Готовый перевод Господин Барон / The Baron: 5

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That's not it. That's not it either. And this one looks like it came out of a farm hardware store...

How about this? I shook the sword in my hand doubtfully. No, it doesn't fit the image; it's a seventeenth-century style, though it's new, and I need something older, for authority. The sword... I don't know what people see in that thing. It's a long, uncomfortable stabber, an overgrown knife. Not mine! An ax... hmm, it's a thing, though. Only, again, it doesn't fit in my hand. It's a bit long. What else?

And then I saw Her! The long handle, the handle's knob, the menacing shimmer of the tip.

I picked up the mace from the rack and took the weight and swung it crosswise... The thing! That's my kind of thing!

"Alexander? What happened?"

I automatically hid the mace behind my back and looked around at the ruined shelving unit. Wow, I was just a little bit on the corner of it.

It's all right, Egilbert. It just fell off for some reason.

The steward was frowning at the destruction, while I slipped past him into the door. I'd chosen my weapons, and now it was time to get dressed for the ceremony. It was getting light outside the window, and the doors of the castle chapel, where Ulfric son of Esar and Erraine son of Edgar had spent the night, were about to open. Supposedly in prayer, but I'd bet on a never-ending quarrel.

When the doors were closed last night, the two were arguing about how to repair the fence in the city garden that had been razed to the ground by rampaging barbarians (the mayor's version) and slightly scratched during patrols (the policeman's version). Since they were both local natives, it is unlikely that the dispute is already over; here everything is done thoroughly and from the bottom of heart.

"Your clothes, Mr. Baron."

"Thank you, Eggie."

The manager's youngest son, twenty-eight-year-old Egilbert Junior, or simply Eggy, nodded and dashed off down the stairs. Von Schnitze Sr. and I had given him the job of organizing the festivities and, more importantly, of covering the events, so he had plenty to do.

On second thought, I decided not to get involved in politics. These two are my "subjects," their elevation to knighthood can somehow be justified, but dreams of thick bundles of banknotes, which the millionaires, eager for the prefix "sir" to me, will remain dreams. Technically, before the council and the transfer of all rights back to the Esks, I'm some kind of "source of honor," only... The big guys might misunderstand such innuendos. I, on the other hand, can have both henchmen and squires for training, with certificates. The main thing is not to be impudent: here grabbed a penny, there farthing, here ore - you see, and accumulated something. True, according to the plan drawn up by von Schnitze, the restoration of the castle will take another twenty-three years to complete, and until then all the profits will go to this ancient pile of stones of historical significance, but... in fact, what is the hurry?

I picked up the two sheathed blades from the stand and moved into the courtyard.

The knight must be girded with a sword and fitted with golden spurs. According to the classic ceremony, he should immediately jump on a horse and prove that he is a brave rider... Yeah, right.

The mayor, Erraine Edgarovich, weighs a hundred and thirty kilograms, adding armor and jumping up only makes sense on a hippo because he would crush the horse. Ulfric Esarowicz, the policeman, on the contrary, is one of those little brisk fellows, who stop running around the walls and ceiling as lively as a gray-haired, decrepit old man. By the way, my knights aren't bad fighters; they happen to be local champions. In the past. They're both in their fifties, so there's not much of a hint of youth here.

But a lot of professionalism and life experience, and that's exactly what I need from them.

Nevertheless, I must gird them and give them swords. There were a couple of good blades in the castle's "knight's hall," where all the sharp, rusty iron that could be found in the area had been stolen for decoration, but I thought I'd give them something simpler. It would be too much, and the tourists have to stare at something with lust. So yesterday, before the doors of the chapel were locked behind the two contenders, I received the new models ordered from a catalog. For one, the sword would be too short, for the other too heavy, but who says it's easy to be a knight?

"Everything is ready, Mr. Baron."

"I see."

The courtyard, despite the early morning hours, was packed. A long red carpet was rolled out from the locked doors of the little church to the entrance to the donjon. On one side stood the officials, all in national costumes (hat, vest, round pants, wooden shoes), on the other dressed in full dress by the police. There were forty of them both, so I could get between them, but all the other disciplined subjects stood about a meter behind the guard of honor, not trying to get any closer, whispering and waving their flags, peeking at me, then at the chapel.

"Soon?"

"I think it's time, Mr. Baron."

The castle church, it turns out, is also a landmark.

There was a local saint who honored Baron Graveshtein, my predecessor, with his presence ten centuries ago. He worshipped him for three years in prison, overcame a great deal of discomfort, and finally died, for which reason he was immediately recognized as a saint - no other miracles were known to him. Nevertheless, St. Egbert was held in high esteem. The first dungeon was destroyed long ago, and a church was built in its place. Evil conquerors destroyed it, but the locals rebuilt it again, and so on six times - Esks are tenacious guys. As a result, the church is deservedly called a monument of architecture of the 12-18 centuries and looked appropriate.

By the way, it stood in the place where, according to legend, there was once a pagan altar.

Suddenly there was a nervous sneeze, and a wave of coughs went through the crowd.

I turned around and the head of the guard shrugged embarrassedly. "Isabel" appeared the next morning. The mustache was gorgeous, Marshal Budyonny would have been jealous! The glue was good, too. So I, trying to determine its firmness, almost lifted the poor Gascon into the air. Such rapidity both pleased and saddened at the same time - on the one hand, all my orders will be executed quickly and creatively, on the other hand, I wanted to handcuff this guy in advance. Well, I saw what I bought...

"Did you check the applicants?"

"Yes, Alexander Nikolayevich. Almost a hundred people, after lunch, as we were going to, we'll start the qualifying competitions."

"And don't forget to give the manager half of the money you take in bribes."

"Alexander Nikolaevich! How could you think that I would take..."

"If I thought you wouldn't take it, I would have fired you yesterday."

"You're slandering the poor..." he coughed. "Gascon."

"You're all poor when you come to the capital. D'Artagnan and you... Have you worked out the competition program?"

"I downloaded a typical scenario for a children's and youth party. Only instead of a box of chocolates and a pennant - an invitation to the personal henchmen of your grace."

"Participation Diplomas?"

"All done!"

I may have decided not to stamp sirs, but that's no reason for me not to earn extra money, is it? The applicants will get beautiful diplomas for their money and effort. So what if the diploma is two hundred times cheaper than the participant's spot? But it is nice. And with those who by cunning or force makes it to the finals, we can already work. I have a whole castle here, I need workers, preferably free. We'll have to recruit anyway, yesterday there were three full tours, and we could do one more. Egelbert was happy. Well, it's summer, it's vacation, why not recruit students? Hmm, or take those who can't run fast or whatever my head watchman is up to? Promise them not a squire place, but something else?

The creak of the swinging gate interrupted my thoughts.

I tried to imagine what these two were seeing now. Here they had spent all night arguing about that miserable fence and the occasional prayer. Here the door opens and Eggy steps aside, and behind him is a corridor of dense crowds and a red carpet. Police officers and officials are facing each other, a torch in each hand (the city fire inspector almost had a heart attack when he saw it), not too bright in the pre-dawn twilight, all silent, and a cool, light breeze sweeps through the courtyard. A horse is snarling, some kid quietly begging to be taken in his arms, or else he can't be seen. And at the other end of the courtyard, standing just a little (three steps, to be exact) above the crowd stands a strange type, their baron.

A tall man, slightly unshaven, in an ancient but not local dress, wearing a high fur cap. And in his left hand, he had two swords.

It's not right, though. The swords were supposed to be handed in by one of the guards. I just forgot to give them to him. Okay, we'll think of something.

A tall, fat figure in a national costume and a small, thin figure in a uniform suddenly straightened up, put their chins up, and with a distinctive stamping of their step walked toward me under the admiring glances of their subordinates.

"Did you even pray?"

"Of course, Herr Baron! Every half hour, as it should be."

The mayor sank to his knees, and the chamberlain did it much more gracefully. Both squinted jealously at their neighbor - the one I'm about to name will be the first knight of Eskenland in many, many years! Five minutes, maybe, but the first! I've asked, but the other barons haven't figured it out yet, and not everyone has even arrived yet.

Erraine sniffed his nose sternly, Ulfric rubbed his cuffs nervously.

Well, that's enough procrastination. I looked at the crowd for a second, and then I looked at my swords. There was nothing wrong with my coordination, and nowhere did it say that...

Swords lay on the shoulders of the kneelers at the same time.

