Struggle. Taste of power - Владимир Андерсон

wouldn't let herself be drugged like the others… Did he know that? He knew it. So why didn't he take it into account?

His mind was beginning to clear of hatred and anger. Starting to become more objective. When he began to realize that he had allowed himself to do things he had no right to do, he relaxed, he got loose… There were times in his career when he had to retreat, change his mind or his plans, and only then go on the attack again. It seemed perfectly logical. But now the rank of Metropolitan had clouded his eyes… No, one must not make such mistakes. Even with the support of Nevrokh, even with an unspoken resource. No matter what surrounds him — must be in shape and ready to take any blow. And from anyone. And anywhere. And certainly in the cloister of the SSchekists…

How they stink. And everything that surrounds them…

Samoh noticed a train coming toward the administration building, and recognized it as his own, with a reinforced mid-car with a railing on the roof. He had indeed ordered them to arrive in the Deese sector when the work on the tracks was completed, but they should have arrived yesterday, and he thought he had simply missed the point. It turned out that the train had only arrived now, and this new mismatch of plans and reality had him stumped again. Where were the orders being carried out anyway? His orders? The Metropolitan's orders. The punishment drill has no idea how it controls the building. The train arrives when it wants to… One could assume someone made a mistake, was late, betrayed. But for everyone to do it at the same time. No, that's impossible. And there has to be some explanation.

The Inquisitor stepped away from the window and approached the door. Then he knocked threateningly several times. He knocked intermittently and very powerfully. He knocked intermittently and powerfully, so that it looked as if he were knocking someone who was ready to come out if he wanted to.

The door opened almost immediately. A secret police officer appeared, and another behind him.

— Do you require assistance, Your Eminence?

— You're the one who needs my help. Do you want blessing or excommunication?

— Your Eminence, we serve at your service and protect you, including as an important witness in a treason case. — Without blinking an eye, the one closest to him answered. It was obvious that they had been given strict instructions, rehearsed several times, and it would not work to try to browbeat them or to enlighten them in any way. They would fawn over him indefinitely and would not allow him to leave the room even one meter.

— Tell your mistress that either she will come here herself, or she will have no witness. — The inquisitor said firmly and slammed the door shut behind him, making the two S.S.C. officers a little uncomfortable. Let them know that he has physical strength too, you damned brats. They dare to make a fool of themselves in front of him.

It was beginning to get dark, and Samokh lit a kerosene lamp for himself. He put it on the table and sat down in front of it. The room was quite spacious, and there were two windows, facing two sides from different corners. But still the smell. That unbearable official odor of those lousy servants from SCK… After a couple of minutes the lamp was already smoking properly, and the vile smell was somewhat diluted by burning kerosene. Even so, it was better…

The door to the room opened and a foot stepped inside. The mantle of the Metropolitan was revealed, and in the walking shadows from the lamp Samokh recognized his colleague Guzokh in this plague. Having choked a little at first, Samokh jumped up from his chair and exclaimed in surprise:

— What the hell are you doing here?

— I came to see an old friend… — Guzokh was leaning on a long wooden staff and seemed to be barely moving his feet. — I suppose you have failed to find heresy here…..

— Why are you clowning around?! Help me get out of here. Call my chums from the Boer that came with me!

— Why call? — Guzokh settled on a chair near the entrance. Despite the simplicity and even a certain decrepitude of this piece of furniture, he didn't look inferior on it. On the contrary, he looked humble and unwavering at the same time, which was a bit surprising. — So that you, brother priest, would massacre this place?

— What is this heresy? Do you realize what you're saying? I'm locked up! By what right?

— Under secular law. What else… Why did you start saying such things about our holy patriarch? If it's true, you should testify in the case of state treason. And if not, you should resign as Metropolitan because you slandered His Holiness.

Guzokh sat so calm and at ease that one would have thought he had come to preach to a bunch of his favorite workers somewhere in a factory making flags and special symbols of the plague empire. His eyes were practically unblinking, and his breathing was very even. And expectant…

— So you're with them! — Samokh shouted. — You foul creature! You should be burned yourself!

— I serve the holy Church… But you, brother priest, seem to be confused about whom you serve… And yet, I will ask you again… Have you slandered the holy patriarch or are you ready to testify against him?

— I'm going to kill you! — Samokh lunged at Guzokh and tried to grab him by the robe with one hand, swinging with the other. Samokh drew back easily, and then swung his staff at him. There was a crack, and Samoh was on the floor, flying backwards. His mouth was salty with the taste of his own blood.

— Don't be so hot… — Guzokh said in a calm voice again. — I see that you are finally confused… Well, nothing.