Готовый перевод Страж Империи / Guardian of the Empire: 2.

* * *

By the end of my third week as head of the separate Ostmor customs post, I'd fully settled into my new position. It's just a job, nothing complicated. Two or three, sometimes four ferries to meet, a few declarations to fill out, and duties to collect—that's all there is to it. That leaves a ton of free time. Which I should probably fill with something, but the filthy imp keeps hiding instead of teaching me how to handle elemental energies, as he promised.

But I soon found something to occupy my time. I had a decent amount of money left, more than fifteen hundred in gold. So I found a way out. I'm not allowed to leave the customs post, but that doesn't mean no one can come to me! So I hired a fencing instructor. Not myself, of course—Gothard Delaney made an effort at my request. I can't shake the feeling that mastering the basic techniques of the noble art of fencing will be very useful in the future...

I also tasked the workers who maintained order at the customs post with building a small firing range behind the residential buildings. I also can't afford to lose my skill with a bolt gun. I'm not going to hunt a dragon with a sword, am I?

And yet, despite morning fencing lessons with the instructor and evening shooting practice, I still had plenty of free time. Out of boredom, I even began studying the "Customs Service Regulations." I also familiarized myself with other orders and regulations governing the conduct of affairs at this particular customs post. An entire shelf in the closet was filled with these papers.

It then became clear that the treasury hadn't issued an order to allow sheep through without counting them and to take the cattle drivers' word for it. The document merely stated that, due to the complexity of headcounting, the accuracy could be reduced to tens of heads. This meant customs officials wouldn't have to worry about recounting the entire flock several times over just a few sheep.

At first, I wanted to use this document to taunt Gothard, asking him why he'd lied. But after a bit of thought and considering the consequences for me personally, I decided not to even mention the treasury order I'd discovered. I stuffed the ill-fated document into a pile of others. Then I tucked it away in the closet, as far away as possible. What if Tier Svots got wind of it and they actually made me count sheep? It wouldn't take long to go crazy trying to solve such a problem. Especially since it's unlikely that any significant abuses actually exist here. Livestock is subject to a minimal duty, meaning there's no point in steppe dwellers trying to fool customs.

And so things went on - quietly, calmly, measuredly. And boringly.

By the end of my first month at the customs post, I was completely fed up with boiled lamb. They'd come up with all sorts of idiotic regulations—and the people had to suffer!

Once every ten days, Tier Swots would come to us for an inspection, which was conducted in a simple and effective manner. Accompanying him was Tier Legro, a fourth-level mentalist, who would pull two or three herders out of the group and talk to them about the transport of contraband goods. You can't hide anything from a mind mage, no matter how hard you try. When Tier Svots arrived for his next inspection, I asked if anything could be done about this ban on normal food. He just laughed in response. He said that sooner or later, every newly appointed head of a separate Ostmor customs post comes up with the idea of revoking this ill-fated city council decree. He also said that I should not count on his support in resolving this issue. He said that the Secret Service was completely satisfied with this situation. After all, everything was quiet and orderly now, but as soon as alcohol and women appeared, chaos would ensue. Then they would have to send not a dozen guards here every day, but all three.

"And what exactly is the problem, Tier Steini?" the Un-Tarkh inquired at the end. "You must understand that you are an official, and one on official duty at that... And even if there were a dozen brothels and a hundred taverns here, you have no right to visit them. You are at work, not on vacation."

"I understand that," I waved my hand dismissively. "I'm not insisting on opening a tavern for merrymaking and a brothel with depraved prostitutes. But this boiled lamb of yours is getting on my nerves!"

"Well, then, order your food prepared separately," Tier Svots shrugged. "No one will accuse the innkeeper of disobeying the city council's orders for such a trivial matter."

The offer from the un-tarkh offended me quite a bit, but I kept quiet. Although I wanted to say something about the advice to eat in a special way. And watch as all the other patrons of the tavern, forced to choke on boiled mutton, stare at you with envy. Or maybe they'll suggest that I hide from everyone and secretly eat other dishes?!

So, without meaning to, Tier Svots really hurt me. Oh well, so be it. If he doesn't want to help right some injustice, then we'll handle it ourselves.

And so I began quietly gathering information about the well-wishers who had pushed the ill-fated ordinance through the city council. This wasn't a problem—people were eager to discuss the topical issue and gossip about the ill-wishers who had perpetrated such a vile act.

