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

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

"Mo-onster..."

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

The old man who had awakened us ten minutes before, looked sternly at the two barons who had found themselves in the same bed that morning (they did fit, didn't they?), and expressing his silent indignation at the decline of the morals of youth, finally deigned to mutter: "I dare to remind you, Baron, that yesterday an eternal peace was made between the baronies of Gravstein and Vindifrosch."

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

"When?"

"Yesterday."

"I don't remember anything."

"At all?"

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

"Yes?"

"That's what you said!"

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

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

"Monster..."

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

"What else have we done?"

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

"Oh, God!"

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

"Mr. Baron?"

"Yes, Egelbert?"

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

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

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

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

"What amount is serious?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Have you quenched your thirst, Your Grace?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Which one?"

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

Spoiler: T.N. This is the cry of the prisoners during the prison uprising. Literally calls for the cutting of activists who cooperate with the security guards.

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

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

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

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

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

"And why?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Yoke of a bra?"

"Yes. And the cloth in general."

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

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

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

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

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

"Again?!"

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

And pretending not to pay any more attention to her, I added, turning to Izzy: "The girl's hands are a little weak for such a temperament. Let's train her!"

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

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

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

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

"Sir, yes, sir!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But it's..."

"I'm waiting."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about the volunteers?"

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

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

"Beee!"

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

"Meee!"

"You bastard! This is my favorite shirt!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tourists applauded again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"When did I ever hurt him?"

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

What a morning, it's the goats and the nationalists! Are they having an interest meeting here? Are they conspiring to ruin my morning?!

Spoiler: T.N. In Russian a goat it's a moderate insult, like an asshole or bastard, for example.

"Egelbert, the details!"

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

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

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

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

"Egelbert, do you know the townspeople well?"

The manager raised a questioning eyebrow and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

"This one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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"Such inconceivable cruelty!"

"I agree. Kissing such a slug!"

"The guy was just stating his position!"

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

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

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

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

"It's hard to argue!"

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

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