"People of the barony of Gravstein! I, Alexander Nicolae Mogila, Baron von Gravstein, ordain these men to knighthood so that they may continue to serve our land. Is there anyone here who knows the reasons why these two cannot be knights?"

The townspeople were thinking seriously. Actually, I made this digression from protocol to remind them once again who the baron is, but why not really ask people if they want such knights? It's a serious matter, by the way. It's not every century that the authorities seriously ask if people want such bosses over them.

Not catching a single resolute objection on their faces, I slammed my swords three times flat on their shoulders:

"So be it! I knight you, children of Eskenland. Arise!"

Confused by the simultaneous initiation, the challengers rose from their knees. I wanted to do something funny, like pinching them instead of the traditional slap. But I understood the inappropriateness of the prank, and simply drew them both at the same time for a ritual embrace. I'll get my fun later, but for now, pull the weight, Shurik! If you've agreed to be in charge, you'd do well to live up to your trust. Baron's work is not only to eat coffee and rampage, but it is also to stand up and ceremony, and in exactly the way that they expect me to these ridiculous people, carefully pretending that everything goes exactly the way they choose. However, they are not the only ones who enjoy this activity.

Egilbert and Eggy brought out the belts and spurs on the pads, and then some other people jumped up and the ritual confusion began. At last, the two freshly-appointed sirs knelt before me again, glanced at each other, and held out their folded palms in a boat's arms. The boys seemed to like the idea of a simultaneous oath. I took their hands in mine, and a minute later they were already my vassals. Great, now they have both the right and the opportunity to serve me as they should!

"Sir Ulfric, as your sovereign, I demand that you fulfill your duty by taking the police under your hand and keeping order in the barony."

"Thank you, Baron, and I swear to do my best."

"Sir Erraine, I, as your sovereign, call for service - you have been entrusted with the administration of the city of Gravstein."

"Thank you, and I swear..."

The crowd, realizing that the ceremony was over, shrieked joyously, and outside the gate, something banged and two orchestras played two tunes at once, clearly competing. Sirs, strangely squinting around, were getting used to the fact that they were now knights, their subordinates looking proudly at those who did not have such wonderful bosses. I was the only one who noticed that essentially nothing had changed.

Here it is, the mark of power...

Vassals, knights, barons... The savage Middle Ages!

As if to answer my words, the loudspeakers in the castle courtyard whistled, and immediately some dashing local tune came out, instantly drowning out the orchestras: I immediately began to yawn, it sounded very much like a lullaby. But here it was considered a march.

The policemen brought their chief a real horse, on which Sir Ulrich gallantly climbed without using the stirrups. The magistrates, as they should have done, approached the affair in an upright manner - Sir Erraine was hoisted on a decorated platform, received a banner in his hands, and immediately began to wave it to music. All in all, the festivities were off to a jolly start - although, as the steward advised, we had set the dedication to a day off, the health of the townsfolk would be severely tested today.

Ten minutes later, the castle courtyard was empty, and everyone rushed to the hall of the town hall, where a joint party was to be held, or rather, its official part.

I was left with only a pile of dung from the "knight's steed".

However, a young guy was already rushing from the stable with a cart...

Eh, you try so hard, you make up an impressive ceremony for them. The old man almost screamed and tried to throw himself out the window when I showed him a model of boyar - in a kaftan with gold embroidery and a high fur hat.

What was the point of being so nervous? Eggy solved everything in ten minutes by ordering from a theatrical prop store. Instead of a surcote, it was a normal fur cape. The hat was a real wolf's hat. It was leftover from the filming of a historical drama in '62, when fur-bearers had not yet been exterminated by the ruthless fanatics of Mother Nature, so the outfit looked quite dignified.

There was a strange sensation of mild resentment, not resentment, but rather of annoyance at my loyal subjects. Not that I wanted to sit in the cramped hall of the town hall and listen to talk about local events, interesting only to the Gravsteins themselves, but I could have been invited...

"Mr. Baron? Breakfast is ready, shall I serve it?"

On the other hand, let them sit there themselves! I've seen the budget for these gatherings, a bag of crackers and a can of beer, that's the maximum that each guest will get with such frugality! And I'll have a normal...

"Tourists are already waiting, should I let them in?"

Yeah. The first "paid breakfast for tourists". I forgot.

"Let them in, Egilbert."

Damn, I didn't have time to change. Okay, let's pretend this is the right thing to do.

The strange thing was, I seemed to have lost all sense of embarrassment or insecurity long ago, but now, walking to the chair with the high carved back at the head of the table, I suddenly felt a twitch in my stomach. What if I couldn't manage... though there was nothing to manage, just eat. I suppressed my panic, kindly nodded at the greetings, waved my hand widely, calling everyone to take their seats, as if the owner was the last one to sit down, and finally plunged into my chair.

The table was set in the Egelbertian way. That is, there was a neat sign next to each dish: "Traditional Sauce," "Eskenland Mammalyha," and other explanatory things.I did, however, threaten to renounce and flee, so there was no sägdimirl. They would only sell it to those who come in private vehicles, or else the buses would stink up the place, and no one would be able to get to us anymore.

But there was everything. Fish, pies, potatoes, trays of sliced "mammalyha," tall pitchers of morsels. It was a hell of a breakfast, to be honest, but there was plenty to eat. The jitters finally passed, and I sat down, glancing at my companions.

Most of them pretended that they had to eat breakfast in the presence of all those barons so often that they were sick of it. It was only because of the good manners that they agreed to do it again in my company. Five people were squinting uncertainly, trying to see if they were doing the right thing, and only two or three of them said hello to me in a friendly way and sat down just to have breakfast. Experience is a great thing, and it was two of them that the manager placed next to me, making this strange attraction look like a normal meal.

Having piled everything on the plate I took a bite with my fork, put it in my mouth, and groaned. I'd bet I wasn't rolling my eyes! Garlic sauce is the pinnacle of my culinary talents, and that's only because it's hard to get anything wrong. So for the past five years, I've been eating either fast food or convenience foods, which doesn't improve character at all. And here - real good food! The next five minutes passed in the chomping and noting the next piece, which must always be grabbed first because it is the most delicious. Finally, when I was full, I was able to get a good look at the people at the table.

You can recognize each one by their behavior.

Here are the Englishmen, fork in their left hand, knife in their right, glaring at the others, making sure everyone understands that it's not the first time they've had breakfast in the presence of aristocrats.

These are Americans. They certainly don't give a damn about anything, they are mostly occupied with themselves, which makes the English bite their forks nervously with their long teeth: you can hear the grinding all over the room.

Japanese, two couples. The old men and old women, constantly apologizing and bowing, intimidated others with their smiles, scooped up everything they could reach and methodically ate, not forgetting to marvel at the exotic taste of the grits.

Italians. They gesticulate so much that their napkins are blowing in a draught, and they don't notice the English, who turn even more yellow, or the Americans, or the waitress passing by... But how ardently they apologize for the overturned tray!

A family from South America. I can't tell exactly where they come from, but judging by the fact that they even eat sweet bread crumbs with garlic sauce, they are Latino, for sure.

Indian, one thing, young. This one doesn't smear garlic, just puts the saucer in front of him and eats it like soup, hypnotizing the Englishwoman. The Englishwoman, of course, does not notice it, but she tries not to notice it so that she can be seen from all favorable angles.

An strange girl, in the number of three specimens. They sit together, hardly eating, looking at me. One in particular is staring, watching every bite of food! From the intense gaze I choked, picked up a glass of morsels, quickly drank, spilling. A few drops rolled down my chin, fell on the napkin.

The girl sighed intermittently, looking at my chest with dilated eyes, and...

"Egilbert! There's a guest here who's not well!"

Damn, could it be allergies? I jumped up and nodded to one of the Americans, and we quickly lifted the maiden, the second one, looking at me strangely, pushed her way to the door and from there, with her back against the stonework, watched as I... damn, also fainted. I just checked the first one's pulse, didn't I?

The third sat staring quietly forward and only flinched when I called out to her.

"Is your friend in good health? She's not sick?" The girl shook her head, looking at me with horror for some reason. Damn, they're weird.

Eggy and the waitress came running in, and I stepped back. The breakfast ended abruptly, and the tourists moved toward the exit. I didn't want to draw any more attention to myself, as my shirt was soaking wet under my jacket, so I went downstairs.

Von Schnitze stood at the stairs, personally saying goodbye to each guest. When he saw me, he came up, smiling dreamily, and took me by the lapel of the boyard's caftan:

"I think, Alexander, that you, a young and vigorous man, should eat more and more often. Second breakfast, lunch, dinner, five o'clock tea, dinner... and each with tourists!" the old man finally detached himself from reality, the famous dollar signs appeared in his eyes.