The cunning plan, designed to deprive Liget of most of his income, turned out to be the brainchild of three Ostmor innkeepers: Reis Waldo, Bruno Term, and Mike Fernando. Their establishments were located closest to the northern gate, through which the road to our customs post led. These villains conspired... And they were assisted by Waldo's relative, a high-ranking official in the city magistrate.

It quickly became clear that each of the three had a vested interest in livestock supply, the Ostmor's primary source of income. Waldo owned a small slaughterhouse, Term a stake in a smokehouse, and Mike Fernando owned as many as five butcher shops.

After reviewing all the documents regulating customs operations a second time, I sprang into action. The very next day, I stopped the Ostmor dealers who were driving livestock. I declared that, from now on, the inspection of goods crossing the border would be conducted with particular care. Therefore, they should place the sheep in pens within the customs post and wait.

"Why should we wait?" the drivers tried to protest. "And for how long?"

"As long as it takes," I informed them. "Your goods are not perishable, which means I have every right to detain them for customs inspection for up to ten days." I showed the incredulously staring drivers the relevant section of the regulations, "On Conducting Inspection Measures at Separated Customs Posts."

The drivers howled in unison and, realizing the costs they would incur, immediately tried to bribe me. I refused. But I offered another option: I would not change the previous customs inspection procedure, and they would not sell livestock to the enterprises that had been profitable for the trio of malicious innkeepers.

The drivers agreed instantly, without even thinking twice. Why should they ignore a few buyers out of the hundreds available in Ostmor? It wouldn't cost them anything.

And two weeks later, I made a similar agreement with all the sheep drivers. From now on, the entire flow of livestock passed by the overly clever individuals. And none of the Ostmor dealers tried to break their word to me—the guards from the rest shifts kept an eye on that. They, too, were curious about how things would turn out. And they had a vested interest—we all ate at the same inn, after all.

Un-tarkh Svots said nothing about it. He just shook his head and grinned, showing he was aware of my dealings. So what? Even if my performance review ends up with the notation "prone to exploiting official position for personal gain," it wouldn't make me feel any better. Sure, with such a mark, I'd be stuck with no promotions or even lose my job in a re-evaluation. But for me, it's a trivial matter—I have no intention of continuing to work for the Secret Service. And even if the grey uniforms try to coax me and promise me high positions with mountains of gold, I still won't agree.

A couple of days later, some city dandy rolled up to customs in an open carriage. He looked very important. He had a thick, shiny face and small eyes that radiated undisguised self-satisfaction.

"Tier Steini?" he asked me, getting out of the carriage. After I nodded affirmatively, he continued: "I have an important matter to discuss with you." But he didn't stop there and, casting a meaningful glance at the foreman with whom I was conversing at the time, emphasized: "Strictly confidential."

“And who exactly are you?” I asked.

"Senior Magistrate's Advisor, Jurek Waldo," the uninvited guest introduced himself with a casual gesture, touching the brim of his hat.

"Well then, let's chat, Tier Senior Magistrate's Counselor," I smiled as politely as I could at Reis's Waldo cousin, and invited him into the office.

I immediately went behind the desk and settled comfortably into the chair. Then I stared questioningly at the official. Naturally, I didn't offer him a seat. After a brief hesitation, he sat down on the simple wooden chair in front of the desk. He took off his hat and tossed it onto the tabletop in front of him. He smoothed his sleek hair with a flick of his wrist and crossed his legs. Looking sternly at me, he asked:

"What do you think you're doing, Mr. Steini? On what grounds are you obstructing the affairs of some respected Ostmor residents?"

"What kind of respected residents?" I was surprised, but the magistrate's advisor interrupted me, raising his voice:

"Excuse me, I didn't finish!"

"Okay, go on."

"So," clearing his throat, the official spoke a little more quietly. "I have come to you on behalf of the city council to express our deep concern about the situation that has arisen. And to strongly recommend that you stop this disgrace before it goes too far, and the high-ranking officials of Ostmor have to take extremely unpleasant measures against you. The city council is already considering a request to the Security Administration to remove you from your position as head of the customs post. And that's just the beginning... If you don't calm down. I hope I am making myself clear?"

