was wrapped in — two flatbread pieces with sheep cheese and butter.
Somebody settled down on the grass next to him. Ashinik turned around. Near him, a man sat in a rough hay overcoat and a yellow repairman belt — it was not a repairman, however, but a man named Yadan. Yadan was the very same zealot that had taught Ashinik and raised him to the third level. Yadan was not the head of the zealots, there was one man above him who was not supposed
to be called by his name and whom everybody called White Elder. White Elder was not a nickname — it was a position. If the White Elder died, Yadan would become the White Elder. Yadan was the most uncompromising Earthmen's opponent in the sect and he was the second in its hierarchy.
"Good day, Ashinik."
"Good day, teacher. Why didn't you say that you wanted to see me? It's dangerous for you to come here. What if somebody identifies you?"
"Why is it dangerous? I thought that this is the safest place in the whole Empire for me. Isn't everybody working at the construction devoted to us?"
"What can you require from simple peasants, teacher? It's easy to tempt a man with a high salary and a thick bun and this demon Giles stuck his steel eyes everywhere and watches me all the time. All that he wants is to use me to catch a big fish that will feed demons' Intelligence and that Shavash will enjoy."
Ashinik was saying these words mechanically squeezing the unwrapped rag with a bun and cheese in his hand. He felt fear shoving its sticky fingers in his heart. What will Yadan ask from him? The teacher's voice didn't promise anything pleasant. He will be punished now… Why? What rules has Ashinik broken? He always followed all rituals and customs carefully. An evening hasn't passed yet without Ashinik calling the workers in for a brief prayer, a morning hasn't passed without him getting out of the bed and splashing his left shoulder with water… And still Ashinik's heart fluttered….
"You are afraid," Yagan said unexpectedly. "Why are you shaking, Ashinik?"
Ashinik was silent.
"Oh, I am sorry my lad, that I am asking such a stupid question," Yadan spoke suddenly. "It's difficult to live amidst demons and not be afraid, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course."
They were silent for a moment. Yadan, dry and rangy, stared at the uprooted patch and a covered with clay excavator immobilized at a huge foundation pit.
"I am hungry," Yadan spoke suddenly.
Ashinik hurriedly broke the bun in half.
"Hola, my lad!" the zealot said quietly. "Do you eat demons' food already?"
Ashinik looked at the bun in horror.
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