Готовый перевод Господин Барон / The Baron: 6

An hour after the execution, the video was posted on the museum's website, with the caption: "We loved, love, and will love the nationalists!

Someone with a no-name put up a link to the page of a popular sex shop, explaining what tools the executioner would use next time. It was a bit harsh humor, but my subjects liked it. I'd have to ask how much Izya charged that store for advertising. In the meantime, I was overwhelmed by the routine.

A vacation, they call it - to check on the volunteers, to visit the souvenir kiosk, to receive a report on the city's incidents, albeit very formal, from the knights (it was agreed that the report will be transmitted daily since they manage on my behalf), to welcome a new batch of tourists

Egelbert asked very much, knowing that most people come to see "Mr. Baron," there's nothing else to see... well, except for the dungeon. To check Sato and Smartass, to nod approvingly, to go down into the ditch, cleaned by a friendly group of volunteers, to collect feedback and suggestions for food and lodging, to work symbolically half an hour on the wheelbarrow, setting an example, then to go further with a businesslike look, to discuss what I have heard from the guys with the manager, greet the tourists, sample the kitchen (I wanted to have a full meal, but at the sight of the damn girl I choked and ran away), send three servants to transport the goat to the stable, escort two of them to the infirmary, make sure there is no medic in the castle, fix one sprain and clean the scratches of another.

/yell at Eggy, get a nurse's fee statement in response, have an inventory made of all available volunteer professions to see if they are useful, kick the kicking Beast into his harem again, greet admiring tourists along the way, talk back to a couple from Sweden asking me for an "Eskenlan method" execution schedule...

Routine work.

At some moment I found myself on top of the donjon with a sandwich in my hand.

The city rooftops, the streets, the trees, and the sea to the horizon are still below. Above, it's still cloudy, like "oh, it's going to rain... or not." In the middle is me, not paying attention to anyone...

"Baron, sir?"

I looked longingly at my sandwich and turned to the manager, who was delicately tugging at his folder, with a volunteer with a "duty officer" armband looking around.

"Yes, Egelbert?"

"Your decision is required."

Well, yes, that's always the case, too. The moment you get ready to eat in peace is when most of the problems appear. It's the law.

I sighed. I didn't want to leave, and I didn't want to do anything, either. The cool breeze, the nice view, no tourists, and no worries. They were all down there.

"What, to judge someone again?"

The old man, sensing my mood, put aside the folder and cautiously nestled next to me.

"Rather take part. Spider-Man sneaked into the castle."

I covered my eyes and stifled the first tearing word, then I thought of a second, a third, and settled on a more or less neutral ninth:

"So?"

"It turns out that he just found out about our... legal status. He had already visited all the prominent buildings in the Federation, and now he decided to conquer Gravstein. Before we vote it back."

Once again trying to compare in my mind the movie character and my castle, I concluded that something, apparently, I do not understand.

"Tell me, Egelbert, is it always so much fun here?"

"Oh, come on, Alexander, we're usually very quiet, I'd even say a little too quiet."

"So you're saying that all this started with my arrival?"

He understood from the tone that it was not in his interest to answer in the affirmative, the old man waved his hand vaguely, and then hinted:

"You can see for yourself. It's right below us." And he pointed invitingly to the edge of the platform. Feeling like a complete idiot, I nevertheless went over and looked down. Then I scratched the back of my head and asked:

"Egelbert, what is this?"

"This is Spider-Man."

"I have to admit, I imagined it differently."

"That's how ... ah! I got it - no, no, it's really him! Not fictional, but real!"

I bent over once more and looked at the guy, about twenty-five years old, in shorts and a sleeveless shirt, clinging to the masonry of the wall at about the third floor height, arguing with the guards.

"Details!"

Such were quickly discovered. Spiderman was an extreme climber who climbed various high-rises, usually without the permission of the owners. And he always tried to climb the highest building in the country. It's a strange entertainment, but I don't mind whatever people do - as long as this clever guy didn't climb my donjon!

"Have you tried to take him off?"

"He doesn't want to come down. He says the police have never been able to get him off the wall. Only later, from the roof."

"So... you." The servant standing at the flagpole and listening to us nodded enthusiastically. "Get me a rope to reach the ground, a mop, and a bottle of oil."

Enthusiasm was replaced by bewilderment, but the volunteer immediately rushed downstairs. Oh, how nice it is to have a quick handyman! Seven floors down, seven floors up, you'd have a lot of trouble running yourself, but this way you gave the order and everyone started running. I wonder where he could find a rope?