"Listen, you bureaucratic pimple," I drawled lazily, not at all impressed by the threats, and with a snap of my fingers, knocked a fashionable dark gray hat with blue trim off the tabletop and onto the floor. "Listen to me carefully. I give you three days to revise the city council's decree restricting the operations of Liget Rais's tavern and bring it up to standard."

"How dare you address me like that?!" Waldo shouted angrily, jumping to his feet without finishing my sentence. "Such insulting behavior toward a respected representative of the city authorities is punishable by flogging!"

"That only applies to respectable people," I remarked with a grin. "And you are in no way related to them."

"Well, that's it! I've had enough!" the red-faced bureaucrat squealed. "For some foreman to treat me like that?! I won't let this go! I'll make sure you're thrown out of here with a dirty broom! And if Svots doesn't listen to me, I'll go all the way to the capital! I have connections there, too!"

"Try it," I suggested condescendingly. "But when you bring in your friends from the capital, warn them in advance so they don't get upset with you later when they have to compete with Grass-Tarkh Luarier, the deputy head of the Secret Service, who personally appointed me here." And, looking at Valdo's changed expression, I pulled a silver badge with a crowned black eagle clutching an axe in its talons from the collar of my shirt. I tapped it with my index finger: "Don't forget about this either. About my right to involve the mentalist magician in the investigation if official publicity ensues. I have nothing to fear, I'm not seeking any profit, but you... When it's revealed that someone had a vested interest in passing that ill-fated resolution... I think someone on the city council will get a good kick in the pants right then and there."

The bureaucrat instantly deflated and no longer complained. He picked up his hat from the floor and sidled toward the door. Just in case, I reminded him:

"Don't forget, you only have three days. And if you don't finish in time, I'll give you and your innkeeper friends such a hard time that you'll cry."

Forgetting to say goodbye, the visitor rushed out of the office, leaving me in a great mood. Needless to say, being an employee of the Secret Service has its advantages. As a simple guard, you can't get away with such arrogance.

A day later, the head of the Ostmor branch of the Secret Service stopped by and, smiling mockingly, handed me a piece of paper... The document, certified with the seal of the city council, stated that from now on, all restrictions imposed by the previously adopted resolution number fifty-two point two... in the part concerning dishes prepared in the tavern of Tiera Lais, were lifted. The sale of alcohol, however, was still not permitted. But even that was something.

"Are you satisfied, Tier Steini?" Tier Svotts asked.

“Quite,” I answered contentedly.

"That's good," the Un-Tarkh nodded approvingly. "So, there won't be any new or, to put it mildly, shady initiatives coming from you?"

"Why shady? Everything was done within the law."

"That's right," the grey-coated man agreed. "That's why I'm not sanctioning you. I just want to tell you one thing, Tier Steini. For the future..." He shook his head. "Walking on the edge never leads to anything good..."

And, quickly saying goodbye, I dashed back to the city. For a moment, I puzzled over what to make of this warning, but these reflections didn't last long. Putting the Un-Tarkh's words out of my mind, I set off to Liget with the good news.

Oh, everyone ate all kinds of things that day! Reina, Ligeta's sister, who was in charge of the tavern kitchen, showed what real culinary art is. It turned out that she not only knows how to cook boiled lamb perfectly, but is also an excellent cook in general.

After that, life at the customs post became a little more cheerful. The guards stopped trying to eat their fill at home for the whole day so that they wouldn't choke on mutton here. And Liget became noticeably kinder. His establishment began to resemble a normal tavern. Customers reappeared.

* * *

The second month flew by unnoticed. And then... and then suddenly it turned out that my life was slowly beginning to resemble the lives of saints mentioned in church scriptures, when they, having rejected their sinful nature, embarked on the path of struggle against temptations. After all, they, too, were tormented by dark forces with temptations... It seemed that succubi and incubi had even visited some of them in reality... Just like me!

At first, however, I didn't understand what was going on. One day, lost in thought, I was sitting at my desk in the office. I couldn't decide what to do in the evening. The prospect of spending half the night poring over a new book on alchemy somehow didn't inspire any enthusiasm, even though "Jeron's Simple Transmutations" should contain much that was interesting and useful. But how much more interesting it would be to simply stroll around Ostmor in the evening... to gawk at the attractive townswomen... And maybe more than just gawk... Even if they weren't quite up to par with Angel or, say, Caitlin.

