“Gada Samapti’s seen more folks comin’ thru inna last three months than
in the three years, Amir,” Pouyah, the senior man on station, said, setting
down his cup. Dukir drank his down and
refilled both their glasses with his bottle of spiced raki.
“Just Isfahsalar, old friend. We’re
off duty. The pup an’ his nose-bleed
high betters ‘r all bedded down.”
“He’s comin’ along.”
“Ya. Not sleepin’. All sittin’ in their bedrolls, reading them pages yeh pulled off
that LIN thing.” Dukir put his hand on the stack of pages he’d culled out of the saved
pile. It was so novel a thing, to have
new things to read every day, the Milar had come across with fibre and the
river was right there, even at the height of hell season. “This... is havin’ them Milar come
across? Fer news from Lainz?”
“Oh, aye. Every day. Sending a clerk from their village office 'n everybody gettin' tah read 'em. Letters. Dark man, if yeh know the box number yeh kin
get a letter from a courier in Milar tah ass end o’ Trovi in less ‘n four days
turnaround! The Milar want it. They want
boxes o’ their own. Central Viltari news
o’ their own. Dark, when thet news came
out about the surdeniliarch hidin’
some Lainz feller and them marryin’ him... Thet was him, Kyrus Talain, wern’t it?”
“Yes. But how...”
“I saw im durin’ the war. He were m' commandin' Amir.
Armoured up like now, veiled. But
he carries his-self same. An’ some-un
drew a weddin’ pic and sent it down by courier.
We boxed it. It’s all over ‘t
Empire. Kyrus Talain not dead. Kyrus Talain a man lover. Kyrus Talain’s a Milar prince, married in tah
the gov’mnt.”
“Hmmm. Not quite like that. But people must be talkin’.”
“Oh, ay. Talkin’ an’ boxin’. Some people wanna rip ‘is liver out. Some say it’s grand.”
“An’ yerself, kapikulu?” Dukir lifted the refilled glass up under his
veil and sipped. The room was spinning
with the sudden overwhelming information, instead of spinning from the
raki. Not that he’d ever gotten drunk
while in another persona. Faked it
perhaps, but... oh, Diryish, this tek has
thrown everything we knew into total chaos.
EVERYONE can express their opinion, if they have this box thing. It’s not an Empire... its a wild plunge into...
into Milar arm-waving, eardrum shattering sensibilities. Information.
That everyone can pass around to anyone.
Not limited to the few who have enough owner deenay to be able to access
the equipment.
The ‘kulu snorted and slammed his empty glass on the table, waving at
Dukir to refill it. “If yer jess
Isfahshalar, then I’m jess plain ol’ Pouyah!
Heh. Talain saved m’ life on teh
field. Tol’ thet general to shove his
orders up his cloaca hisownself in the hell of bein’ overrun... pulled us outen
there and got us to retreat to where we could hold. General Kelke... brother in law of that Basserus bastard, got
cut inta collups. Wouldn’t retreat.”
“So...?”
The old man waved genially and picked up his glass. “He’s a good ‘un. Don’ know but glad he’s comin’ clean. Clear out some’ut lies and sand-sheets inna
govermn’t. Clean up ‘teh Asses. Even if y’all r’ Rasheem... yah still
know. Rot spreads and gets cut. Time fer some cuttin’ and he kin do
that. I seed it.” His hand closed around
the cup and he thumped the fist on the table splashing raki around. “Not fer me tah say, but ifn’ His Shiniest
wants tah write tah everybody, everyday... he kin here from everybody,
everyday! Like the Milari. M’wife explained it and it makes sense... now
we kin. Wit’ these boxes. ‘n Hisownself give em! So His ownself must wanna hear what us Asses
got tah say, hey?”
“Yer right friend Pouyah. Who knew what hisownself were thinking.” What in
the endarkened, frozen, hells of vacuum were you thinking, Diryish? This... this is going to be madness!
No comments:
Post a Comment