I periodically looked at the tracer, who was in a stalemate (he was just hanging between the third and fourth-floor windows, with the guards shouting in excitement from both, and the hooligan hanging incomprehensibly on the wall making obscene gestures, confident that no one would throw him away with a spear), waited until the messenger returned, thoughtfully examined the rope, found it suitable, then fastened it somehow to a suitable hook and threw the end down.

The parkourist finally turned his attention to me, and the tourists below applauded the appearance of a familiar face. They seemed to have a reflex to see me, because when you see a baron, you have to get your hands in the air.

"Hey, are you going to get down?"

"Excuse me, but only by stairs, from the top of the tower!"

"You don't understand, it's not a question." I alternately showed him the mop and the bottle of olive oil. "Either you get down, or the whole top of the tower will be covered with this wonderful product."

The white-toothed smile changed to a thoughtful squint, then a disgruntled expression. Spiderman didn't feel like climbing up the oiled wall.

"Baron von Gravstein?"

"That's right."

"How about a deal?"

"I was having lunch, and your appearance interrupted this wonderful process."

"I bet a treat at the best restaurant in town!"

"What do you want?"

All he needed was not much. Since we are now a kind of independent state, he wants to climb to the highest building of it. Before the state is not abolished. He and his fellow skyscrapers have an unspoken competition, and when the esks vote to return, he will forever have an unparalleled achievement.

In general, I was not against it, only...

"Egelbert, who is this person according to your complicated classification?"

The old man, understanding, raised his eyes to the sky, moved his lips, and said:

In wartime as a spy, but now as a jester or comedian, perhaps. He amuses people, there is no other use, but there is no harm either.

"Then dress him up in a proper costume and only then send him up the wall. Yes, put ten men with a stretched tarp underneath. We're a civilized barony, not wild America or wherever he's from; we've got moral values and order and all that."

Nodding, the manager disappeared. Tough people around here, after all. All-day long, wandering up and down these stairs in these draughts. I watched melancholy as the Spider-Man, who had come down without a rope, was photographed with the guards and tourists, and then the red-white-orange Eskeland flag with the traditional Scandinavian cross was ceremoniously put on his shoulders, and a paper cap on his head, and the climber, not too inspired by his outfit, crawled up, accompanied by cheering shouts.

But he was understandable: it's one thing to do some mischief at the behest of one's soul, and quite another to do it as a job. He doesn't know that I'll pay him upstairs by handing him a gift-wrapped gravcoin right under the cameras. It's not anarchy here, it's a medieval barony, it's serious, and you can only play around with my permission.

Eh, maybe I should order a thousand more coins. They fly away as real money goes.

When Spiderman made it to the top of the donjon and came back down the stairs, there was no enthusiasm on his face. Yes, that's how mean I am - I threaten people with kisses, and then with a mop. He took the gravcoin he had been given "for the amusement of a respectable public," however.

Standing on the edge of the parapet, where the bastard had dragged me, accompanied by the applause of the fifth and sixth groups of tourists clustered below. Oh, my donjon is so high, it's too high.

Well, melancholy is melancholy, but we need to work - the manager left lists of volunteers, it's worth reading. And there is a report on finances since yesterday, and on the materiel, and the accounts need to be checked, otherwise the old man will think that he is neglected. It's not easy, you're a baron's lot, but never mind, we Romanian nobles are hard-working people!

As I descended, I considered what to occupy the squires with, but my thoughts were interrupted: suddenly, something hissed out of the wall, purred, clawed at my pant leg, swung its paw...

"Hey!"

The Ghoul froze.

I could feel him swallowing frantically, trying to figure out how he could justify his behavior, then his fangy mouth opened, his claws on his paw retracted, he pulled back a little, sat on his butt, raised his mustachioed face-up...

"I don't believe."

The poor kitty's eyes filled with tears. He, the unfortunate victim of severe persecution, was not believed by the fairest man in the castle!

"Well, try to sob."

The cat lowered his head. Yes, he understands, it's hard to believe that it was only self-defense against a world inordinately cruel to such small creatures.

"Like you had nothing to do with it?"

The furry, two-faced creature rose easily on its hind legs, touching me gently with its forelegs. The faithful gaze was full of hope.

"I'll kick your ass, right now!"

He sat down on a rock, pondered, wrapped his tail around himself, then tilted his head in bewilderment. As if to say, "Your will, but why?"

"And who tried to bite me?"

Me? When?

"No, still a kick. And with a slipper over the ass."

Oh, Mr. Baron... And I thought you were the only normal person here.

"If you press my pity, I'll send you to the city. There are a lot of dogs there."

The Ghoul smiled predatorily, licking his lips.

