Chapter 29 Aftermath
"I'm awake." Perturabo prompted.
Morse glanced at him and ignored him.
He lay in the wicker chair and changed to a knife with a shorter blade to peel his wood. The sawdust disappeared before it fell on the black clothes, and if one looked carefully, one would find that they had formed a small mound in the corner of the room.
Perturabo stared at Morse for a while, as if to warn him with his eyes that he should no longer be indifferent.
His mind was still hazy, as if a tight layer of gauze had bound it, causing trembling spots of gray and white to overlap before his eyes. Fatigue made his limbs heavy, like bound steel that could not be moved.
Thirty seconds later, Perturabo lay down again. The touch of the pillow on the back of his head made him uncertain when Morse's temperament would reverse. He found him a normal soft quilt, mattress and Pillow.
Then he judged from the palace tassels hanging down from the pillow and the soft brocade cloth that it was not Morse that he should be grateful for.
“Harcon is here.” Morse said slowly, the words were full of soothing rhythm like the blade of a knife scraping wood. “Apologise for his negligence and declare your victory. ”
He used a little force on the tip of the knife to trim the arc on the outside of the wood. "I told him that when you wake up, you will claim your prize. I believe you have thought about the content."
"Hmm," said Perturabo. Morse used repeated teachings to make him understand the terms that need to be announced after payment. "I heard that the library of Lokos has been in dust for many years, and the key to the door is in the hands of the Royal Family."
"A good choice." Morse said, blowing a breath and letting the wood chips No longer interferes with the operation of the blade.
Perturabo looked at the familiar ceiling from bottom to top. There was still a gloomy fog in his mind. His body felt hot, but his forehead felt cold, as if being rolled up by the shaking tide. Everything Neither is clear.
Then he remembered how he had fallen.
He immediately became belatedly angry, supporting his own weight on his elbows, blood pounding in the pipes.
"Someone is tampering with the water." Perturabo gritted his teeth angrily.
His anger was directed more toward himself, because he was gullible and easily fell into the trap, and fell into Morse's arms in front of others.
This was a thousand times more uncomfortable for him than the pain of his body's skin.
"Prince Callifon has come to explain this matter to me." Morse turned over one side of the wood and did some research on the other surface. "The poisoner committed suicide before he could stand trial, and so did the man I captured."
"I allowed their death to be swift."
Morse let the air of disdain roll out from the gap between his teeth, "That person actually wanted to poison me with deception. Who did they think they could deceive?"
Perturabo felt that it was impossible. Charles was making insinuations in a roundabout way. The pain in his nerves was still attacking his thinking area, like someone hitting his head with a blunt instrument.
"Lie down a little longer, kid." Morse advised him in a straight voice.
Pertura Boy lay back on his bed, many questions lingering in his mind, rising and sinking one after another.
He was thinking about this sudden attack, thinking about Harkon, Andos and Callifon, thinking about when Morse arrived at the scene and pretended to be an ordinary citizen and went up to the stage. Personally put the finishing touches to his performance.
He remembered yesterday - if he had not been comatose for more than a day, then it was yesterday. Morse finally praised him frankly, and then the gorgeous honey-like flowers grew seductively in his heart, almost reflecting reality. In his dream, the radiance of wakefulness reflected from the dreamlike beauty.
He thought that Morse had been watching him, and his heart softened.
"Do you know who is going to throw the poison, Morse?" Perturabo asked, turning his head.
"Theoretically I don't know. It's just that the jealousy of other countries has finally drifted to Lokos. This kind of backstabbing tyrant can be encountered fifty-two times a year."
Morse He had some difficulties with the carving of the wooden block. Logically speaking, he should have drawn an extremely retro eagle image on the front of the badge, but he had always hated Rome; carving a cross with two crossed lines would have been too ironic.
"Actually?"
Morse put the wooden block on the table next to the chair and threw it over with the knife. He felt calm when he saw it out of sight. He turned his wicker chair around to face Perturabo.
"The person who came to me was the brother of a Lokos soldier, and the person who came to you on the stage was a spy from another country."
"Are Lokos people involved?"
"His brother died on the way to pick you and me up. Remember those three soldiers?"
Of course Perturabo remembered. The boy and he looked at each other for a few seconds, and the two of them agreed to skip the topic. They each have their own reasons for being unable to express feelings of mourning, and they are unwilling to pretend to each other in front of each other, giving the illusion of how noble their morals are and how sentimental their psychology is.
What the boy cares about more is actually another thing.
"The other half of your story came from Callifon's mouth." He said, "When did you communicate the information to her! Why can't you tell it directly to me in person?"
“Because I want you to hear other people’s voices. I want you to hear not just my voice, but the voices of others.”
In addition, he also hoped that the princess would be willing to take care of Perturabo for him in the future. He was beginning to feel tired; it was hard to imagine how parents in this world could raise one or more children to maturity.
Perturabo raised his head in disapproval.
Morse touched the table, hooked his fingers on the fruit plate inlaid with gold wire, and let the plate containing a plate of juicy grapes slide to the armrest of the chair within easy reach.
He ate one himself and threw the other towards Perturabo; Perturabo caught it, sat up straighter, and leaned against the bedside to eat the sugary fruit.
"Talk to me about your thoughts, child." Morse said casually and vaguely as he let the grapes roll and burst in his mouth.
Perturabo bit the fruit into pieces, "The same story is narrated by two people. Will the content be biased? It's not that I don't want to listen to you."
He let the two mouths be slightly pointed. His teeth collided, making a sound that only he could hear through his bones.
He knew Morse was right, if he wanted to lead the Lokos forward, he had to listen to the voices of the Lokos. What he saw and received gave him examples.
But Peturabo is still a little confused.
“But I don’t want to talk so much with you all the time.” Morse closed his eyes and leaned his head lightly on the upper edge of the back of the chair.
"Is that so?" Perturabo looked at him suspiciously.
"Hurry up and tell the truth." Morse closed his eyes and threw out an order. He didn't want to put up with Perturabo's old problems.
Perturabo sat up straighter again. He had become much more awake from the stupor of poisoning, and thus was able to regain the rationality of his flexible existence.
He swallowed the fruit, then hugged the quilt, turned his head, and said in a low voice as calmly as possible: "I thought you were leaving again, Morse. I thought you were doing this. "I haven't been able to let you see me for half a day, so you are suspicious?" Morse opened his eyes, his pupils turned, and he looked at Perturabo through his messy and raised hair. appearance.
He pondered for a moment and said simply: "That's not bad."
"Huh?" Perturabo raised his eyebrows.
"Are you jealous for no reason that I only exchange letters with Princess Callifon, or are you trying to figure out more thoughts that I can't guess, that's a good thing. You don't want me to leave, but I'm in no hurry. Let's go, so this won't be a problem."
Morse let out a breathy laugh.
He straightened his head again and melted into the wicker chair like cheese melting in the sun, showing an inseparable closeness to the chair.
"You think there's nothing wrong with me?" Perturabo felt a warm flow of heat rush to his body, making his mind run smoothly.
“Oh, I don’t expect you to be perfect.” Morse whispered, enjoying the silent service of the perfect chair that fits the human body structure. “As long as your problem does not hinder the big things, Yes."
He moved his shoulders and found a more comfortable angle.
"I won't repeat the grand truth. After all, you are a smart child, and I am the embodiment of laziness. I have nothing to say for now. If you are sleepy, then lie down. Don't disturb me. ”
The warmth retreated from the top of Perturabo’s head to the soles of his feet.
"The truth is that I can never be moved by your performance." Perturabo lay back on the pillow with force.
Morse murmured: "That's right, that's okay."
(End of this chapter)