With a sigh, I silently unhooked his arms and went into the tower to change.
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"YES, HE'S REAL! Just like in the book! The way he drank! I don't know what it was.t something red - BUT I GUESS!!! Minnie fell unconscious from one look in her direction, I wanted as well but I didn't!!! He's a sweetheart, he came up and talked. GIRLS HIS VOICE IS SUCH A!!!!! Signed up for another tour, but it's not for another two weeks, some bastards took all the tickets! Looking for museum plans WHO KNOW WHERE HE'S SLEEPING?!!!"
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From the forum
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123

"Egelbert, what's in town?"

"They are celebrating, Alexander. I still think we should have moved the dedication to another day. We could have built more stands for tourists, set up stalls, made souvenirs..." The old man was listed with the same enthusiasm. Apparently, he never gave up the idea of repeatedly feeding his baron for the public's amusement.

"Next time, maybe. They didn't find my phone?"

"Alas. It's strange how you managed not to break anything falling from such a height..."

"It was a clean place, rocks, and sand, nothing to break."

"I meant don't break your own body."

"I'm lucky."

"Indeed! Nevertheless, there's nothing near the breach, and I don't let anyone go any further than that, you know, there are completely unknown passages."

I sighed. I was in the middle of my third day of no communication, so I had to at least talk to my daughters on Skype. I had to at least talk to my daughters and piss off my ex. On the other hand it was vacation, I could relax.

The boyar uniform was surprisingly hard to part with. First of all, it was made in times not as shoddy as these days, so I could wear it without fear that it would fall apart right on me, and secondly, as soon as I went into the shade, it became much cooler.

"Egelbert, is there any difference between summer and winter here?"

"Mm... yes, of course." The old man nodded affirmatively. "The rains in summer are usually warmer than in winter."

He did not react to my grim look, believing that he had said everything correctly.

"All right. Now explain, my dear steward, why did some of the guests behave so strangely?"

Von Schnitze mewled. He did not feel like talking, so he fumbled with his folder, readjusted his cuffs and collar, looked around for salvation, mooed deeply, and generally did everything that most of the Construction Department men I have caught in the act. Finally, having made up his mind, he cleared his throat once more and, making sure that I had not melted into thin air, at last, deigned to answer:

"Well, you see, after that joke you made with the tax inspector... Well, about Transylvania. Somehow it caught on. Plus, someone overheard Herr Schreiber complaining about the howling and noise at night. One thing led to another... So now it's believed that... ...that... there are otherworldly creatures in the castle. I didn't think it would do any harm to our reputation... Oh, don't snicker like that, Alexander, I didn't mean it that way. But look - we already have three daily excursions, and I've received an offer to introduce more! I suppose we should increase the range of the gift store. We can even afford to hire new employees!" He looked around, tucked a folder under his arm, and asked: "Aren't you angry?"

"Why should I be angry? An old romantic castle with otherworldly devils is much better than a slightly ennobled pile of boring rocks."

The manager looked at me, then fidgeted with his gaze again. I could have sworn he was hiding something! What is it? Was he spreading rumors himself? The more mysticism, the more lure for tourists. These two months should create a decent reserve for the future so that the flow of visitors does not weaken with the return under the wings of the Federation.

Ahem... Have I really decided to stay here until the election? Why would I do that?

Considering my sudden burst of labor enthusiasm, I thought about it, then thought some more and ordered it:

"Add an overnight stay in a "haunted castle" to the list of services."

The old man straightened indignantly:

"Mr. Baron, there are no ghosts in Gravstein! I would know otherwise! We must not deceive visitors!"

"Really not? That's okay, they will appear soon!"

He seemed to misunderstand me, turning slightly pale. I had to explain:

"Two or three dozen young people and as many tourists, plus the "reputation" you invented - it's not just ghosts, there will be dragons in the cellars!"

"Speaking of young people - despite the renovations, we don't have many suitable places for a hotel, and you have to put your henchmen in too!"

"So many buildings and no room? We'll rebuild something quickly. There are the ones who don't pass the competition. We can put them to work."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Baron, you can't redesign the castle."

"Yes? Why is that?"

"Because as far as historical objects are concerned, the law..." he stopped talking.

"Yeah, yeah? Go on."

"This is a very necessary law!"

"Is that so? Give me a paper."

"Mr. Baron, you shouldn't do that!"

"Give it to me."

I snatched the folder of papers from his hands and scribbled two paragraphs on the first page I saw and signed my name.

"Here. The first paragraph is the repeal of the old law, the second is the new law on the subject. Don't forget to put the stamp on it!"

Von Schnitze hovered, looking sadly at my scribbles, and I patted him on the shoulder.

The youth of Eskenland are happy to break tradition! So start thinking about what we're going to rebuild... Before I do not cancel something else!

Oh, I loved it! It would be like that at home - something prohibits the law, and then you rewrite it, instead of directly violating it. I can just see all one hundred and forty million people rewriting the whole constitution ten times a day, yeah. No, there's got to be one government! And preferably with me at the helm! Yes, the old man has become gloomy, realizing what a monster he has nestled within the walls of the castle. We must somehow move the conversation to more neutral topics.

"Egelbert, I've been meaning to ask - who set my alarm clock ringtone?"

"I, Mr. Baron. I wanted you to feel like you are at home."

"The cold walls, the creaky uncomfortable bed, the people constantly demanding strange things from me, the gallows under the windows, and the torture chamber nearby - it really does feel like home."

"I'm glad you like it, Alexander."

I looked at the old man, but he looked honest. No, he is not mockering. Or he hides the mockery well.

"All right, but what's going on around here? What do my fellow baronesses do?"

Because I somehow missed the fact that I'm not the only one in charge of the peninsula, there are twelve other fellow sufferers having fun here. The manager immediately began to lay out the details.

First of all, our punk duke. The boy was now sitting in his room, doing some ritualistic gestures. The coronation ceremony, by the way, is also prepared by von Schnitze. And he would also conduct it as the most knowledgeable esk man. But so far there were receptions, talks, services in the central cathedral and other very important, nobody needed activities.

The remaining barons went about their business. Only half of the Esks remained, and the remaining titles had been bought by foreigners (here I learned that I was currently the longest-reigning baron on the island - twenty-three years old! The nearest competitor was a year and seven months behind, which gave me some vague advantages, like "the right to be the first to raise a cup for the health of the land" or the incomprehensible "right to uphold the law by word of").

However, they were all doing pretty much the same thing.

One obliged all subjects daily, three times - morning, noon and sunset - to sing the unofficial Eskenland anthem, which began with the words "We have defeated the French".

To my careless question, "Why them?" the old man immediately told me the story of centuries of attempts to incorporate Eskenland into this beautiful country. It turned out that of all its neighbors, only France, for some reason, had never succeeded in conquering the Esks. This is a reason for the dubious pride of the locals, who make a single victory song, which they sing on any occasion because they have no more victories. Apparently, this Baron is a great patriot... or has something personal to the French.

The other, as it turned out, immediately introduced the "right of the first night," which I immediately commented with the utmost tactfulness:

"An idiot!"

"Oh, Alexander, you, too, could revive this ancient custom." Egilbert raised an eyebrow suggestively.

"God forbid! Half the women here have Scandinavian blood, and the rest have German blood!"

"Mr. Baron!" The old man straightened indignantly. "The women of Eskenland are beautiful in their peculiar way, so your hints..."

"You're thinking in the wrong way, Egilbert. If they're supposed to do something, you have to do it, even if you're dead, because that's the nature of it. I'm not healthy enough to perform my duties. I'll die on another "unfortunate victim" in a month, from exhaustion!"

"Оh! I hadn't really thought about it."

"So let's keep quiet about it!"

"Well, you are a strong young man, you have certain needs..."

"Von Schnitzel, guess who I'm going to make take over for me, every night?!"

"...On the other hand, some questionable traditions are better left to history. My Emma is very jealous, she might not understand." He said that last one with the intonations of an accomplished and happy henpecked man.

Finally, we reached the section of the wall that overlooked the improvised obstacle course, where the last of my squires were being tested.

All applicants were offered a paid examination. Those who passed became henchmen and were admitted to further training - already as squires, the best of which in turn have a chance (but not the right, it was stipulated!) to become knights. All in all a big bunch of carrots in front of a crowd of donkeys. Not poor, mind you, donkeys.