"All right, come here. A hypocrite, but fluffy and warm. That's a lot, isn't it?"

The cat jumped into my arms, sniffed my neck habitually, tickling me with its whiskers, then looked around, snorting softly. Surely he considered himself a subtle manipulator. One of the volunteers, standing by the wall with a broom in his hand, looked quite stunned. What was the matter with him?

By the way, I'm the only one that this toothy terrorist has never attacked. Was it because I was the only one who thought to give him milk? But it was more likely the smell of valerian, which I soaked up during the spring revision. It still hasn't weathered, so much of it was consumed. Not by me, but because of me. Something to be proud of, yes.

Two hours later, I was able to get away from work and stretch out, walking around the room and stopping at the window. The furniture in the office was antique, and, in theory, I should have been paid extra for working on it, as it was especially harmful to the body. But who will spare me? Here's even the knights sent a bunch of unnecessary paperwork - I understand it's the sacred thing to drown the new chief in reports, but why do I need them? I thought we agreed that I do not interfere in the city's finances, why are they nervous? Or is there a reason?

There were eerie shouts from below, and a few volunteers ran across the courtyard, then a guard, and finally a goat chasing after them. It seemed that one of the runners was looking hopefully toward my window, but I was too lazy to go down. There are many of them out there, Beast alone, let them settle. Thank me for keeping the cat, at least it's some relief.

A knock on the door distracted me from thinking about the reasons for the magistrate's nervousness, which had resulted in a paperwork storm on my head.

"Come in!"

The first one through the door was a spear.

Marty was holding it with both hands, going, judging by the expression on her face, to fight to the death in the name of the Light.

The squires who followed her were embarrassed, shifting and stomping from foot to foot, but they looked suspicious nonetheless. The girl started it, who could have doubted it:

"We know everything!"

"Yes? So where are the corpses?"

"Whose?"

"So, you don't know?"

"Did you kill him?!"

"I wasn't even born yet!"

The girl looked at me like a commissar at a bourgeois, and the other henchmen acted as a crowd, showing with all their limbs that this idea was not theirs at all, that they were here quite by accident and in general, but that there was a misunderstanding. And they do not know how to solve it?

"I was referring to Rudolf Diesel. A very mysterious disappearance, and here is a man who knows everything - it's a sin not to take advantage of the opportunity. What did you mean by that?"

"Your brother!"

I quickly recalled my relatives, suppressing the urge to scratch the back of my head. I was an only child of my mom and dad, and then there were cousins, but what did they have to do with it?

"What brother?"

"That one! Confess, where is he?!"

And on the table in front of me lay... a printout of a photo from the website! More precisely, my "kind" face.

"That's not you! I have studied drawing and I can tell you that there is nothing of that person in you!"

I opened my desk drawer with pleasure, searched through it, finally found both versions, and took them and compared them. Yes, I underestimate myself, but what a talent! Actually, the trick with the face suggested to me a friend, an aspiring actress. It was long ago, twenty years ago, but in his spare time, she loved to look at the faces of others and give advice on image. It's true, I was running to her for something different, but over time, what I got during the breaks came in handy.

" So you're saying you want my brother?" It was said with a minor-threatening intonation, accordingly... what was it - stiffer cheekbones, a tilt of the head, sharper intonation? And all this is illuminated by a single desk lamp, under which the mock-raised Ghoul warms his ears. "So there he is." I, ignoring the spear pointed at me, moved the lamp, changed the lighting, leaned back, raised my head, and smiled charmingly, reproducing the image adopted for the "photo of the good baron.

"God, he's also a werewolf."

"When you live to be my age, you will be the same." I walked past the shrunken henchmen and sat down in my chair. "As anyone doing business in earnest does, my dears. And now explain to me, whose idea it was, and what you wanted to achieve?" And with a slight movement of my face, I turned into an "evil" Baron. This is more familiar to me and them.

What followed was a funny scene of bickering, accusations along the lines of "it's you! No, it's you!" and the hissing of a disgruntled girl. As was my custom, I pitted the henchmen, who were searching for the truth, against each other, fishing out the truth. It turned out that, having heard a lot of tales from "I won't tell you who," and deciding that the real baron could not do as I did to her, Marty started an investigation. Yesterday, in the heat of drunkenness, she overheard a phrase and, not wanting to be wrong, interpreted it in her own way, thought I was a monster, and all day long she persuaded her friends to come to me and "press the villain against the wall".

Oh, everything happens in life! To think - to mistake a living person, whom you have known for a few days, for some kind of monster. Adult people... or not so, she's nineteen years old. They read too much fantasy and then attack their employers with spears!