I had barely thought about this when I shuddered in surprise: the Black Rose of the Empire suddenly materialized before my eyes. In all her breathtaking, provocative glory. My mouth almost watered at the sight of this stunning beauty in a black and silver suede outfit. Whatever you say, this Caitlin is truly a demonic spawn... For she embodies the inhuman perfection of beauty.

After gazing for a moment at the extremely seductive image before me, which greatly surpassed its living prototype in that it did not display any bitterness, I forced myself with considerable difficulty to stop thinking about Caitlin. And when the memorable memory disappeared, I sighed. Yes, the Ostmor townswomen couldn't compete with such a beauty... Even altogether.

And everything would have been fine. No big deal if he remembered an acquaintance of his? It happens to everyone. The only difference is the vividness of the memories. However, it turned out to be not so simple... After all, succubi are demons of temptation. And their ability to seduce poor people is truly limitless... These embodiments of temptation don't even need to be present at the scene to turn someone's life into pure torment. It is enough to have a memorable image.

I was impressed by the power of demonic temptation the very next day, when I quite unintentionally remembered Caitlin again. She appeared before me once more, just as if she were alive. And this time, I found it even more difficult to control myself and reject sinful thoughts about this beauty.

And then it only got worse. The desire to admire the demonic embodiment of flawless beauty once again became simply obsessive! And practically irresistible! Even the realisation that with each such call of the seductive image, I was increasingly tormenting my soul did not help, and as a result, my thoughts turned to Caitlin even more often. It was simply hell! After all, any thought of the black-haired bitch made her image-memory appear before my eyes! Even if that thought is an order to myself to stop thinking about the insolent demoness who gives people no peace!

On the fourth day of this madness, I gave up on everything and called upon the imp. It's simply impossible to work when this tempting vision is nearby!

//"Imp, stop hiding already! Come out! And erase this damned memory from my mind!" I begged.

//"What's all the noise about?’ Asked the imp busily, materialising with a light thud on the table where I was trying to get rid of Caitlin and finally fill out the necessary paperwork.

//‘Where have you been?’ I asked indignantly. And I complained: ‘There's so much going on here...’ But then I stopped myself and demanded: ‘Remove this filth from my memory immediately — the perfect memory of Caitlin de Mans' appearance!’

//"One moment!" The imp promised, grinning contentedly. With a deft gesture of a magician, he pulled a large parchment from somewhere behind his back. And then an inkwell and quill. "Just sign here and here!"

//“What is this?” I stared in amazement at some document that the filthy, evil spirit was persistently shoving into my hands.

//"Ahem!" The imp was surprised. "A contract for the provision of impish memory correction services."

//‘You... have you completely lost your mind?!’ My indignation knew no bounds. ‘You yourself, you bastard, put that damned image in my memory without any agreement!’

//"Well, it happened," the horned one confessed to the crime. And he shrugged: "So what?"

//‘What do you mean?’ I got really angry. ‘You put it there, so you take it away!’

//"Uh... I can't," the imp spread his paws and, seemingly embarrassed, scraped his foot along the tabletop. "It's against our most fundamental impish principle!"

//“What principle is this against?” I asked very venomously, filled with indignation.

//"What is unnecessary for free, but what is necessary only for money!" the imp answered, grinning cheerfully.

//"What?!" I stared at him in disbelief.

//‘Yoi heard it!’ replied the scoundrel sarcastically. ‘If you had asked me to erase the image of that bitch Caitlin from your memory ten days ago, I would have done it without question. But now, sorry, only according to the agreement.’

/‘You vile creature...’ I whispered in astonishment. ‘Unnecessary, so it's free... And then for money?" And, baring his teeth like an imp, he promised: ’Well, we'll settle this, you filthy scum! I'll charge you so much money that your skin will rub down to your spine when you carry it!"

//‘So I agree, and not for gold,’ said the imp peacefully, folding his paws on his belly. ‘Let's make a different deal?’

//“And what do you want?” I asked, barely containing my seething rage, suspecting a new trick.

//"Just a little," the horned one assured. "Get out of this hole immediately."

//‘We'll leave soon,’ I promised. ‘Wait just a bit longer, I've only got a little bit left until the term ends.’

//‘Well, then just endure it a little longer,’ grinned the imp and waved his hand. ‘If you change your mind, just let me know. I’m always here.’ With these words, he disappeared.