Actually, with so many people willing, I wasn't going to knight some random person at all. They'd have a name to go with it, and I'd have a headache? No, I was going to cheat them out of their honorary squire diplomas, having found out that it was legal to keep them as squires for life.

I'm not even a knight myself, just a baron, so there's no need to get dirty hands on the golden dream of childhood. Especially since my second dream - to fly to the moon - is still unattainable.

Although I should check to see if I'm also the owner of a spaceship. Life is such a strange thing... sometimes.

Besides, I am considered a ruler by misunderstanding, and in two months I shall cease to be one. And why should I be reminded of "that impudent man who dares to stand on the same step as Their Crowned Majesties and Their Chosen Excellencies"? You should be more modest. It's a pity you can't say that to kings and presidents. Savages, they wouldn't understand.

In fact, what will I do, hit the candidate with my sword, he'll give me the money, and then he'll run away, happy? And who am I to mock? No way!

Silly, of course, but a knight is a Knight! And here - the purchase of a title. I'm not against money, and I understand that the more of it, the easier it is to get what you want out of life. But still, two of my vassals it is right and necessary. I might have sworn Egilbert in, too, if he had shown the slightest interest. Well, let's do what any elite school would do - let them fight for the right to pay us! After all, I have the best squire school here! And it doesn't matter that it's the only one.

"By the way, several times people who called themselves your relatives came already. From Romania." The manager looked at me, waiting for an explanation.

"Egelbert, anyone who calls himself my friend, brother, mother, or mistress is to be treated as an impostor and a fraud. Look out for a harsher law."

"It will be done, Mr. Baron." Indeed, I believe you could not have done it without my order. The eternal burden of any chief, big or small, is to confirm with his authority the initiative of his subordinates. Well, at least the old man managed it himself. Otherwise, some like to puzzle me at the last moment and demand that I give orders and get involved myself.

"Alexander, are you sure that among them will not be your compatriots who need help?"

"My compatriots at the moment are Eskenlanders!" More pathos, more, people love it! They generally love it when someone makes a fool of himself. Well, I do not mind, the main thing is not who looks like, but who the result will be who. "Let's go get acquainted closer with the young recruits."

The chief of the guard (as he should have been, a brave moustache in a polished cuirass, with a sword and a beret with a cock feather), sauntered over on crooked legs toward me.

"Your Grace! Let's finish, we're almost through! Just a few minutes."

I nodded and sat down in the chair he had left. Let him stand, he will not take the ammunition from the knight's hall without asking, dude! Izzy and Egelbert, glaring at each other, stood at different sides, the Gascon immediately began to comment something, but I just warmed up and dozed off.

I was awakened by a cough.

"Alexander Nikolayevich! It's the time!"

Bastard, couldn't he tell me sooner?!

In front of me stood all the people who hadn't passed. It seemed that the advertising went to the wrong audience: I was expecting men of my age who had decided to get a prestigious prefix to their last name, but there were several dozen young guys as if they were at some kind of student training camp. In the Soviet Union, there were RWP norms, and I will have GCS - Greshtayn courses of squires. They would take an oath in the style of "I, name, joining the ranks, solemnly swear in the face of my comrades-in-arms" - and so on up to "may the harsh hand of my comrades punish me".

Already with certificates of participation, the contestants were already divided into two groups - six winners on the right, a crowd of losers on the left. Another hundred and fifty people were not allowed to take part in the fun starts because of physical weakness or other reasons (for some reason every other person was tipsy).

I stood up and looked around with my eyes cloudy after a nap, and then I made a prepared speech. The castle needs not only knights, a unique chance, work with people, a friendly team, socially useful work and other plagiarism from the McDonalds agitation. Nevertheless, people liked it, many nodded. Finally there was talk of pay.

"You will be paid in 'gravcoins'."

"And how much?"

" One gravcoin a week." Taking a plastic coin case out of my pocket, I demonstrated by raising it above my head. "It was the exact equivalent of a local fourteenth-century zilbergross, but with a few modifications. By the way, quite a legal means of payment, I have the right to issue my own coin."

By the way, the order for production was executed incredibly quickly. It seems to me that von Schnitzel took care of it a week ago - the penny was pleasant to the eye and to the touch, glittering with light silver... but not to everyone's liking.

"Three grams of silver for a week's work?! After they charged us for the exam as well? To hell with this place!" The young man spat nervously and staggered toward town, muttering something, followed by several others. I looked behind them, waited until they had moved on, and then continued:

"Well, if a unique coin, available in only five hundred copies, each with a passport and a personal history, is not enough to pay someone, that's up to them. But I will pay my ministrations, which is what you will become at the end of your service, in local currency."

A couple of the doubters on the sidelines immediately took their places in the ranks. Well, that makes almost four dozen people.

Meals from the common pot, accommodation in families, work on the restoration of the historical monument, payment for souvenirs - the usual volunteering, nothing new I came up with. For squires, there is also service under the hand of my knights, that is, practice in managing and putting things in order. That is what squires are supposed to do, only in a modern version. By the way, I should hint to Aggie to release a series of clips from the life of the "castle servants". Maybe we could print commemorative albums, with pictures and places for signatures? And sell them? Or, on the contrary, give them away for free, as an incentive?

So, pondering the eternal, I waited until Izzy had lined up the future squires in front of me. Strangely enough, the winners were not Hercules and Achilles, but normal guys. Also young, only one was about twenty-five, the rest were obvious students. Well, let's get acquainted.

At the comments of the head of the guard, I moved along the line.

"Robert McMurdock, an Englishman."

"A Scotsman, actually. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Baron!"

"Welcome, Robert."

"Daniel Osborne, an American."

"Texan, actually. I'm on vacation right now, but I think this experience would be worthwhile!"

"Yes, the program is expected to be intense."

"Norman Schwab, a German."

"Let me guess - "actually a Bavarian"?"

"Well, I suppose there's some truth in that. - The stocky brunette, the eldest of the henchmen, adjusted his distinctive hat with a feather."

"Elil van Cliff, Herr Baron. Actually Australian, but a bit of Esk and Belgian."

"Greetings, Elil!" This one was the fattest, it's even strange that he was able to make it to the finals. He must have been working with his head. Or his wallet.

"Izuki Sato. Japan." The young kid bowed sharply, breaking at the waist.

"I am glad to welcome you, Herr Baron."

"Actually, you can do it without bows. But that's how one wants it."

Interesting set, all the flags are visiting, as they say. And the last one... yep.

"Marty Adams. The country could not be found out."

White skin with freckles, squinted eyes, short-cropped red hair, tight T-shirt. Marty didn't wear a bra. She shouldn't have. Although...

"So far, I've never heard of girls becoming squires, as far as I know, that hasn't happened yet?"

"And you want to say that's won't be?! I didn't expect anything else! But the fee was paid, and I beat all the competitors!"

"I want to say..."

"Yes, I'm a female! And that doesn't mean I'm weaker!"

Ugh, come on! She won't let me say a word! I understand why the country is unknown, she probably interrupted all the time.

"Marty, that's the thing, that..."

"It's going to be different now! We are not in the Middle Ages! This is the twenty-first century!"

"Yes, indeed. How quickly time flies." Eh, it seems that just recently I was counting how old I would be in the 2000s, and rejoiced that I still have a lot of time... Having lamented for a couple of seconds about the good old twentieth century, I glimpsed the strange expression on the girl's face, and thought aloud:

"So, a squire is a man's occupation, but you passed the exam and paid for the course. A squireess?" The girl squinted unkindly. "Armigeress?" Now she's clenching her fists, too, and she's about to lunge. "Everyone listen to my command! The squires address each other as a friend. To me, it's Mr. Baron! Accordingly, from now on, I order you to call squire Marty "our battle buddy". There are many different tests awaiting you, I intend to make sure that the title of squire will be given to those truly worthy of it! The first task - you go to Mr. Egelbert the Jr., he will settle you into your rooms. A Gascon!"

"Yes, Mr. Baron!"

"The first tests they passed, tomorrow you will run them through the full program! Determine aptitudes and abilities, make matches, report to me tonight!"

Because if a person pays, he has a right to be a person of interest. Well, at least. Okay, volunteers. Volunteers have work to do, but what to occupy these six? It's dangerous to leave them unattended, they'll get into trouble, and I'll have to clean up the mess. And it's not respectable, either.

Damn. Okay, if you don't know what to say, say it with confidence!

"A squire must master the seven noble arts-and you will learn them all and be tested at the end. Woe to him who does not conform! Now listen to my command. Dan?"