"And anyway, who cares?" I went on with my accusatory and educational speech, not so much for the benefit of the henchmen as for my amusement. "You serve Baron Gravstein - I am him! And as for the "monster" - you have seen me standing calmly in the sun and touching the silver. Here..." I rummaged in my pocket for change and twirled a coin in my hands. "You see? I even carry it with me."

"It's gold!" Suspicion instantly returned to Marty's voice.

"Hmm, indeed." I looked at the metal circle with curiosity. It was really gold, and it was old, like a Spanish coin. Where did I get it? But that would come later. "Still, I had silver in my hands, the same gravcoins."

"Only in a souvenir package!" It was obvious that the battle buddy had already realized the haste of her decision and was arguing solely out of the habit of never giving up.

I slowly picked up the cup with the rest of the coffee, drank it, tried not to wrinkle it, took out the spoon and licked it, and dropped it back with a clink. The white pale metal finally convinced my most scandalous henchman. Oh, my goodness, and softness, what are you doing... Absent! As always.

"Attention." There was a short shuffle, and the henchmen, lined up in height, stretched out, devoutly devouring their superiors with their eyes. "Kudos for your vigilance." Everyone smiled at once. "And censure for such a poorly executed inspection. Before the visit to the bosses, first, the hard evidence is gathered, and only then are the claims made." They're nervous. In general, they should have been scolded and rewarded with something like night duty, but I was lazy. "By the way, Smartass, where's your award shield?"

"One moment, Your Grace!"

Van Cliff darted out the door, then returned at once. He dragged the shield behind him in a wheelchair, like the ones retired women now use to go shopping.

"As you can see, it's always with me and doesn't bother me at all!" And he patted the metal.

"Well, kudos," I spoke smiling, but Smartass seemed to be drooping, and the other henchmen suddenly began to move away from him. "You really are clever and smart. I think you deserve an extra reward. Marty the spear!" I held out my hand without looking, and when the girl handed me the weapon I handed it to the henchman who had fallen. "He who has managed so quickly with one task can wear more than just a shield. Now, I hope you'll hand me this as well at any moment. I forbid you to drop it or move more than five paces away from the insignia of your dignity."

"Thank you for your trust, Baron." There was no joy in his voice.

"Great. Norman, you work in the kitchen with Marty tomorrow."

"What am I in for?!"

"For being older and more experienced, you did not point out to your friend the dubiousness of her conclusions. And what did it lead to? You see, my Ghoul woke up as a result!"

The cat yawned once more, showing white fangs, and looked intently at the henchmen, clearly choosing his prey.

"And Robert would chase Smartass around the castle, showing him how to hold his spear properly while running with the cart you have a shield on." Both groaned, and I remembered that I still hadn't covered the secret entrance to the castle dungeons in any way. "Next, Dan and Sato, since you have so much energy left by tonight, you will go to the back gate in the morning, take a bigger stone there, and place it on Enedar von Graveshtein's tombstone.

"Wh..?"

"That's the way it has to be! And if I need it that way, what do you say?"

"It will be done, Mr. Baron!"

Good. And finally, to improve the educational and testing process, from now on you will be able to report every night on how you spent your day. In about a thousand words, no more. Short, just thee essence.

I don't have anything to heat the fireplace with.

"Yes, Mr. Baron."

"Go ahead, it's late."

The girl, who realized what she was about to be told by her fellow students, looked at me frowningly and jumped out. She was followed by the rest of the henchmen, and Dan was the only one who lingered.

"Mr. Baron, we never doubted for a second. But our battle buddy... it's a natural force, it's impossible to resist it! - He pressed both hands to his heart and made a penitent face, and then jumped out, closing the door carefully."

Ghoul and I looked at each other and smiled at the same time.

I was in a melancholy mood, but I gave tasks to the unfortunates who happened to be at hand - and I was immediately awake and cheerful!

Ah, I love my work!

* * *
Do you think Baron Gravstein is one of his kind?

I don't know, but The Grave was buried by a big boulder yesterday! Apparently, someone else can get out?"

From comments on the Gravstein Castle Museum website
* * *

Spitting out a cherry pit, I followed the trajectory of its fall from the tower and turned to von Schnitze:

"It's boring, Egilbert. Should we arrest the mailman?"

"But for what?"

"For ties with unholy powers."

"Excuse me, Mr. Baron?"

"I've been following him for two weeks now, and he's never been more than a minute late. Believe me, it's impossible to such a delivery without an agreement with the Prince of Darkness!"

"Alexander, you are very wrong here! We Eskenlanders are capable of..."

I didn't listen any further, just nodding decently. I was bored.

