Chapter 11 Goodness, Justice, and the Smile of Fate (3)
Most frustrating of all was that just a few days ago, I myself wasn't much different from the ridiculed revolutionaries. Yes, I, just like now, feared and hated Marcus and his cronies, but at the same time, I believed that he, like us, was acting for the good of the Empire and its citizens.
Understanding how hard we were fucked — and with our own consent! — it just made me incredibly angry.
"Well, to hell with them!" I shook my head irritably. "Both of them. I won't let those bastards ruin my appetite. What did one of the minor characters in Shakespeare's play say? ‘A plague on both your houses!'"
"Only mass executions can save the Fatherland," I muttered quietly to myself before popping the last cookie into my mouth. I had talked up my appetite for nothing; it was quite unshakable. After training on death row inmates, "the monster in my stomach" couldn't be affected by the sight and smell of freshly disemboweled belly, accompanied by the screams of its owner, let alone some thoughts.
Nothing could stop a good little witch-girl from enjoying her treats!
"What?" the elderly man focused his gaze on me, coming out of his own memories.
"If each new official took a seat made from the skin of their corrupt predecessor, the Empire would look different," I said, dismissively.
"Ahem, yeah ..." Brain drawled thoughtfully, still in his thoughts. Reaching out his hand to the bowl of almond cookies and finding an emptiness there, he turned his gaze to the half-empty container from under the cakes, which, like the cookies, had been moved away from the raking hands ahead of time. "Ahem, a very unexpected position for a young lady."
"Don't pay attention, just thinking out loud," I waved it off. But the hotel owner, who was obviously bored and loved to talk, did not miss the excuse, dragging me into a dialogue (rather a monologue) on the topic "how to improve the Empire".
Brain turned out to be a fervent supporter of Prime Minister Chouri's policies and the previous Emperor. Listening to his descriptions of their planned reforms was interesting, but he described his views with such insistence and in rosy colors that it became annoying. On the one hand, he wanted the reforms that the authorities were supposed to carry out (aha, apparently, Prime Minister Onest owed him a lot), and on the other hand, he considered it necessary to put the "suppressors of people's freedoms" on a short leash, as the wise father of the current ruler did (right, who needs the police and special services in turbulent times?).
Subtle attempts to remind him of the rebels who, by the way, should be fought, were casually brushed aside. You see, the conscious public should join the progressive movement on their own, and the "young lady," due to her youth, simply couldn't comprehend this. He said it with such aplomb that it made me want to slam his face against the table a couple of times. Just to bring him to his senses. Why bother starting a conversation if you're not willing to consider the other person's opinion? A bit hurt, I hinted euphemistically, driven by emotions, at how the attempt at reform without relying on intelligence agencies had ended for the parents of the current petty ruler.
At this point, the conversation came to an end. The hotel owner clearly wasn't eager to delve into dangerous topics, and I, realizing my mistake, bit my tongue, not voicing anything beyond innuendos.
"If they come looking for me, tell them I went out to get some fresh air and will be back soon."
"It's not safe to stroll around here after sunset, especially in the eastern districts. You could be accosted by beggars or even bandits," the graying man looked at me with some concern.
"All the worse for them."
Stepping onto the cobblestone streets, I sighed.
"Ugh, annoying guy."
In general, the hotel owner seemed like a decent person, and my antipathy stemmed from a clash of personalities. However, the irritation from that encounter didn't go away. Despite my memory of my past life and the rigorous training in my current one, I was just fourteen years old, and it showed. Although, to be fair, it was worth noting that the memory of an Earthling used to freely expressing themselves with words was more of a hindrance in this case.
"I should have left as soon as the food was gone instead of pretending to be a political expert," I thought ruefully as I walked along the road.
The approaching twilight cast shadows over the neglected local streets. Even without the heightened spiritual vision, I could easily tell that these were tough times for this neighborhood. Some of the street lamps were broken, the greenery looked neglected, and the facades of some houses were crumbling. And the smell of manure was stronger than it should have been in places where the streets were supposed to be cleaned regularly.
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Observing this scene of decay, restrained by those who, for some reason or another, couldn't leave this cursed area, I returned to the topic of the death of the previous Emperor.
In fact, the theory of poisoning the imperial couple (and, if you believe the manga canon, the real reality) was quite popular in the revolutionary circles. Representatives of one of the cells introduced me to it almost at the beginning of my career.
Naive people! I chuckled softly, recalling that mission. Back then, the rebels cleverly combined their base and an underground printing press under the guise of a poetry lovers' club. It was quite an original cover. However, judging by the predominantly intellectual faces, lackluster combat skills, and the fact that many of the insurgents, instead of fighting or fleeing, were trying to "light the hearts with words" of those killers who came for their heads, the disguise was not such a disguise.
They preached so passionately about how we served an usurper and the murderer of the previous Emperor, as if they believed that a group of teenage assassins would instantly be converted and rush to overthrow the "tyranny of the scoundrel Onest and his clique."
"Amusing," I smiled at a scruffy-looking man who was purposefully walking towards me. For some reason, he veered off course and pretended to walk past me.
Of course, the police and intelligence agencies did their best to combat the rumors and their spreaders who were deemed undesirable by the current government. If they had received information that a member of the nobility or equivalent was spreading unsanctioned gossip, they would have taken note and might have even punished them... with a fine. "The law is harsh, but it is the law," as the Romans used to say.