"Yes, sir!"

"You take the fat one and run him around the castle, find out what he's capable of so that he doesn't let me or you down in battle."

"Yes, sir!"

"I'm not fat"!

"You'll be "not fat" when your training is over! Norman, Robert, go to the armory, take all the weapons apart, polish them, check them for completeness. - Before they said anything, he added. - You may use servants, except those on guard duty at the gate. Sato!"

"Yes, Herr Baron!"

The most boring thing is that today you carry the duties of a secretary to the chief of the guard until sundown.

"Yes, Herr Baron!"

"Marty."

"Yes!"

"To the kitchen."

Everyone, including Egilbert standing next to them, made a surprisingly similar sound, something between coughing and wheezing. Marty slowly puffed up.

"Questions?"

"If me... If I... I will... I'll you!!!"

"No questions, I said! Or," I nodded at the gate, "exit there. Just a reminder that if anyone can't take it and runs away, fuck it, there are no refunds! Marty, are everything clear on today's assignment?"

Yes! - How could you mutter that word? But she could. I looked back at the smirking henchmen and added:

"And tell Madame van Schtorre that I asked to work with you on the middle circle."

The girl looked at me in bewilderment, then turned her nose up in pride and walked toward the outbuildings. The rest of the squires followed her, talking over each other.

Well

"Attention! Now come back and line up again!" The squires, stopping and looking around for a while, stood before my grace again.

"I explain once and once only. All commands, wishes, and words of encouragement from me, the master governor, or the master of the guards are to be regarded as orders to be carried out immediately! And execute at once. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir!!!"

And in the movies, the sergeant usually has to repeat "I can' hear" to get that reaction. Apparently, the squires had seen those movies and decided to avoid the training attempts.

"Damn, my mom stuck me in military school after all..." I stopped in front of Van Cliff and looked down from above. It wasn't easy to do, he was barely as tall as I was, just slouching all the time.

You were invited here to test if you are worthy of being part of the elite. No one is going to retain you here or promise you anything. You are free to leave at any time. Moreover, I can't even guarantee that you'll make it as a squire, let alone a high knight. And it's up to you to decide who you will be in this castle and in this land: the worthy heirs of noble families, undergoing your ordeal, or the usual slacker tourists who have bought an exotic tour. And now that I've explained this subtlety and made sure you understand each other, you can run your errands... RUN!

Well, that was different. Even the feminist girl rushed toward the kitchen without showing any disgust for me. That's right: if you want your interns not to bother you, load them up so that they have no time to breathe. It still doesn't help, but at least you're not the only one who suffers. Hell, I've got a few dozen more just like them, and I've got to... the hell with them, let Eggy and Izzy do their work. Mr. Baron is resting after his atrocities. Especially since I could already hear the characteristic intonations from somewhere... Yes, what Gascon doesn't like to command with an imposing look?

There was a polite cough from behind, and I turned around.

A short, heady fellow with a wide, thin-lipped mouth coughed once more, and, with a proud look on his face, declared:

"Baron Gravstein! I, Baron Elepar von Windifrosch, have come to declare war on you!"

Turning to the manager, I noted with sadness in my voice:

"Here they are, today's youth. Just walked in, didn't even say hello, and bam! War declared! Maybe it's the genetically-modified soy that makes them aggressive. Or maybe it's what's-it;s-name, drum-n-bass?"

"Uh... I forgot to warn your Grace that the Barons of Gravstein have a hereditary feud with the Barons von Windifrosch."

"How long?"

"Since the fifteenth century."

"Impressive. And what an occasion!"

"They are thieves!"

"We are not thieves! It's the Spanish' fault!" Tadpole instantly turned into a bright red bloated toad. However, it even suited him. From the fierce scolding that followed, I learned about one of the oldest property disputes in Europe.

Once upon a time, long ago, in that very Chapel of St. Egbert, a relic was kept - the Bowl of the First Duke. Its artistic value is doubtful, but its historical value is certain. This silver cup took part in the ceremony of transformation of a simple barbarian chief into a civilized Christian duke. So for the Esks, the relic was a very significant Symbol of the Nation (and the only one left, as anything of any value was constantly taken away by the conquerors). The cup was given to one of the new barons after the ceremony... along with the priest who performed the ceremony. That's right, the same Egbert who had been trapped in the barons' dungeons for three years. So I was too hasty about the "no miracles" thing; bringing a whole nation under the hand of the Church is solid, even if it didn't end well for him personally.

But somehow or other, the chalice was once asked for a very solemn ceremony by the von Windifrosch. And just at the moment of handing over the relic, the Esks were conquered again. Then these conquerors were kicked out by others, then by others... When a hundred years later the Gravsteins finally had a free moment, they rushed to their neighbors to retrieve the relic, but it had already been taken away in an unknown direction. Another hundred years later, the relic was found, but it was already considered theirs by the Spanish, or more precisely, by the Spanish king.

And for him, it was also under the category of sacred, historical, and so on, which meant that no one was going to return it. It is clear that now some of the Esks accused the others of being slothful, and the latter in response justified themselves with far-fetched reasons like a century-old conquest.

And it's been going on for half a millennium...

"Well, I understand. Ours stole a cow from yours for a debt, yours burned a mill from ours in retaliation, so you still can't make it up?"

"It's a holy war!" Both esks looked at me with the same expression on their faces. Like, Shurik, you're an honorable baron, but you shouldn't do that...

"Then go."

"Where?" Vindifrosch apparently thought we should fight to the death immediately.

"That way. I must see how my castle is ready for another round of incessant fighting, mustn't I? By the way, when was the last time there was fighting?"

"A hundred and two years ago. It was a worry-free winter, Baron, and we gave them a good beating!" Egelbert waved his dry fist vigorously.

"It's a question of who kicked who! We gave yours a good kicking back then!"

"That's enough, tough guys! I can see there's a lot piled up. Come on... Dinner's coming up, you've got to work up an appetite."

I took them both under the elbows and moved across the courtyard. Something was rattling around the corner. Well, now would be a good time to demonstrate my skills at escorting a construction committee!

"Have you been feeding the Ghoul? He's especially cranky today."

"He stole a piece of meat from the kitchen." Von Schnitze immediately grimaced.

"Where?"

"Who knows, Mr. Baron. This beast has so many hiding places in the castle... I suspect that it has mastered the air passages and can now get into any room."

Yeah, my people don't like that poor cat. Although it is not for nothing that usually in the same sentence with his name are the words "stole" or "bitten". So Vindyfrosh listens ... by the way, and rightly so! Let's introduce our guest to the realities of this harsh world!

"Please, Elepar. You can just call me Alexander, what are the ceremonies between neighbors!"

Meanwhile, there was a growing clang coming from somewhere around the corner. I stopped and looked questioningly at Egilbert, but he just shrugged. Another minute of waiting, like in the movies, when you know that now will appear something terrible, then a loud scraping of metal on the stone ... The Iron Man stopped, turned his head toward me, jerked his hand up in a salute, and, swaying, moved on.

The armor in the castle was a replica of a horsemen's tournament kit, which, in fact, was not supposed to be worn on foot. Add the shield, sword, and cape - the iron weighed as much as the guard himself, and he looked either a robocop or a living statue. I hope it doesn't fall right there, because I'll have to call someone to help lift it. Slightly spreading his elbows for balance, shifting heavily, the fighter walked past us, stopped at the corner to keep from drifting, turned smoothly with the grace of the gun turret on a battleship, caught a new target, and finally disappeared from sight, filling the yard with clanking and scraping for another minute.

"Nice armor, isn't it? I have a few dozen of them now... Here, by the way, are my new henchmen.".

" Ah... ga." The sight was awe-inspiring. The whole patio we looked into was filled with people. Eggy Jr. was fussing over the crowd of volunteers, making lists and figuring out who was less likely to screw up on what job and where to stick them for the night, so there would be less complaining afterward.

"How many fighters do you have?"

"Well, I haven't formed a militia yet." Tadpole suddenly realized that he was standing next to his enemy in front of a bunch of young, loudly discussing the recent contest.

"I see. Your castle with guards?"

"How could there be a Vindifrosch Castle if it had been burned by Napoleon's soldiers?" My steward's sneer was enough to kill bedbugs.