Over the past week, somehow by itself, that is, almost without swearing or running around, almost everything got organized. Tourists visited the castle six times a day, plus a joint breakfast and lunch (manager still pushed me, I had to agree). They introduced an additional attraction: a night in the "medieval" way, in the refectory, on planks of straw, thrown under the tables. For some reason it was much more successful than comfortable rooms with modern furniture. Tourists got up in the morning with groans and grunts, but happy!

We managed to figure out the origin of the howling and moaning. It was Ghoul. The kitten had been lurking in the ventilation ducts, sometimes entertaining himself with concerts. The bizarre acoustics did indeed carry the sounds to the dungeon cells in a strangely distorted form. However, we were in no hurry to tell anyone about it; there was no reason to deprive the castle of the atmosphere of an ancient mystery.

Volunteers were amusing themselves, retelling my fabrications as ancient tales, and the restoration work was progressing at a respectable pace, even though only the simplest work was being done - the restoration of the murals had been postponed. In the city, too, everything was in order.

Boring.

"Alexander, what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what I'm longing for, I have no peace of mind." The old man glowed when he heard the familiar lines. Romantic people, these Eskenlanders. "I wonder what to do."

Of course, it is completely uneducational to reveal the greatest secret of leadership - that sometimes it is just mindlessly resting rather than plowing for the glory of the work process. But I needed something to do!

The usual methods of combating boredom were not available.

Drinking is not the option. First of all, there is no one to drink with.

The squires are young, and there's nothing to drink with them. Eggy Jr. and his father would have kept me company, but that wouldn't have been entertainment, it would have been using my position, because, after all, I'm a baron, and they're a family of managers. Volunteers are not an option, they have their own entertainment. Although the thought of organizing something like a festival flashed through my mind, but we need a good reason. I'll have to dig into the history of esks, there's bound to be a date coming up, and then I'll have a good time.

Women? Yeah. There are tourists with strong bodies, you kick them out the door, they come in the window.

A man should be a hunter, not a prey! I was hunted all the time. I had never been a sex symbol, I was taller than average, and my face wasn't exactly ugly - but here I saw the eyes of the visiting ladies light up: 'Prey! Get it!'

I had an acquaintance who was a smart woman, but one day she suddenly said that we didn't understand anything and if she were a man, then she listed all the things my friends had done that caused them various problems, from financial losses to health and legal problems. But she was sure we were just passing our chance. Yeah, right.

Looking at those predatory sweet smiles, listening to the constant "Mr. Baron, what are you doing tonight?", "Mr. Baron, would you mind" and "Mr. Baron, I've dreamed so long" - I wanted to crawl away to hole up with the Ghoul.

No, not a kiss without love! I could, of course, go away somewhere, I was not chained, but I was too lazy to go away.

There's still work to do. Oh, von Schnitze just a hint and there will be more work than necessary! I looked around: the manager was standing nearby, waiting for something. Maybe just a hint? Well then:

"They say once in Denmark a girl came to school with a cross, and they told her to take it off, but she didn't. And she was crucified on the cross!"

The old man chewed his lips thoughtfully, moved his eyebrow a few times, looked at me, and cautiously answered:

"Mr. Baron, I still think that in some ways this story is not quite... um... true."

That was a thousand years ago.

His face instantly brightened.

"Oh, then it really could have happened! Where did you hear such an interesting legend?"

"The old people used to say..."

I sighed. The old man had a sense of humor, but a very peculiar one, and he didn't understand most of my jokes. Or didn't want to.

It's boring, though. I've got to do something, or I'm going to start acting weird!

"By the way, this legend is proof that already in those centuries there were schools in Denmark, and women were educated there on an equal footing with men!"

Egilbert and I looked at Marty and stay loudly silent.

Yesterday she finally put three knives in a row in the middle target and fought her way to becoming assistant to the chief of the guard. An hour later he sent her to Eggie. In another hour the latter sent the girl to the father. The old man tried to tear himself away for a long time, running around the castle, but he couldn't, for all his swiftness, and I reckon he came up here to the tower so that I could somehow put the combat friend to rest.

Oh, that energy for peaceful purposes... At least she's a little afraid of me.

In general, I never ceased to be amazed at how seriously these guys, my squires, took everything seriously. It would seem that they had spent not so little, but not much money on some courses, in fact - a theatrical recreation. Did they not realize that not so much and get? And that at any moment they could take off and go away on really important business instead of letting themselves be abused?

Probably not.

More than that, Eggy reported that there was a waiting list for a second set of squires, and some of the volunteers (probably at the instigation of one brave mustachioed man) had opened some sort of training course.

