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"Mr. Baron?"

"What's up, Egelbert?"

Judging by the official nature of the call, the steward needed me as the higher authority.

"A small problem has appeared."

"Yes? Which one is it?"

I sat by the window in my office, staring thoughtfully into the clear blue sky. The Ghoul was sprawled on my lap, his ears under my arm, and a cup of coffee was steaming on the table beside me... Bringing it here from the kitchen while it was still hot was a logistical achievement. Plans were piling up in my head, and I felt like a real Dr. Evil. Or at least Paramedic Troublemaker. I'm on vacation, I'm authorized!

"One of the refugees..."

"From whom to where?"

"From somewhere in Africa to the Federation."

Someone did not have time to catch the moment when the country and the laws changed around him. Someone dressed in national colors came to get his allowance, found that the office was closed. And expressing his sincere indignation, he took up his usual weapon... No, not a Kalashnikov, a stone. With it he knocked out all the glasses in the office, then he made some noise and even lightly resisted the guards. On the one hand, he ruined the property, but it didn't belong to the city. On the other hand, everything in the area and not having a direct owner - mine. The guards, who were bruised and bitten a few times by the overactive detainee, are mine too. I must do something, but what? And is it really necessary?

"Egelbert, do I have to decide such a trivial thing on my own, too? Look through your wise books and manage. What is required there, surely there are enough precedents? Then do it."

The coffee was getting cold, and along with the warmth went the remnants of my love for humanity. Refugees, benefits... I'd do some charity work. I'd do charity work for ten people: six men, about forty years old, and three or four women with children. There'd be food, a roof over our heads, and something to do. That castle was still to be repaired and mended! And they would not work all the time, but only six days a week! Soon the squire candidates will be flocking here, I need to get a proper place out of the museum-level ruins in a week.

Eh, it's not much of a kingdom, so I have nowhere to go! Maybe I could take over a couple of neighboring baronies. The Federats have decided not to interfere, so "with the support of internal forces" can play a bit of a prank. Conquer, plant the true faith everywhere... By the way, I have to ask, what exactly is our true faith right now? And what we can get out of it.

Alexander the Eskenland! Doesn't that sound right?

"And then, of course, I will become a tyrant, the old, simple, faithful path..." the song crawled from the depths of my memory. That's appropriate, I'll give you that. "Yotz-tz, all right, I'll be in charge. I'll have a strong voice and a steady hand, yeah."

What's the deal with religion, though? What kind of "god" should protect Shurik the First? Eh, if this were a fairy tale, I would also come home as the new Rurik. I can just see myself walking into the Kremlin to the cheering cries of the people, the boyars bowing, the current Locum Tenens tucking the Monomakh hat, and everyone shouting "Glory, glory!" - and I'm like this....

I couldn't finish the dream. Strange noises were coming from the yard for a minute: whining not whining, screaming not screaming... something in between. I had to pick up the disgruntled cat, get up myself, and look out the window... And all the languor of the moment was gone! Downstairs, just below the windows of the baron's chambers, my faithful servants were insistently shoving the head of some African, apparently a "political refugee," into the loop.

"Stop it immediately!"

I don't like those sorts of people, but not that much! Although... No, but... on the other hand... I'll think about it later. Shouldn't I hang it up? Or should I?

The overzealous performers stopped with evident relief. The half-conscious African, twitching his hands tied behind his back, wrenched himself out of their grasp and crawled back against the wall, howling in horror. So, to remember the diligence, to praise later for the effort. And also let's get this straight - from now on no ambiguous remarks and constant control over the execution! Von Schnitzel, I'll show you now!

I couldn't. The steward, anticipating a scolding, had fenced off a detention report and a photocopy of an old text with the clause underlined. "An attempt on the lord's property is a fault on a free man, but a slave should be hanged." Well...

"Why is he a slave?"

"He has no property to sell, so he is not a merchant. He has no tools, so he is not a craftsman. He has no weapons..."

Von Schnitze methodically enumerated the characteristics of social groups, and by all accounts, it appeared that this individual fit the only definition - a slave.

Well, I was just thinking about where to get workers to clean the ditch.

"Hey, black-browed and white-toothed, why were you breaking glass?"

"No money, family hungry, hungry himself! It's their fault! - The victim of the judicial system, realizing in his gut that I do not want to hang him (I decided after all), quickly became bold. "Is that a law? I can do it! I'm home because there's no money!"

"The law is what people recognize as law."

"What?"

"What-what... I'm telling you, I'm the law. Why did you bite my guard?"

"I want to eat, I don't have any money, I don't have any allowance, why don't you give it to me? I'll complain!"

"To whom?"

"Tu the UNITED NATIONS! We are a refugee!"

"You guys are hanging wrong. First, loop the noose around the neck, and then throw it over the hook and pull it up."

"Uhh! There are human rights here!"

"So they're for the human being, what's that got to do with you?"

"I have kids!"