"That's all right, it's a small matter. You'll be able to rebuild yourselves, what age you are! Not everyone is as lucky as I am - the donjon is intact, and the castle walls, and the knights are in town serving, and fifty armed servants, as the classic said - "At point* a hundred knights: yes, that, on every dream, Each buzz*, each fancy, each complaint, dislike, He may enguard his dotage with their powers*,"
T.N.King Lear

Tadpole looked thoughtful. I think he was beginning to suspect that he'd rushed the war a bit.

"To the right are the houses that I decided to use as barracks. Of course, it's going to be cramped, but they'll fit." I stepped on the foot of the steward, who was trying to object. I know they are not barracks, I know! But they are big and impressive! "The outbuildings are to the left." A cow mooed just as well. "There, as you can see, the castle is ready for a siege, all its own. We also grow mushrooms in the cellars." Egelbert opened his mouth in indignation, but followed my raised foot and kept silent.

"This is the kitchen. This is our dear madam cook. The most peaceful person in the castle!"

The big circle, the medium, and the small are the names of the targets Madame van Storre once mentioned. The big one is for axes and cleavers, the medium one is for knives, and she hangs the small ones on strings in various unexpected places to practice throwing forks and other non-standards. And now the cook was showing Marty the classic knife throw. A kitchen knife. Flowing hair, flushed face, three knives in her left hand - a very responsible lady. Several more knives from previous attempts were sticking out of the target, and one, just as it glinted in flight, hit the edge of the wood with a dull thud and flew away, jingling on the stones.

"No, no, honey, it's not... how can I explain it to you? Well, imagine throwing it at a particular person. I always picture that butcher in town, always trying to convince me to get the wrong meat, and that's what happens." Swing, clang, knife halfway into the center of the target. "You have to not only throw it with your hand but also with your soul!"

Marty, returning with the knife she had picked up, looked in my direction and... The knife struck the hilt again.

"The cook and her ward. As I said, the most peaceful people in the castle. Come on, the poor girl is very embarrassed at the sight of strange men and expresses it in such a funny way, let's not disturb her. Go on, Magda, go on!"

The cook waved at us, tugged at the sleeve of Marty, who was hissing viciously like a snake, pointed at her target, and held out one of her knives. Sensing the crosshairs clearly visible to the girl on my back, I quickly dragged the tadpole behind me.

Just as we rounded the corner, we heard the clatter of iron against wood and the clatter of a target that had fallen from its rest by the force of the impact.

I breathed a sigh of relief and looked around.

Erdar Fisk, the senior (after his recent promotion) guard, took his foot off the bloody scaffold, wiped his ax with a bundle of straw once more, and stared at me questioningly.

"Mr. Baron?"

"Is everything all right, Erdar?"

"Well, of course. I mean... heads. Yeah. That's handy." He kicked at the basket, from which something red was oozing onto the sparse grass.

"I see, I see. Why didn't you just twist the neck?"

"It's just not human. It's clear that I'll have to do it all the same, but it's still quick - balm and done. I'm not a softy, but it's still a little uncomfortable when a living thing is beating in my hands." The big man-guard shrugged his head in embarrassment."

"It's okay, I think so too. Maybe we should put a guillotine in here. Egelbert, you estimate later."

Turning to look spellbound at the bloodstained green von Vindifrosch, I nudged him in the back:

"Come, Elepar, let's go. A place where hundreds of living creatures have parted with their lives over the centuries," the tadpole hiccuped, "has a special aura. Can you feel it? I can see that it does. And the tourists like it for some reason."

He didn't seem to notice that there were decapitated chicken carcasses in the basket. All righty, then. It's a good timing. Okay, the client's ready, we can take him inside. The main thing is not to overdo it!

As if in response to my thoughts, a shaggy, glaring creature suddenly crawled out of a hole in the wall at three meters high, jumped onto the manager's leg with a roar, biting and clawing several times, and darted off into another hole just as quickly, screaming at the victim. I nodded, pretending not to notice Egilbert's indignation, and explained, as if to no avail:

"I'm trying to breed guard cats, but as you can see, the result can only be used as saboteurs, alas. That's okay, maybe something good will come out yet."

The tadpole was no longer looking around with apprehension, but with outright terror, trying to stay close to me. The final touch was the two eighteenth-century cannons on either side of the main entrance to the donjon, used for fireworks. A policeman was now hustling beside them, clearing and preparing them for the evening salute.

I climbed up the step, and so, hovering, looking down at the little headstrong scribe summed it up:

"As you can see, my friend, we are ready for war. I don't really want to, but what can you do, the honor obliges. There's a lot to say... but what's there to say? Let's get down to business!"

"What, all at once?" He fell off guard and nervously adjusted his glasses.

"What's the point of delaying? Let's get on with it! All wars must begin with what?"

"From attack?"

"Happy planning, my dear enemy! And planning, according to the ancient and beautiful Romanian custom, should be done at the table. Let's go!"

* * *
What can I say - the cut of the caftan is the newest, but the style is from the fifteenth century, I have seen more than once on prints (link), the hat is Romanian authentic, sixteenth century, the embroidery on the cuffs is Hungarian folk, on the collar something Lithuanian type, and the buttons are generally nineteenth. Wears it all as if he were born in it, and I tried it, it's a very uncomfortable garment! By the way, the double initiation is from the legends of the eleventh century, right?

Yes, the quotations refer to the Vendian Chronicle, but that piece of the original, the second quarter of the third scroll, is lost.

Holy crap, so he's older than the Count himself?!!

Go and study, schoolboy! Barons came before Counts! Of course, he is!"

discussion of the video on a history forum

* * *

"Oh gods, why didn't you just kill me yesterday?"

"I didn't, because I love torturing my enemies in the morning."

"Mo-onster..."

"Egelbert! Did we make much noise? Is anything destroyed?"

The old man who had awakened us ten minutes before, looked sternly at the two barons who had found themselves in the same bed that morning (they did fit, didn't they?), and expressing his silent indignation at the decline of the morals of youth, finally deigned to mutter:

"I dare to remind you, Baron, that yesterday an eternal peace was made between the baronies of Gravstein and Vindifrosch."

I looked at the tadpole, who shook his head negatively and immediately grimaced.

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"I don't remember anything."

"At all?"

"The memories stop at the point where we decided that it was wrong to kill Elepar. First, you cannot leave a barony without a ruler, second, you still have to return the cup, and third, you are a good man and almost my brother."

"Yes?"

"That's what you said!"

"I'll never drink with Romanians again..." Tadpole wrapped both arms around the hungover receptacle of his mind and sulked.

"Ha, he's still taking his word for it. We are neighbors with you, dear Elepar, and neighbors go visiting. In fact, come again with war and we'll drink for a week!"

"Monster..."

He started repeating himself. I am not such a monster, by the way, I just have more experience. When I take away three wagons of some special cement from under the Siberians' noses, even though they needed it badly, that was when I really had to work hard. But I did it! And we even remained friends! Although I am still not sure that someone really needed this cement so much, and that Mitrich just did not bet with those Siberians that I'll overdrink them.

"What else have we done?"

"When you were gone on your business, Mr. von Vindifrosch gathered your henchmen and made a solemn vow - swearing to return the Cup."

"Oh, God!"

Young people don't know how to drink. Well, or to keep quiet in time - that comes with the age.

"Mr. Baron?"

"Yes, Egelbert?"

"I was contacted by representatives of Blumshield & Sons Bank." He picked up the phone he had been holding the whole time.

"Answer that all negotiations are only in the castle. In the afternoon."

"They ask, not directly, but understandably - is it accurate to expect a two-month sentence for their colleague?"

"Then answer that any question is solvable, but we must make sure that their intentions are serious."

"What amount is serious?"

"Egelbert, how could you?! We're not terrorists to demand a ransom! Let them... Here, let them give us back the Chalice the Spanish took out."

"Just a minute!" He mumbled quickly into the tube, and I picked up the jug and pressed it to my temple. Elepar, with a mighty effort, dragged himself across the bed and pressed himself to the other side of the jug. And so we sat there until my business and non-drinking steward distracted me from the blissful chill:

"They can't, Mr. Baron. They can provide the plans of the vault security systems."

What are they pushing me to do, I am asking? Oh... such bankers!

"All right, let them send it. We still have to help our neighbor with his vows." The old man hummed and shook his head. "Don't you approve of the methods? Or don't you approve of the goals? There's a feud, isn't there?"

"It's not a feud, Alexander, it's more of a competition than anything else. After all, we are all Eskis, not Frenchmen. It is a good thing to help one's neighbor."

"What does this have to do with the French?"

"Oh, every Eskenlander knows who the invisible enemy is that from behind the scenes manages all the troubles of Europe."