Though why am I surprised, there's a whole small country that thinks that if you pretend that everything goes as it's supposed to, then everything will go as it's supposed to. Oh, those eskies...

"I'm going to go check out the basement. Has the group left yet?"

"Yes, Alexander." Von Schnitze stared at me hopefully, but I, being a tyrant and a despot, did not take Marty with me.

It's been a long time since I've been in jail! It's been a week now. First of all, I don't like it there. Not because they are victims of my injustice, but because there are tourists there. Secondly, something constantly happens to the tourists - someone twists his arms and legs in the torture chamber, testing the strength of the shackles, or some Asians altogether managed to get locked in an empty cell. It was quite a sight, twenty-two people staring sadly at Erdar, running along the walls with excitement, and photographing non-stop - the poor guy almost broke the bars with his bare hands. That's okay, now we also take "barred" pictures. Americans are especially eager to take them.

From the door of the first cell came groans. The tax collector, pleasantly surprised by the percentage dripping to him, like most of his countrymen in such a situation, immediately began to improve his skills - did vocal exercises to develop the voice, worked long and thoughtfully on the costume. Still, the locals know how to work, even I was impressed.

"You, dear Otto, were in the wrong business; you should have been on the stage. You're wasting your talent. As soon as you've finished your time, you must enroll in an acting course."

"Thank you, Mr. Baron, I am very flattered. I'm thinking of introducing some recognizable classics into the repertoire."

The publican changed his expression to a more tragic one.

"Better gesticulate more actively, place the image three-dimensionally!"

Schreiber hesitated, moved his hand at random, stared at his palm, put it to his stomach and to his chest several times, guessing.

"Genius! That's what I've been missing!"

"Happy to help. Are the conditions acceptable?"

"Considering that I still consider my detention to be arbitrary..."

"... fully compliant with local laws, so it's more of a working point."

"Let's presume. The conditions are decent. But I resent it! Why is my neighbor's door open and mine is not?"

Well, you seem like a relatively decent person, here, even a spark of acting talent shows that you just lost your way at some point. And your neighbor, he's a mess. The banker... On the other side of him, as you note, sits a perpetually hungry cannibal. We don't give up hope that one day they'll find each other.

"Оh... I understand. But I'm afraid the poor African guy has no chance."

Here I agreed with him.

After nodding to the publican, who had begun practicing his most soul-crushing moans and curses in the third act, I moved on.

The next two doors were open.

The African was now running somewhere upstairs; he only came down to the cell before the excursion. The black man, having learned that the taxman's artistic wailing was paid in cash, at first went on strike. When I found out about this, I threatened that he would also go on hunger strike. The African went back on his word, and we came to an agreement. Now the "wild ogre" usually hung around upstairs somewhere, and during visiting hours he came down, locked his cell, and greeted the tourists by gnawing on a huge bone, glaring with his eyes, exclaiming something unintelligible, and stretching his arms. Once, carried away, he almost dragged a careless Finn to himself, biting into the sleeve of his jacket with his teeth, but the other tourists fought off the fellow and tried to break into the cell. I had to intervene to protect the "emotional but evil child of nature," allowing all the ladies to take pictures with the smiling "outstanding specimen." The men stared grimly and threatened the negro surreptitiously with their fists.

Finn, who was in his usual melancholy body, didn't even seem to realize that someone was trying to eat him.

Schreiber was very jealous of the success of the Negro theater and moaned twice as shrill afterward. But there was no way the two prisoners could shut up the true star. Blumchild sat in his cell with the door open, glaring at passersby. It was hard to see him in the dark, and the smell, despite the daily cleaning, was noticeable, but every tourist was eager to take a memorable photo just in front of this camera. It was interesting to observe how people walked away from the plate with an explanation of his faults (we had long thought it up with Eggy and as a result described everything honestly as it was) with dreamily wistful faces. They don't like bankers for some reason. And regardless of nationality.

In any case, there was already a waiting list for the jailer's place until the end of the summer. So far, however, the torture chamber was not in use, but three of them boasted that they had almost managed to use the lash to lure the moneylender out of the cell.

In fact, that's why it smelled - he didn't bathe. Schreiber was let out for two hours every night for good behavior. African was used as a handyman for dragging or sweeping. But the banker chickened out.

In fact, I'm really good at it. Two weeks as a baronet, and already three prisoners in the cellars. A tax collector, a moneylender, and an ogre. Who else would you like to add, just to complete the picture? A journalist, perhaps? Or...

