The Mist and the Lightning. Part 12. Ви Корс

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СКАЧАТЬ unclean masters of Marcus to give him on bail. He handed over his two slaves to the unclean for a while, with an agreement that Lis would soon give three red warriors for Marcus, and then the unclean ones would return the girls and take the red ones. And Marcus would be completely at the disposal of Nikto and Lis. Nikto took Marcus from his World, where time was running too slowly, and sent him to Amba’s house in the unclean district of the Black City. There, in a small basement closet, in darkness and loneliness, chained so that he couldn’t harm himself, barely able to move from a thin straw mat that served as his bed to a hole in the floor to meet his natural needs, on a meager ration, Marcus spent all this time, waiting for his fate to be decided. And now Nikto led him into the room on a chain. Marcus was completely naked. Naked, trembling, shaved bald, he moved on all fours, as befits a Demon’s slave. And he was wearing the attributes of slaves: gloves with heavy bracelets screwed on his wrists, a wide iron collar with a chain, and a mask closed with a lock at the back of his head.

      But Lis recognized him right away. Maybe because he saw him crawling in the same way, unable to stand up to his full height, in a low cage near Marg.

      “Marcus!” He said happily, quickly approaching them. He couldn’t see Marcus's face and his eyes, because the slits in the mask were literally a couple of millimeters wide. “Marcus! Do you remember me?”

      “Answer me,” Nikto ordered.

      And Marcus answered, barely audible, with fear in his voice:

      “Yes, my master, I remember you. You are a warrior, a commander.”

      “Yes,” Lis wrinkled his forehead. “He’s broken. You broke him, Nik.”

      Nikto just snorted:

      “He’s a slave.”

      “Take off his mask.”

      Nikto took out the key, unbuttoned the lock, removing the slave mask from Marcus. Marcus didn’t look up, the shameful tattoo was still prominent on his haggard face. And Kors, seeing what was painted on Marcus’ cheek, widened his eyes.

      “Here,” Nikto said, “your boy is fine. He was no longer disfigured as you feared,” he handed the chain to Lis. “Hold on, play, I don't really understand why you need it, and even for such a price, but if you want so much…”

      Lis looked at Marcus, and his face was no longer happy:

      “Couldn’t you have treated him more carefully?”

      “He is alive, Lis, he is a slave. What more do you want from me now? I didn’t touch him! He was not beaten or fucked! They kept him in a shackle just so that he would not lay hands on himself, and he was waiting for you.”

      “Like a toy in a box,” Lis said quietly.

      “What?”

      “Thank you, sir. Thanks for this gift.”

      Nikto grinned, content:

      “Like this.”

      The three of them looked at Marcus, because his too realistic, in the smallest detail, tattoo involuntarily attracted the eye, even if there was no desire to look at it. The cock was like a real one, and his head seemed to be pressed against the corner of Marcus’ lips. And Marcus, apparently realizing what they were looking at, shrank even tighter, his eyes filled with tears – to be sure, the unclean ones made fun of him. And its former owner clearly had some sense of humor.

      “Can this be removed?” Lis finally asked.

      “What for? In my opinion, it's beautiful,” Nikto answered, barely holding back a laugh.

      “He is a scientist!”

      “And what will he study here?”

      “He studies the flora and fauna of our world.”

      “What's this? Can he stir up drugs?

      “Flora are plants and fauna are animals,” Kors interjected with an explanation.

      “So what? Will he study animals?”

      “And were they caught? Have you got the bear?” Kors asked.

      “Yes,” Nikto nodded. “The unclean ones caught everyone, and put them in cages again. The unclean ones easily found them, they seem to smell them.”

      “Well, that's understandable,” said Kors.

      “So what are you going to do with the bear?” Nikto continued, looking at Lis. “Why study it? To train? If it doesn’t work out with the throne, will you be a wandering artist, driving around cities with a trained bear? Will you arrange performances?”

      Nikto looked at Lis with a grin, expecting his reaction, and he froze for a second, trying to cope with it, and then answered calmly:

      “Yes, of course, I will lose the army, I will command the bear. I'll paint my face like a jester, I'm no stranger, and I'll be a wandering artist. Can you borrow a bell into the nose?”

      “Lis…” Nikto hesitated. “If we don’t win, it seems to be useful to me. Excuse me for screwing you up.”

      “It's all right,” said Lis.

      Kors looked at them very seriously: both Lis and Nikto looked somehow unkempt, tortured. Lis was a little over thirty, and Nikto was even less, but the expression of their faces… Both of them were very scarred, broken, it was clear that they had gone through a lot – with a clear imprint of fatigue, they evoked ambiguous feelings. Lis would probably say they looked fucked up. Kors thought that this obscene word, unfortunately, fit perfectly there. He himself, although he was older, but his tongue didn’t turn to say that he “could be their father” – so impeccable Kors looked, well-groomed, taking care of himself and his appearance, a worthy representative of the true black race. A beautiful, clean face, without a single scar. The prideful posture of the born master was complemented by obviously tastefully selected expensive clothes.

      “What kind of mood are you in?” He said. “If we don’t win… but what should I do then?”

      “You will teach the bear decency,” Lis smiled sadly.

      “It would be better if you take less of your… hmmm… “restoratives” and alcohol, it's scary to look at you.”

      “Kors, I said to teach the bear, not us!” Lis coughed.

      “Alis, are you sick? What happened to you? Do you have tuberculosis?”

      Lis looked up at him gloomily, and this look explained everything without words.

      Kors’ face twisted.

      “I suspected all this time, but didn’t want to believe. This cough of yours… what's with Karina?!”

      “Nik said, I can't infect anyone yet. And he will heal me. So fuck off.”

      “He should have cured himself for a start! I'll talk to my doctor, find some good medicines for you!”

      “He cannot be given medicine,” Nikto intervened, “then bleeding will begin in the stomach so much that you cannot stop it.”

      “Yes…” Kors could hardly restrain himself from СКАЧАТЬ