"You about Belle France? Isn't Britain the secret ruler?"

"The islanders are pathetic puppets in the hands of a true manipulator! Think about it, even their hubris is born out of a complex based on their understanding of the present state of affairs! We are the last bastion of resistance against an implacable enemy!"

The old man said it with such conviction that I decided not to argue. After all, he's European here, he knows better. Although... who knows, maybe the French are also led by someone? Belgians, for example?

So, pondering the invisible intertwining of fate, I left the baron-tadpole with the pitcher in his arms and went down to the refectory. No matter how you look at it, tourists who want to enjoy a meal in my company must be respected. People pay money for it, so:

"Good morning, gentlemen. I'm glad to see you in my castle. Please, begin!"

The tourists politely reached for their plates, but I didn't feel like eating. I wanted to get six hours of sleep now... wait out the morning bright... damn it!.. sun, then sit quietly in an armchair, eat hot hash, then wander leisurely on the sand...

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Baron?"

I twitched, waking up from my slumber, looked around quickly - no, they hadn't noticed. What was he asking? Oh, yeah...

"Once white bread was the privilege of the nobility. Now a wheat bun with a cutlet is the poor man's food."

"Mmm... yes, a lot of things change." Egelbert clearly didn't understand why I was staring at food instead of eating. Ooh, a teetotaler!

When I picked up the goblet (I couldn't resist ordering a piece of the castle museum equipment), Dan, who was standing nearby, didn't react at first, but after a poke from the manager, he realized and grabbed a pitcher of morsel. I drank for the next minute, emptying the cup in a few gulps.

"Have you quenched your thirst, Your Grace?"

"A bit... But it's not what I really would like."

The tourists were suddenly quiet, and I even looked at them closely, trying to keep my watery eyes open. No, everything was fine. But the damn sun is shining too brightly! Good for the henchmen, they're lined up along the wall, and poor Mr. Baron is sitting there, working hard...

"Did we really do nothing wrong yesterday, Egelbert?"

"Calm down, Mr. Baron, everything was within the boundaries of decency."

It calms me down. Sometimes you have to relax... like this. The smells of food don't make me sick anymore, only the cold metal of the goblet I pressed to my forehead for nothing, and the old man mutters something... what is it, by the way?

"...and then you taught Elepar the ancient Romanian battle cry."

"Which one?"

"I wrote it down. "Rezh aktiv!" There was a continuation, only you couldn't pronounce it."
T.N.

But even in relaxation, you have to know the limits. Imagining my new friend shouting this "cry" somewhere on a soccer field or in a bar, I shuddered. Shallow, heady, a little bit of a frostbite by virtue of his book upbringing... yep.

"Just at that moment, you got your wife on the phone with me. The conversation was very short, it seems she did not like Mr. von Vindifrosch, shouting the studied cry behind your back."

Yeah. That's it, she won't let her daughters in here.

"That's good, by the way, because... Okay, that's for later."

"Then you questioned Freken Marty about why she wasn't wearing a bra."

"And why?"

"I was distracted at the time, but I think your page said something about enslavement and symbols of humiliation."

"I think I remember. I wanted something, right?"

"To go on a crusade to find land... ahem... freedom."

"And I also offered her the position of my general."

"And when she refused, you said that you were willing to establish an order of chivalry to free all women from the yoke."

"Yoke of a bra?"

"Yes. a cloth in general."

A fat, red-faced tourist, sitting in the seat of honor to his right and listening attentively to the conversation, nodded respectfully. Apparently, his idea of a good vacation fully corresponded to the quiet story of the manager. His wife, smiling dreamily, suddenly looked around and elbowed her husband. Well, it's been a long time since I've been out like this. The fresh Eskeland air must be taking its toll. I repeated the latter out loud, asking for compliments from the tourists, and they kindly gave them to me - about the wonderful castle, and the splendid city, and the picturesque nature. Von Schnitze listened with undisguised pleasure, but the squires snorted and whispered. Apparently, their expectations in some way do not correspond to what is happening. Well, that must be nipped in the bud. I'm the one who decides what should happen and how it should happen!

"What are you looking at, friends? Haven't you read the books? 'The life of a baron is feasting, hunting, and war.' The war is avoided, the hunt lies ahead, and the morning after the feast looks like this... Well. Booze is on the curriculum, too.: And after waiting for the lively youth to quiet down, he added: " As well as methods to cure a hangover the next day. To try them all and choose the right ones, you'll be drinking to death. Forget about pleasure, you're in for a hard day's work!"

The four listened to my words as students on vacation should - with enthusiasm, as if everything hurts later, but today will be good!

The Jap was a mannequin, and Marty was a contemptuous mannequin. No, she can't wear those tight T-shirts! It's inhumane! A feminist should be old and ugly, not young and... Okay, that's enough.

"Okay. Today's assignments: Marty to the kitchen."

"Again?!"

"And again and again and again - every day until you put three random blades in a row into the middle target from ten paces. By the way, this does not exempt you from learning the basics of castle management from Mr. von Schnitze."

And pretending not to pay any more attention to her, I added, turning to Izzy:

"The girl's hands are a little weak for such a temperament. Let's train her!"

The Gascon, with a dashing twist of his mustache, nodded.

"Sato, run Smartass around the castle because he smiles too much. Then compare his results with yesterdays. Norman and Robert to Sir Ulfric, to patrol the city." I turned to von Schnitze: "Warn the chief of police to assign these two for a day to the experienced guards in the most boring places."

"But we won't learn anything that way!"

"You're eighteen or twenty years old, you're adults." I started pushing them with authority again. ЭThere's no sense in teaching you, you'll learn it yourself if you need to. My job is to find out if you're ready for a high rank! If van Cliff looks loose, I'll take care of his body. If Sato is indecisive - he'll command until he gets used to it. If Dan smiles all the time - he'll know when not to do it. By taking you on, I've taken responsibility, so I'm going to give you, each of you individually and the group as a whole, one big hell of a time during these months, to show you first and foremost what you're worth. Understand?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Oh, the great power of art! I know none of them have ever been in the army, but here they are, all at attention and barking back. What the modern cinema does to people! And most importantly - now you can do anything you want, under the guise of fulfilling a very important, very secret, and very cunning plan.

Deep in my soul, was squeaking the remnants of my conscience, but I easily stifled those flutters by the decision to really teach the henchmen something useful in life. Hell, I'd told them about the Seven Noble Arts! I wish I could remember what it is...

"The first two weeks you will change and pass all the authority figures of the barony. The next two, you will partially replace them. After that... Well, that's too early for you to know, but it won't be easy!"

The tourists rejoiced! Where else will you see a live, hungover, and menacing baron, and here I am, in all my glory. By the way, I have to do something myself.

"By the way, the squires were supposed to follow their knight and help him in his affairs." The fattest of the henchmen already resigned to two weeks of physical exercise, tried to bite back."

After thinking for a moment, I nodded and smiled. The Smartass was wary, but that's why he's a smart.

"Egelbert. The young squire wants to carry part of his master's armor, as befits a true squire. Shall we help him? Order Erdar to fetch a shield from the knight's hall. The one on the wall above the fireplace."

"But it's..."

"I'm waiting."

The old man instantly ran out the door, and I picked up the goblet, which was immediately filled. It was perfect! They will both pour and carry out instructions, and quickly... definetly, I like to be a baron! If only I didn't have a headache... ...and I wouldn't smell like a damn egg from the table.

Ten minutes later, with some effort, the big man-guard gently lowered the shield in front of Smartass, and Smartass looked at me longingly.

"I know you dreamed of bearing arms, as it is written in your wise books. Here is a shield for you to bear! Appreciate it, you are the first of the squires to have such an honor! Let's consider it a reward for your deep historical knowledge!"

The tourists, turning their attention away from the table, applauded in unison.

The Smartass stared sadly at the shield. It was decorative, of course, an all-metal rectangle with a bracket of the iron strip to hang it on the wall, but in principle, it was capable of defensive functions - just like the cover from the sewer manhole. Well, nowhere does it say that a weapon carried behind a knight has to be real. Or light - this thing looked to be about fifty pounds.

After finishing breakfast quickly, I said goodbye to the tourists as politely as I could, patted Smartass on the shoulder, and went out.

"What about the volunteers?"

"Oh, that's just great! Part of it will be to portray the living exhibits, the guards, the blacksmiths, and the other stable boys." Egilbert was segueing along the courtyard, all too happily recounting the household chores. That's all right, I'll just go out on the wall, there'll be a breeze, a coolness... "Some of it will go outside the walls and do the necessary work... Look out!"