I stopped at the door of the last cell. Strangely, the bars were locked... I hadn't been down here in five days, but I remember that this, the last, farthest from the entrance, was open. I looked around and nodded to the officer in charge, who rushed over to me. Actually, Fisk should have been promoted by status, but he looked very picturesque here.

"For what is jailed this... " I twiddled my thumbs, searching for a definition. "Prisoner? And who imprisoned him?"

"So according to your Grace's order. For imposture." Erdar shrugged his shoulders. -"He showed up, started demanding something. Here," he held out his journal. "He called himself your friend... There were a lot of them, friends and relatives."

"Yes, I remember. The entire plague."

"Yeah. Well, we explained it to everyone at first. Everyone understood, yes, but this one kept getting angry, threatening that you would be displeased. So we put him in jail. They put it on the door - a vagrant and a crook. Weren't you told?"

I went to the door once more. Something about the man lying there was very familiar... very, very familiar.

"He also called you by Arabic name for some reason. Shurak, I think."

Closing my eyes, I covered them securely with the palm of my hand. Then I reached my hand out to the side, and Fisk immediately put the keys in it. When the well-oiled door opened almost without a sound, the man in the room twitched his shoulder in displeasure, as if to say, "Do not interfere". I coughed:

"Ahem. Hey, Chief, you okay?"

"Who's there?" The prisoner lifted his head from the pillow and turned around unhappily. "Ah, Sasha, you. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what? I'm sorry, it's my executioners' fault, I didn't know you showed up."

"I got it, I got it." The short, stout man rose on the couch and suddenly stretched contagiously, yawning. "If you only knew, Shurik, how well I rest! The first two days I was mad, how it was without me, but your hexenbiest did not let me out, even once did not let me call out. Strict, you should respect him!"

"I will." I gloomily looked at the guard, and the latter, picking up the intonation, guiltily shrank back. "Come on, out with your things. You've done your time for a crime against my grace, you're transferring to the free. Or do you want to go straight to the hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. Imagine, I sleep as much as I want, my meals are simple and healthy, and most importantly, no one demands or even asks for anything. A vacation resort, just like that! A real one, not this alpine misunderstanding."

"So ask me if there's anything you need. I have shackles for strength training, and a torture chamber with a rack to treat joints and restore posture."

"Justify the last name?"

"Do you know what the name of the castle is?"

"I laughed already." He suddenly leaned back. "You know, I think I'm going to sit here for a little while longer. Do you mind?"

"Aren't you worried about business?"

"Screw it I'm thinking about life here, I'm not rushing anywhere."

"Who are you and how could you take the form of my friend?"

"Ridiculous. But really! Besides, this is the third time a lady has come in here, and she looks at me so pitifully... I'll wait for tonight's crowd."

"Well, then you sit without any indulgences. This is the kind of people here. They don't understand such a rule-breaking."

"Let it be! But now, none of our oligarchs can reproach me for not knowing the life! I was in prison, where they will never be, no matter how much money they take out of the budget!"

"So, what are you doing here? Have you decided to go into politics after all?"

"Shurik, can you believe it, I just came here to watch. Like a tourist!"

I don't believe it. I'm just a simple guy from the farm. And for that sneaky face to do something "for nothing"? He even visits the bathroom with a five-way plot!

He would have liked to have been knighted. The spirit of romanticism is strong in him. But out of my hands, he wouldn't. Twenty years ago we were friends. Now we have a different relationship, and his current acquaintances might not understand. Nevertheless, he is here, and he even pretends to like it here so much that he does not want to leave. Even came up with a kindhearted tourist. Okay, I have a space.

"Do you have any complaints or requests?"

"Do you ever get anything to eat around here besides gruel?"

"Don't you like folk food, moneybag? If you're bored with gruel, do five hundred push-ups and five hundred sit-ups, then you'll get bread and jam!"

"Sasha, are you crazy? I'm going to die!"

"Do you want a sweetie? Work then!"

"I would like something easier!"

"They're going to put shackles on you! Ten kilos on each limb, that makes fifty."

"Shurik, have you counted accurately?"

"Hands, feet, tongue. Or did you think of something else?"

As far as I know this rascal, he'll have the same things for dinner as I have, only the cook will give him extra. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd had it all the first night. Now Chief looked complacent and a little sly. Yeah, right. I'll bet. No, he may be honest and sincere, but... I know him better than anyone alive today, and he knows it. And yet he's still playing the comedy... Oh, there's something wrong here!

The chief, realizing what I was thinking, pretentiously stretched out on the boards with his hands behind his head. Then he looked at me with superiority, pulled out a chocolate bar from under the pillow, slowly unwrapped it, and after taking a bite, thoughtfully uttered:

"Shurik, you have such kind subjects... Take care of them!"