"So there will be someone to bury you and mourn you."

The black man looked down at the guard, who was busily removing the rope and whimpered again sadly. It looked strange to the two-meter tall, shoulder-length negro. Apparently, in his world view, such punishment for such a transgression was quite natural.

"Hey you, silence, listen!"

"Uh, I didn't do anything, I..."

"Shut up!"

Everyone, even the guard with his hands up to the rope, stretched out at attention.

"I order - this man to compensate for the loss to assign to the castle slaves."

"Mr. Baron, according to the Eleventh Century "Truth of Esk", no sentence can be overturned sooner than twenty-four hours after the judgment is rendered. And according to the same Pravda, this man must be hanged to death." Von Schnitze indefinitely shrugged his shoulders and switched to "low speech". "I do not really want to, but we have enough of his tribesmen here, we must firmly indicate our readiness to maintain order!"

"The trial - was it?"

"Um... technically, no. Just your order."

"Find the clause under which he should be sentenced. That's what he's guilty of. I'll sentence him to two months of community service in advance, or until the benefits, he brings outweigh the damage done."

"As you command, Mr. Baron."

"Take this one to the cell!"

The guards and two policemen picked up the African and quickly dragged him to the basement. I should hire at least one normal person to broadcast my ideas to the locals, or these tough guys, who have little understanding of human jokes, will do a lot of damage here...

"Explain to him that who does not work does not eat."

"It will be done. Oh yes, Herr Schreiber complained to the guard that someone was howling in the dungeons yesterday."

Well, that was me. When you break masonry with your bruised shoulder, you make such noises, you are scared yourself!

"Someone was howling in the night, too, Erdar himself confirmed. He was having... a little trouble with his wife, and he slept in the jailers' room. He said it howled far away, but it was creepy."

And that's definitely not me. Or I'd have to admit that I walk around the castle sleepwalking at night.

Yeah, my house is fun.

As I turned toward the tower with the coffee left there, someone coughed behind me.

"Herr von Gravstein?"

Black three-piece suit, immaculate tie, snow-white shirt, cufflinks, and shiny shoes. No, this is not a working man.

"I am David Blumshield, a representative of Blumshield & Sons Bank."

Well, definitely not a worker.

There was a little man crumpling at the gate, but it was clear that they were not together. The crumpled one was small and quick and sniffed around like a backyard cat, but this one was pedigree. The enemy.

"Baron Mogila von Gravstein. What business have you come on?"

"You see, our bank has been lending to landowners against their property for two hundred years. Baron Elias von Gravstein made a contract for a long-term loan one hundred and forty-two years ago. Since then it has been renegotiated many times but at the moment..."

I sighed. This introduction was very reminiscent of a couple of episodes from my business life, which I could have predicted in advance.

"Briefly, please."

"Briefly? As you wish!" He opened a folder like von Schnitze's, only much more... more glamorous or something. He took out a sheet of paper and made a businesslike expression on his face and read: "In accordance with subparagraph 17 of paragraph 9 of the appendix to the loan agreement if the accounts of the baron are blocked we have the right to seize property to ensure the return of our money."

Egelbert jumped up: "This is illegal! You don't have the right to demand that..."

"Now I can." The banker interrupted the intervening manager and shook his hands. "Of course, the law on the limitation of mandatory loan guarantees, adopted eighty years ago, did not allow to resort to this subparagraph, but you abolished it, too. So I'm claiming this castle and the land around it. On behalf of the bank, of course."

He closed his file with obvious pleasure and stared at me.

And for some reason faded when I smiled back at him cheerfully.

"Egelbert, I get it!"

"What do you understand, Mr. Baron?"

"I see what's missing! It's simple, and long ago written by the classics! This guy here, he's a Jew, isn't he?"

"By some signs, I could conclude that..."

"Rich?"

"Probably, Mr. Baron."

"Then why are he still at liberty? I read 'Ivanhoe' yesterday, and there are precise instructions on how to proceed in this case."

"Uh... I wanted to wait for your decision, Mr. Baron."

"Good. It's like this - put this one behind bars!"

Blumschild, sensing that there was no joke here, began to back toward the gate. At that moment the second guard closed the gate and bolted it.

"I'm a citizen of the Federation! If you dare, the army and police will be here by tonight!"

"You should read the newspapers. No one will be here."

"My superiors will not tolerate this! You will be in serious trouble!"

"Guards!" I waved my hand, confirming the target, and turned to the banker. "Thank you, my dear, you will be the jewel of the exhibition! The tax collector is already in jail, the cannibal was caught this morning, and now there will be a real Jewish moneylender! Damn it, I'll pay for all the repairs with one of your exhibitions!"

Blumschild was still protesting and waving the treaty, not understanding where this was going, and a Fisk was on his way with a strangely lucid face.

In a minute I was watching the familiar trick being performed - a screaming and indignant prisoner grabbing the doorframe, being tugged away with a familiar tug, and disappearing from view to the creak of the closing door.

Oh, that's not good. We need to grease the door.

Or should I keep it for greater dramatic effect?

"Alexander?"

"Yes, Egelbert?"

"Did you say, cannibal?"

"Do you suppose that big African man isn't a cannibal?"

"Well, I'm not sure, but I think..."

"That's right, you can never be sure. Let's put it this way - until our political emigrant begins to fulfill the whole norm, give him half his ration. And let's see how he reacts to his neighbors. By the way, post a vacancy on the barony's website for "Jailer for a Jewish loan shark." Requirements - brutality, intransigence, willingness to work in a torture chamber."

"How much money would you like to?"

"How much is this one's fee? Per hour?"

"Alexander, we can't afford such expenses!"

"Expenses? We'll be the ones getting paid!"

"I'm afraid, Mr. Baron, you..."

"Just do it."

The old man grimaced, but nodded, and walked quickly toward his tower. I was the only one left in the courtyard, and there was another guy who had been trying to merge with the wall the whole time. He seemed considerably smarter than the previous demander. Though something about their faces was very much the same. I beckoned with my finger, and the little man who was trying to reach the closed gate unnoticed approached.

"Well, who are you, dear man?"

"Me?"

"You, you."

"I wanted to offer your grace my services."

"Tailor? Violinist? A mathematician? Dentist?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head negatively.

"No, your Grace, I thought you might need a manager?"

"I already have one. Last name?"

"Katz... Katzman... т." He turned to the basement door and repeated in French way. "Katzmant. Iz... Isabel."

"Isabel Katzmant. And where are you from?"

"A Gascon, Your Grace."

"A Gascon?"

"That's right, Your Grace!" He nodded vigorously several times, confirming his words.

I looked at the round, short, with a long crooked nose and eloquently sad eyes of my interlocutor: "France is a beautiful country, I have so many memories of it! Have you been on Montparnasse?"

"I lived there for quite a long time."

"In Sainte?" One of the most famous French prisons was shown to us by local colleagues. As a landmark, from the outside.

Apparently, the 'gascon' knew it, too, judging by the way his gaze wiggled. Maybe even from the inside.

"So, Izya, how long were you lived in the Soviet Union?"

"I don't understand, Mr. Baron, I have been living in beautiful France since..."

"Shall I put you in the cell with a cannibal?"

"I was sixteen years old when my parents emigrated."

"So you still remember something. You can't erase that from your memory." I considered the pros and cons, thought about the consequences and difficulties, and then nodded: "You are accepted if you grow a mustache. A Chief of Guards without a mustache doesn't seem right."

"But that's a long time, Your Grace! Maybe I could do it in the process."

"When you grow it up, come back and take your place! I want a brave mustachioed soldier, not a gastropod clerk with three days' worth of stubble."

Katzman, for a moment becoming very much like the Chief, squinted thoughtfully, looked back at the door, and asked: "Aleksandr Nikolayevich?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you really have... a cannibal?"

"Look in his mouth. You can only chew a tibia bone with those teeth! And look into his eyes, then tell me what you saw in them. He almost ate two guards this morning!"

I'm curious what he will see. As a romantic girlfriend of mine used to say, in other people's eyes, we most often see our reflection.

Two hours later we had seven thousand applicants for the role of the jailer, and we had to hold an auction. Three hours later, the winner flew in, with trembling hands accepted a lash and a bunch of keys from me, yelled, "Now let him explain the subparagraphs in the contract!" and ran off into the dungeon. He seemed to have similar problems to mine. Well, at least let him relax here.

Looking after the joyfully shouting executioner-amateur, I asked von Schnitze:

"Let's not be too brutal. Explain that beating prisoners is only allowed if they try to escape."

"Then this exchanger won't come out of the cell."

"That's the thing, Egelbert, that's the thing."

I wonder if the sly old geezer deliberately started hanging the poor African guy under my window. In the backyard, there's a perfectly serviceable pair of pads, in which tourists like to be photographed, and an almost real gallows, next to an almost real scaffold, and they dragged him here. And just about to relax, the baron voluntarily and with song ran to solve problems. Well, no one will call me ungrateful and clutching a return gift!

"Egelbert, you said that there are many foreigners in the Duchy? Round up those in our barony and warn them: those of them who are not engaged in any craft will be sent to public works, with three hot meals a day and places to sleep in the cellars of the castle. And make a list of those who want it. Can you manage before nightfall?"

If he succeeds, I'll give him more work to do, for example, to write out all "my" property. In-person and by hand.

Because intriguing is a bad idea.

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"There is widespread panic among political refugees remaining in Eskenland County. Many are leaving everything behind and moving to other Mid-Vendia counties, which is of great concern to the Department of Emigration and human rights organizations."

Daglig Freiheit

"Does anyone know how the Essies achieved this? Will it work for us?"

Commentary to an article.

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