"B-bastard... such a vile b-bastard.".I clenched my fists angrily.

The gratitude I felt toward the imp for his aid during the demonic attack vanished without a trace after the foul creature revealed its true nature. I'd love to give that bastard a beating! Oh, so much I'd give for such a chance! But alas, that's a pipe dream. The imp will never agree to appear before me in corporeal form. He probably knows what that means for him.

I glanced sideways at Caitlin, sitting on the edge of the table. She immediately moved closer to me, spreading her stunning legs slightly, leaned back, rested her palms on the tabletop, and struck a frankly provocative pose. Rolling my eyes, I groaned briefly and angrily crumpled the hopelessly ruined sheet of paper on which I'd been recording the details of the cargo that had passed through customs that day. What to do now—who knows! But life is simply impossible!

Having calmed down a bit, I nevertheless tried to find a way out of this difficult situation. Of course, I wouldn't be able to erase the image of Caitlin from my memory on my own, and ignoring her tempting splendor wouldn't work either... So, the only thing left to do was try not to think about her constantly. I needed to occupy myself with something so I wouldn't have time for it.

Deciding it was a good idea to distract myself from nagging thoughts of Caitlin, I tripled my training from that day forward. This included both my morning fencing lessons with the instructor and my evening bolt-throwing exercises. I also arranged for Liget to teach me how to ride. Since I had the opportunity, why not try? After all, the innkeeper had a pair of horses trained to ride. True, he usually harnessed them to his cart when he went into town for fresh provisions, but he wasn't above a ride himself from time to time, and he didn't forbid his son, Jerome, from doing the same.

Alas, it was all in vain. I grew increasingly tired, but it brought no relief. Yes, training provided relief from the memorable vision, but only temporarily, while I was completely occupied with it. But working out all day long was simply not feasible. Work takes time, and it's physically impossible. And worst of all, Caitlin's incomparably attractive image becomes simply captivatingly beautiful during moments of relaxation after training...

It didn't help, after all. And there was only one course of action left: grit my teeth and endure. After all, the holy hermits somehow endured this torment, and so can I! I won't give in to temptation! And I won't follow the imp's lead! I just need to treat Caitlin's presence as something natural... Like the rising and setting of a magnificent sun, for example.

This self-hypnosis was extremely difficult. Even harder than tripled training. And it became noticeable. Gothard, with whom I had become somewhat friendly over these two and a half months, stopped me one day and, shaking his head, remarked:

"You're not yourself, Karridan... What happened?"

"Not yet," I muttered, glancing sideways at the succubus standing nearby. And in a mournful voice, I announced, "But something terrible could happen if a brothel doesn't open on the customs post grounds soon..."

"So you miss girls?!" Gotard laughed and gave me a friendly punch on the shoulder: "Why didn't you say anything? We'll organise something right away! What kind of girls do you like more — short and chubby or tall and skinny?’ he asked briskly."

"Something in between, I perked up a little and looked hopefully at Gothard."

"We'll do it," he promised. "Tomorrow morning I'll take over, yes, and after sunset I'll catch up. Will that work?"

"Of course it will!" I nodded happily. Against the temptation of a living succubus, this option would not work, but it would certainly get rid of the illusion of her presence!

I could hardly wait for the next evening. The lower the sun sank towards the horizon, the harder it became for me to contain my impatience. I don't even know what would have happened to me if Gothard hadn't arrived, as promised, right after sunset.

It was still light when a rather old carriage pulled into the customs post and pulled up to the counter where I was standing on the covered veranda. Gothard, grinning and slightly tipsy, jumped out and, waving a clay bottle in his hand, shouted:

"Karridan, welcome your guests!"

I couldn't help smiling as I looked at him and moved towards the carriage to help the guests out. Actually, by the time I got there, they had already climbed out themselves. But that didn't matter. What was much more important was that my face suddenly lit up when I saw the girls Gotthard had brought with him — one fair-haired and one dark-haired. They were, of course, prettier than Lidka, but not by much...

Looking at the surprised girls and Gothard, who had frozen in mid-step, I forced a smile:

"Come in," I said, and invited everyone to the second floor, to my home.

On the stairs I held Gothard back a little and whispered:

"I just don't get it. Why did you even bother going to the city? You could have invited Lidka right away..."

