The Poppy War полностью

“Because Khurdalain is not a city that you can easily leave,” said Qara. “Most of the people here make their living from fishing or in the factories. There’s no agriculture out here. If they move further inland, they have nothing. Most of the peasants moved here to escape rural squalor in the first place. If we ask them to leave, they’ll starve. The people are determined to stay, and we’ll just have to make sure they stay alive.”

Qara’s falcon cocked its head suddenly, as if it heard something. When she walked forward several paces Rin could hear it, too: raised voices coming from behind the general’s compound.

“Cike!”

Rin cringed. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

General Jun Loran stormed down the alley toward them, purple-faced with fury.

“Ow-ow!”

By his side, Jun dragged a scrawny boy by the ear, jerking him along with brutal tugs. The boy wore an eyepatch over his left eye, and his right eye watered in pain as he tottered along behind Jun.

Altan stopped short. “Tiger’s tits.”

“Ramsa,” Qara swore under her breath. Rin couldn’t tell if it was a name or a curse in Qara’s language.

“You.” Jun stopped in front of Qara. “Where is your commander?”

Altan stepped forward. “That’d be me.”

“Trengsin?” Jun regarded Altan with open disbelief. “You’re joking. Where’s Tyr?”

A spasm of irritation flickered across Altan’s face. “Tyr is dead.”

“What?”

Altan crossed his arms. “No one bothered to tell you?”

Jun ignored the jibe. “He’s dead? How?”

“Occupational hazard,” Altan said, which Rin suspected meant that he didn’t have a clue.

“So they put the Cike in the hands of a child,” Jun muttered. “Incredible.”

Altan looked between Jun and the boy, who was still bent over by Jun’s side, whimpering in pain. “What’s this about?”

“My men caught him elbows-deep in their munitions stores,” Jun said. “Third time this week.”

“I thought it was our munitions wagon!” the boy protested.

“You don’t have a munitions wagon,” Jun snapped. “We established that the first two times.”

Qara sighed and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand.

“I wouldn’t have to steal if they’d just share,” the boy said plaintively, appealing to Altan. His voice was thin and reedy, and his good eye was huge in his thin face. “I can’t do my job if I don’t have fire powder.”

“If your men are lacking equipment, you might have thought to bring it from the Night Castle.”

“We used up all ours at the embassy,” the boy grumbled. “Remember?”

Jun jerked the boy’s ear downward, and the boy howled in pain.

Altan reached behind his back for his trident. “Let go, Jun.”

Jun glanced at the trident, and the side of his mouth quirked up. “Are you threatening me?”

Altan did not extend his weapon—to point his blade at a commander of another division would be the highest treason—but he didn’t take his hand off the shaft. Rin thought she saw fire flicker momentarily across his fingertips. “I’m making a request.”

Jun took one step back, but did not let go of the boy. “Your men do not have access to Fifth Division supplies.”

“And disciplining him is my prerogative, not yours,” said Altan. “Unhand him. Now, Jun.”

Jun made a disgusted noise and let go of the boy, who skirted away quickly and scampered over to Altan’s side, rubbing the side of his head with a rueful expression.

“Last time they hung me up by my ankles in the town square,” the boy complained. He sounded like a child tattling on a classmate to a teacher.

Altan looked outraged.

“Would you treat the First or Eighth like this?” he demanded.

“The First and Eighth have better sense than to root around in the Fifth’s equipment,” Jun snapped. “Your men have been causing nothing but trouble since they got here.”

“We’ve been doing our damn job!” the boy burst out. “You’re the ones hiding behind walls like bloody cowards.”

“Quiet, Ramsa,” Altan snapped.

Jun barked out a short, derisive laugh. “You are a squad of ten. Do not overestimate your value to this Militia.”

“Be that as it may, we serve the Empress just as you do,” Altan said. “We left the Night Castle to be your reinforcements. So you’ll treat my men with respect, or the Empress will hear of it.”

“Of course. You’re the Empress’s special brats,” Jun drawled. “Reinforcements. What a joke.”

He shot a last disdainful look at Altan and stalked off. He pretended not to see Rin.

“So that’s been the last week,” Qara said with a sigh.

“I thought you said everything was fine,” Altan said.

“I exaggerated.”

Ramsa peered up at his commander. “Hi, Trengsin,” he said cheerfully. “Glad you’re back.”

Altan pressed his hands against his face and then tilted his head up, inhaling deeply. His arms dropped. He sighed. “Where’s my office?”

“Down that alley to the left,” said Ramsa. “Cleared out the old customs office. You’ll like it. We brought your maps.”

“Thanks,” Altan said. “Where are the Warlords stationed?”