A black shadow flashed over my head, slid scrabbling across the stones of the courtyard, turning around. I jumped up, cursing-an impact on my shoulder that was palpable and numb.

"Beee!"

I tried to jump away from the new attack, but the attacking creature twisted in flight, hitting me with its horns.

"Meee!"

"You bastard! This is my favorite shirt!"

"In a moment, Alexander, I called for help!"

Oh, and I won't need any help against that goat!

The creature snorted and sprinted away again, and I swung left and hit it, and the attacker yelped and tried to break the distance after it landed. I had to jump on him and pile on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

"What the hell is this?!" The big black goat under my knee was yelling and trying to twist, I had to hold on tight, the animal... The beast weighed about eighty kilograms and tried very hard to shove me off.

"Sorry, Alexander, I forgot to warn you!" The old man looked out from behind the door, clearly not believing that I could hold off the horned aggressor. "Last night we brought a new addition. The best breeder, a pedigree medallist!"

"Medallist?! I'll explain to him his place in this castle!"

Growling with anger at the sun, tourists, goats, tourists, myself, and damn tourists, I grabbed the bastard by the horn, lifted him, not letting him lean on his hooves and twist, dragged him across the yard, and kicked the animal writhing with hatred for humans into the barn, and quickly closing the door.

Immediately there was an ominous chirping and wailing from inside, the wall shuddered with a heavy thud, and then all was silent.

Damn. Well, that's okay. We got a lot of volunteers now, one more, one less... I'm not going in there myself!

Von Schnitze, who was looking thoughtfully at what was happening from the porch, seemed to share my thoughts.

The tourists applauded again.

Okay, let's pretend it's a subspecies of bullfighting, specifically for Eskenland realities. The breeze was chilling my shoulder, and my favorite warm, plaid shirt was torn... Why, why had I put it on? Now I would have to buy another one, suffer, choose, get used to it for weeks, and it would still not be as comfortable!

"Well, Alexander, you don't have to worry so much. It's only a goat, and your kick didn't really hurt him."

My gloomy look made the old man shudder. He immediately coughed and changed the subject:

"Mr. Baron, a detainee awaits your trial."

"What, you couldn't find someone in town to take care of it?"

"This is a very complicated case. You see, this young man was detained for questionable statements and called himself your personal enemy."

"When did I ever hurt him?"

"He claims that twenty-three years ago, five years before he was born. He is, you see, a nationalist."

What a morning, it's the goats and the nationalists! Are they having an interest meeting here? Are they conspiring to ruin my morning?!
T.N.

"Egelbert, the details!"

There were some: a certain lad, one-eighth of an Esk, decided that a foreign baron was an insult to his national feelings. So he began wandering around town, handing out leaflets calling for the overthrow and arguing for an immediate uprising against me. The people of Gravstein rejoiced at the firm convictions of such a young man but did not support his aspirations in the slightest. Yesterday, the moment I and my guest had arranged a hand-race on the fortress wall (von Vindifrosch won, but only because I held his legs the whole time to keep him from falling), the courageous Nazi decided to move from words to action and resolutely went to the square with a flag and my picture (the one of me being good), which he burned to the singing of the same "We have won".

He was detained for violating fire safety, but at the station, he convinced the police that there was a political component to the report. Since my guards did not want to get involved in politics, the courageous but slightly unreasonable young man was assigned to me.

Now this organism claimed to be an ideological fighter for democracy and would spare no life to expel the damned invader. Or to draw the attention of the foreign public to the ongoing infringement of national feelings in the city.

So, the offender definitely needs to be punished, in order to stop him. But violence is not our method, especially in judicial practice. We shouldn't set precedents; let's rule reasonably and fairly. I think I saw the decision during a recent walk around town.

"Egelbert, do you know the townspeople well?"

The manager raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded.

"Then find..." and I dictated the description of the lady I remembered.

I think the next forty minutes were very disappointing to the fighter against foreign tyranny. Only one guard watched him, the tyrant went into the shadows, where he sat on a bench, and the damned collaborator of the damned baron was engaged in some economic activity, now and then dashing around the yard in different directions, with his nose stuck in a folder of papers. A little reassured the defendant tourists, happily photographing him and the tyrant, and the walls, and the beautiful flowers in the front garden, and the barn door, and that cute bird on a rock... and in general, why so little attention to the victim of arbitrariness!

I think he would soon start complaining about it, but then von Schnitze returned with the lady I named, and the trial resumed.

In fact, it ended immediately with a verdict. Very surprising to everyone in attendance.

The seventy-six-year-old Mrs. Jansen, in all the glory of her hundred and twenty kilograms, looked doubtfully at the victim.

"This one?"

The ruffian looked now at her with horror, then at me with entreaty.

"Yes, Mrs. Jansen. From the heart! Thirty times."

The venerable lady chuckled and rubbed her hands together, which made the tied man shiver.

"Well, go ahead and start. You're busy, so we'll keep count. And one, and two, there's no hurry. Hey, stop fighting! And three! With feeling, Matilda, with full commitment! All his antics from lack of attention, so let him feel that someone needs!"

The Nationalist puffed and tried to turn away, but the old fisherwoman held her current prey securely and kissed heartily, with a hickey. Everyone was counting. The tourists around the scaffold were jumping up and down with emotion, and I remembered that the British had such a tank, the Matilda.

" Mr. Baron, maybe he did something else? So I'm a widow, can you hand him over to me for further work?" The flushed lady still carelessly, with one hand, held the unhappy victim of my sick fantasy on the weight, occasionally shaking for clarity.

"Well, that's how he'll behave. In the meantime, thank you for your help!"

The perpetrator was breathing frequently, sticking his tongue out, and crouched, his eyes round, watching Mrs. Jansen, shuffling his feet in the air.

"Eh, you've only aggravated the honest woman, the wretch!" The fisherwoman lowered him back to the scaffold, playfully slapped his ass, which made the freedom fighter jump with a squeal... Yes, a working man's hand is heavy, it's not office plankton, who never held anything heavier than a smartphone. The tourists once again applauded. Well, now for the finishing touch.

"Mrs. Jansen, here is your payment for doing such an important job." I took a gravkoyn out of my pocket and held it out to the woman. She accepted it, sat down in a curtsy, and suddenly licked her eyes, looking at the offender. "You are also allowed to prefix your name in your petitions and official papers as "Mistress of the Young," and to address my knights without ceremony." Remembering some prejudices against executors of punishments, I gallantly extended my hand and helped the "relentless executioner" down the stairs, imitating a discreet bow. The woman quickly does a curtsy once more.

"I would give you the outlaw's clothes, as is the custom, but the young man might misunderstand. He might die of fright."

The "guards" standing nearby and the two volunteers twisted in an attempt to keep their stern faces.

"So we'll skip that today. And by the way, Egilbert, any gossip against my subjects will be seen as a slander against myself."

"I got it, Mr. Baron!" The old man took the liberty of making a joke: "Alexander, now there will be a flood of connoisseurs of female beauty!"

"Yes? Well, then order a sex shop catalog, something from the BDSM outfit. I think that the Gravsteins, who've been around for years, would be happy to take care of the morals of young people! Especially since we've got thirty more days of community service for this one. For the good of Eskenland. He took such care of it, didn't he? However, I'll allow you to replace it with kissing, at the rate of one day for ten kisses!"

The guard closer closed his eyes with a manly, hardened face, sobbed, and blinked back a tear. The volunteers laughed in a voice somewhere around the corner of the scaffold.

Mrs. Jansen was already having her picture taken with one of the tourists surrounding her.

Maybe we should really send the kid to help the poor widow. I've always suspected that these nationalistic and religious shenanigans come from an excess of energy and a lack of attention from the opposite sex, so let's see the results.

Eh, if all problems were that easy to solve...

A few memories from last night kept swirling in my head.

* * *
"Such inconceivable cruelty!"

"I agree. Kissing such a slug!"

"The guy was just stating his position!"

"And what are you unhappy about? He wasn't even beaten!"

"Yes, von Gravstein knows a lot about motivation!"

"I wonder what he would come up with for our Nazis?"

"I've been in the castle - believe me, that Baron would make them work! I think it would have been scarier for them than kissing the charming Frau."

"It's hard to argue!"

From the comments on the article on "Nuheter Politiken Zeitung", the article is accompanied by a picture of Mrs. Mathilde Jansen sending an air kiss to the camera.

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