"What did you tell them for a chocolate bar?"

"Told a couple of stories from our younger years."

"Weighing in at twenty years in prison altogether?"

"No more than a five. Don't worry, not a word about you."

"That's good. We won't have to wall up the cell." I sniggered and asked again, "Are you sure you're not looking forward to being free? Or let's get you a break-out, shall we? With a fight and a chase and a gunfight?"

"You know, Shurik, your initiative has to be kept on a leash. Otherwise, you'll do such a mess!" He looked at me with an unhappy expression. Displeased because I had no reaction to the chocolate. "No, I'm going to sit here, and shame on you!"

"On me?"

"Ah yes, Mogila(1) has no shame." He suddenly froze, then smiled: "0You go, Sash. I'll sleep here until tonight, in fact, when else will it be... Well, since childhood I dreamed of Count of Montecristo, solitary confinement, unjustly imprisoned, and the real ancient castle!"

"Buy one of these and make your dreams come true. You could, like me, put your friends in neighboring cells."

"No, that's not it, that would be a play. It's just like the real thing."

"Well, then sit here." Now I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. "I'm going to keep going, I've got..."

"Lots to do, Baron?"

"I'm bored here. All the things I have to do are done."

"Don't you worry about it..." He chewed the last bit and crumpled up the paper and shoved it back under his pillow... as he had done since I first met him in the dorm. "You wouldn't get bored."

And after muttering something unintelligible he turned on his side, pulling the blanket over his head.

I immediately felt like kicking him in the ass. B-bastard, he knows something, but he doesn't say anything! And I can't get him out... even though I have a torture chamber right here... but he won't tell me anyway.

"Erdar, our guest is going to stay here for a while longer as a prisoner. If he wants to leave, call him a car."

"Yes, Mr. Baron."

I walked down the halls, contemplating the meeting. No, we were not friends; we were too different. He was a climber, a real adventurer, with a head, nerves of steel, and not even a hint of conscience, which I could not be. Still, there was a certain affinity between us. I could have sworn that I was more than just a trusted employee to him. That meant that he would only betray me if he really needed to. It wasn't in the Chief's nature to make a nuisance of himself. But he turned away. And I didn't say anything.

And he didn't leave.

What I had feared since arriving at the castle was looming more and more clearly - big, shitty, international politics and its twin brother big business. Things that recognize no pity, no friendship, no oaths - only rationality. And I didn't want to let that into the slightly fabulous world of Gravstein.

But the Chief did not leave, and even his guards did not work the evacuation.

My thoughts swirled more and more in my head, and the boredom vanished. No, it's not much of a barony, not on that scale, but... but my old pal's here, which means that...

I didn't have time to think it through.

The bright afternoon sun glared as I exited the building, and I automatically squeezed my eyes shut.

"Mr. Mogila von Gravstein?"

"Yes, that's me. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" I looked around at the older man standing in front of me. Tall, neat gray mustache, gray suit, hat. A typical pensioner, only he lacked a newspaper in his pocket. Next to the "pensioner", two unfamiliar policemen were shifting from foot to foot.

"Baron Ewald von Welleschwarm, your neighbor. I apologize for not calling."

"That's all right, I welcome every colleague! Come in, please. What brings you to my house?"

"I came to declare war on you!"

Sighing, I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

"Well, don't think I'm complaining, but it's getting monotonous. Shall we go for a drink?"

"I don't drink alcohol. You'd better start getting ready because tomorrow morning I start military action."

After this the pensioner nodded goodbye, turned around, and hurried to the exit, accompanied, as I only now realized, by his bodyguards.

I really wanted to throw something heavy at his back, but I had to restrain myself.

"Sorry, Alexander, I was looking for you, but I didn't have time to warn you."

The manager was standing nearby, nervously rubbing his folder.

"Egelbert, why does everyone come to me with war?"

"Because by war we traditionally mean the seizure of a castle. In our land there are..."

"Only two, Gravstein and Eskenborg. I withdraw the question, they will continue to be coming here."

"Oh, not everyone. It's just that Mr. von Welleschwarm has been retired for seven years and is very bored. Also, as a former social worker, he knows exactly what benefits and privileges he can count on. I'm sure if he came today, it means that yesterday he finished making a list of the rights and opportunities he has."

And I also suffered that I was bored!

Fool, don't wake up trouble!

* * *
"How much essie does it take to change a light bulb?

Three - one will change the light bulb, the second will make sure everything is done by the book, and the third will remind everyone of the great history of their nation."

from a collection of jokes
* * *

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