"What are you saying, Karridan!" he said indignantly. "These are normal girls! Just look at them - they've got it all! Just like you ordered - not fat and not skinny! And they're not even nearly ugly."

“No, of course not,” I made a disappointed face and, sighing, trudged after Gothard.

It's a good thing he thought to bring some wine. Otherwise, I don't even know what I would have done. The beautiful demoness hadn't gone anywhere! And she simply wouldn't let me notice those plain Ostmor girls! I really wanted a woman's affection, but I wanted that damned, charming succubus!

Only after I got drunk was I able to overcome my impossible desires and settle for a girl who wasn't the most beautiful, but was still real. Although that didn't make things much easier... My thirst for the demon of temptation had been quenched, but not so much that I couldn't notice her at all.

The next day, Un-Tarлh Svots gave Gothard and me a scolding. He strictly forbade us from bringing promiscuous women and alcohol to the customs post, threatening to send us to jail for discipline if we did. For ten to twenty days.

- But we didn't just throw this party for fun, we did it for the good of the cause," the foreman tried to object to the Un-Tarkh. "Karridan is wasting away here without female attention!"

"Let him get married if he's lacking female attention!" Our boss dismissed the argument outright.

"On whom?" Gothard chuckled. "You can't find any girls here, even with a lantern."

Gothard and I stood there, thinking... and came to the unanimous conclusion that Un-Tarkh Svots is a nasty man overall. He has no compassion for the needs of his subordinates. Otherwise, he wouldn't have mocked us so.

But the imp wasn't impressed by my promise to get even with him as soon as I got the chance. And he ignored the appraising glance I cast at his carcass, figuring out where to make the cuts so that it would be easier to skin the bastard. Oh well, when it comes to rubbing salt in the wound, he'll probably stop playing dumb.

My work distracted me from savouring the details of the evil plans. Real customs work, not some mindless paperwork for trafficked sheep. Tier Divain's caravan had arrived, and there was no way I could pass up the opportunity to do something interesting and talk to people.

Pointedly ignoring the vile imp skipping along my left side, and trying not to glance sideways at the lovely succubus striding to my right, I reached the dock, where I began inspecting the merchant caravan. Naturally, I wasn't alone, but with guards and in the presence of Ostmor merchant's clerks.

//"Why are you so cranky, I wonder?" The imp asked sullenly. "You call me all sorts of names... We already sort of figured out that you're to blame for this whole thing, right?" He paused for a moment and then offered, "Well, would you like me to meet you halfway and help you out a little?"

//"And how are you going to help me?" I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. "Are you really going to remove the image of Caitlin from my memory?"

//“No, of course I can’t do that under these conditions,” the imp shook his head and, his eyes flashing, whispered: “But I have an idea…”

I didn't think about Caitlin until evening, cherishing dreams of getting even with the wicked Netherworlder who had found refuge in my body. At least I got some use out of that horned bastard.

But the next day the succubus returned, having lost not a grain of her flawless splendor during her brief absence. Consequently, the burning desire to possess this breathtaking beauty returned. And it became harder than ever... Only training and brief errands at customs helped me forget.

But the imp bastard was laughing. He grinned the whole time, mocking me. He only got distracted once—when the Ostmor herders brought in a small consignment of cattle. He ran around me for a while, then, waving his paw, calmed down, grumbling, "It's hopeless."

//“What’s hopeless?” I asked curiously, puzzled by the demon’s running around.

And I couldn't get any clear explanations out of him. Well, what can you expect from this malicious evil spirit?

It's true what they say: people get used to everything. Even the daily seduction of seductive temptation. But I'd better not run into Caitlin in person during this time... Otherwise, I'm not responsible for myself.

After seven days, my spirits had lifted somewhat, and I no longer tried to pressure the imp to destroy the image of Caitlin. Especially since the bastard doesn't respond to any kind of talk or persuasion. It's hard, of course, when a succubus is around, but I have to live with the consequences.

And simply rejoice in her presence... And even more so, in the fact that this very first image of the Black Rose of the Empire remains etched in my memory. At least at that moment, she was dressed... albeit too provocatively for a lady. But better this way than otherwise. I could have remembered her at another moment... for example, when she was practically completely naked... Then I would have definitely lost my mind!

* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP