Chapter 6

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"Egelbert, what's about people?"

"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 mocking. 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 save me! 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 Eggy 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 is he?"

"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 guests 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, is 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*,"

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 Schtorre 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 battle buddy on my back, I quickly dragged the tadpole behind me.

Just as we rounded the corner, we heard the clatter of iron against the 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 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?"

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

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What can I say - the cut of the caftan is the newest, but the style is from the fifteenth century, I have seen it 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

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