While the nobles didn't start weaving overt conspiracies or publicly insulting the Emperor, they could talk about almost anything among themselves. However, for commoners, especially the less affluent ones who couldn't bribe a judge, the consequences of unbridled speech were much bleaker. Imperial justice showed no mercy towards the defenseless lower classes. Depending on the mood of the judiciary, a hapless talker could receive punishments ranging from whipping (whips were used for less serious offenses) to the "highest measure," with the charge of "incitement to rebellion."
"We have good laws in our country, just and fair!" Although why should I be surprised? Class inequality before the law is one of its fundamental tenets. In my previous world, the ruling class also created rules for their own convenience rather than the ephemeral "good of the country," it just wasn't as obvious.
Not that I was well-versed in Imperial law. It's just that during training on the living dead, some of them liked to chat, and from their chatter, I managed to extract some useful nuggets of information.
For some inexplicable reason, every other person believed that if he or she told the story of an innocent person sentenced to death, they wouldn't be killed and would be released. A foolish hope. By the third or fourth person, we had already stopped caring about what the living punching bags looked like or what they said for the sake of practicing our strikes. Perhaps it was part of their psychological conditioning or something.
"Odd how I remembered the case of someone condemned to death for a loose tongue. At that moment, my mind was more occupied with thoughts of which cake to get from the nearby café—cream or waffle—rather than the chattering of a future corpse."
"You really suddenly fell into nostalgia, just like an old man," I chuckled, avoiding a suspicious-looking puddle by taking a wide detour. It probably wasn't a good idea to go in the eastern direction. The mud was getting thicker. "But if you add up the years from both lives, it's about... yes, around forty. Not exactly a youthful age."
For some peasant, forty was already grandparent territory, and sixty was considered a long life. As far as I knew, farm laborers rarely lived past fifty. Hunger, monsters, bandits, lousy healthcare, and all that. Workers lived even shorter lives. However, when compared to someone like Generalissimo Budo, who, at the age of ninety, still looked and acted like he was in his fifties, I would remain a youngster.
And I was not behaving like a person who had been enriched by four decades of life experience. On the contrary, I had subconsciously stopped taking some of the obvious dangers seriously. A dangerous deficiency that needed addressing. However, as the heroine from my previous life used to say, "I'll think about it tomorrow." For now, I could relax.
Remembering a childhood tune about school, I softly hummed a simple melody, though I altered the words quite a bit:
"Skillfully kill the convicts without soiling your clothes,
They teach you at school, they teach you at school, they teach you at school!
To love the emperor, drown revolts in blood,
They teach you at school, they teach you at school, they teach you at school!
Brutally interrogate captives and finish them off without mercy
They teach you at school, they teach you at school, they teach you at school..."*
/* - Kurome translates songs into Imperial better than I do into English./
So, indulging in mockery of the song that used to annoy me as an Earthly schoolboy, I moved leisurely through the streets.
Contrary to Brain's warnings, none of the ragged and shady characters who were increasingly appearing around hastened to impose their company on me. Apparently, the innkeeper regarded these people with some prejudice.
Or maybe the touch of the teigu's power that I was consciously emitting had some effect.
A slight coolness spread from the center of my chest throughout my body, and judging by the wary glances of the semi-criminal public, it had some impact. Unpleasantly, even a small portion of the artifact's energy began to exert a subtle influence on the mind. Nothing major, but it started to add undertones of wicked amusement to my lighthearted mood.
With every passing block, the number of suspicious individuals grew, and the surroundings looked worse. Shady figures with clear criminal physiognomies, drunkards, vagrants, and women of the night in their teens to early forties began to appear. You could say that in the Empire, there were no issues with orphans or child prostitution, not because these categories of people didn't exist physically, but because nobody cared.
Nobles or just "decent folks" could kill a "gutter rat" without much consequence. There were even entertainments in the capital that involved hunting two-legged game. At least, Key Lee once told me about cleaning up such entertainers who also happened to run a black* brothel and, by accident kidnapped and used someone they shouldn't have for the entertainment of their clients.
/*Illegal establishments specializing in people who enjoy playing Jack the Ripper/
His group mainly operated in the capital, often cooperating with the police and fellow agents from intelligence. So he could tell a lot of interesting stories, although it wasn't always easy to figure out when he was joking, embellishing, or spinning a blatant yarn, like tales of roasting infants.
Or maybe not yarn?
"Nice," I smirked, looking at a pregnant girl about the age of my body with a bruise on half of her face.. The girl, around twelve to fourteen years old, sat on the steps and "self-medicated" with strong alcohol straight from the bottle. "And somewhere a couple of kilometers away, the "crunch of a loaf" sounds and champagne is pouring with might and main. Each has its own kind of delightful evening, hehe."
After some time of wandering and witnessing the joyless scenes of devastation, filth, and poverty at the threshold of real slums, I turned back. The prospect of finding something pleasing to the eye or nose here seemed highly doubtful. Stopping my outward flow of power, which had ceased to feel pleasantly cool and instead turned into a chilly prickle, I changed direction, planning to make a sharp loop and return to the "Smile of Destiny."
But I wasn't allowed to return to the inn peacefully.