Part 4 Chapter 16

* * *

Truly momentous events rarely occur loudly. Even those that later make it into textbooks and whose dates schoolchildren are forced to memorize with hatred, begin quietly, inconspicuously, hidden from prying eyes. Decisions on wars are made long before armies cross borders. Coups d'etat takes place in cozy offices. Expeditions for gold and spices are rooted in the childhood of captains who found a shabby old map in their father's shop.

The change of authority in Taleya was imperceptible. And how can you speak of a change if nothing has changed outwardly? The Son of the Sea Valier still sat on the throne, the second of the bearers of that name by the Grace of the Waves; the government was led by the same Chancellor Darth, appointed to his position by the previous ruler; the army regiments and naval squadrons remained in their bases, commanded by their former commanders.

There was a wave of dismissals among the generals, which is true. The knowledgeable people linked it with the accident that sent Prince Ticamara to his grave - the poor fellow was unfortunate enough to be thrown by a horse bitten by a gadfly. The horse was, of course, sent off after its master, which should serve as a small consolation in the afterlife. The generals, who had lost their patron, suddenly discovered that, now that they were alone, the inspections of their units were very different, and they were in no hurry to be accepted at Court. Personal merit was not enough, the branch of the ruling dynasty controlling the army was in disarray, so many heeded the highest hints and preferred to give the way to the young. Thereafter, they were not touched - unlike those who proved too stubborn or incomprehensible.

It must be said that a system has long existed in Taleya where various departments were tacitly or explicitly "patronized" by different branches of the royal family. In practice, this resulted in a kind of dual power. For example, the Son of the Sea, as Commander-in-Chief, could not always appoint a regimental commander bypassing the Chief of General Staff, his third cousin, the blessed Tikamar. Traditionally, his father's place should have been taken by his equally worthy son, but now, due to a series of events that remained unknown to the general public, a much closer relative of the king sat in the chief's chair.

The situation was roughly the same with the Navy, only no one died there. Prince Sakir confessed his long-standing desire to devote himself to the spiritual path and asked his master for the grace to allow him to go to a secluded monastery to spend the rest of his days in self-improvement and thinking of higher thoughts. This permission, together with the appropriate words of regret for the parting, was granted to him.

The king's younger brother came to the post of Pointer to the Captains. A purge began in the fleet.

For what reason the prince in charge of the Secret Service had resigned, public opinion was at a loss to say. The Palace Ministry published an announcement as colorful as it was empty, and no further statements were made on the subject. Even for those prone to keeping their mouths shut, such silence was uncharacteristic of the "spiders," and the high society was filled with anxious whispers. The discussion took place in small circles, no one dared to do more - excessive attention to the affairs of the ruling dynasty could end up in receiving a silk noose as a gift. The former head of spies himself sat in his palace and, according to Celesta's agents, often communicated with officers of the royal guard who visited him.

The changes in the country's top leadership were gradual, and slow, the Son of the Sea trying to avoid unnecessary publicity. Celesta was far from immediately aware of what was happening. On the surface, everything looked very decent, putting together a set of disparate facts into a single picture only two months after the first events.

The king removed his kin from power.

The operation was astonishing in its level of competence. It must have been prepared in advance, for a long time, more than a year. It is possible that the plans were made even before Valier ascended to the throne. The Mistress was unpleasantly struck by the fact that the Son of the Sea's men had been able to maintain complete secrecy. Of course, now that the vampires knew what to look at, the minor shifts at the top and the odd decisions fit into the scheme, but before, neither she nor Kalderan had contemplated such a course of action on the king's part.

As far as they could tell now, for a beginning, Valier had skillfully pitted the branches against each other. He didn't have to do much, because the Dinir dynasty was a nest of scorpions. Dozens, if not hundreds, of princes, princesses, third cousins, and fourth cousin grandmothers, all want honors, money, a bigger palace, an important position, and to do nothing. And their number is growing, but the budget pie is not getting bigger, the receipts into the treasury for the last hundred years are approximately at the same level. Even the father of the current ruler was forced to publish the "Regulations of the Highness of the Dynasty," which dealt with an extremely delicate subject - the financing of members of the enlarged royal family. The measure of maintenance was determined by the degree of kinship, so distant relatives felt deprived and were happy to get involved in various intrigues, taking advantage of the official immunity.

Conspiracies against the Son of the Sea were so commonplace that even participation in them was not always punished. However, the quality of the organization of those conspiracies... It was impossible to take them seriously, so the punishment of the participants was purely symbolic, in a family way.

After the blood princes had finally quarreled, Valier began to remove the most odious one by one. At this stage, he had to act quickly and very carefully at the same time, in order to divert suspicion from himself. On the surface, it looked as if the branches were framing each other for accusations of disrespect, indecent behavior, breaking the will of the head of the clan, and the like. The only ones for which members of the dynasty could actually be punished because criminal cases were not brought against them, financial embezzlement was forgiven, and which magic was black they decided for themselves. Princes and princesses who could not get away with it usually received punishment in the form of exile or time in a comfortable prison, often followed by "forgiveness", everyone assumed that this time the case would end the same way. No attention was paid to the number of those convicted, and if it was, it was attributed to natural causes.

That's when Valier used vampires. Perhaps something had gone wrong, and he needed outside help. Perhaps he was quite right in thinking that whatever dirt Celeste's servants found, spinning the money-transfer chain, she wouldn't have time to use it. In any case, his calculation was correct - the investigation received the information it needed, the pace of the operation was maintained, and it proceeded without hindrance.

It was only at the very end that the most influential heads of families were taken off the board. A final step that put an end to the hidden confrontation. A brilliant result of painstaking work that made the top vampires judge their actions more harshly. More critically.

"We have no sources in his entourage," Kalderan muttered at the meeting. "We oriented agents against monasteries, cults, and their patrons, that is, against the princes. No one could have guessed."

The chief scout took the events of the past three months as a personal failure. It was completely in vain - Valier had outplayed everyone, the mistake was collective.

He wouldn't have thought of it himself. He's a ruler, he's not familiar with operational work, and he thinks differently. Even if the idea belonged to him, there must be someone who directly managed the process. But who? I don't see a suitable candidate.

"It doesn't matter now," Celesta interrupted his self-abuse. "Sooner or later we'll figure it out, or it'll come out on its own. The question is, what do we do?"

"So far the Son of the Sea has not acted to threaten our position, Messena," remarked Latham, who was also there. "On the contrary. I think we should not expect any aggression from him in the near future. He has other priorities now."

"Yes, absolutely. His relatives left him too problematic an "inheritance," and until he deals with it, all his attention will be focused on the newly subordinated structures. The available pool of managers is limited, and in general, the resources are not that much. For a year and a half, he won't have time for us. And then what? Will he replace the chancellor or come after us?"

"It makes more sense to start by taking control of the government," Kalderan opined.

"The royals have their logic. I think it makes sense for us to take precautions and get rid of some of the interests in Taleya, just in case Valier decides that we're interfering with him. We won't take any drastic measures, but the minor tasks will become the main ones. Latham, you will go to Lanaka. Together with the guardsmen who are already operating there, you will travel around the country and decide which communities should be strengthened and expanded, and in which cities new ones can be founded. We had planned to do this later, but circumstances force us to start now."

"I obey, Messena."

"Kalderan, direct all resources to the Archipelago. Even if you move there personally, the position of the community in Deep Harbor must be sustained. We begin our expansion into Birat."

"Perhaps I will, Blessed Mistress," the scout bowed his head. "The situation in Harbor compels me to do so."

The variety of factors that prevented the vampires from establishing a foothold in the Archipelago was unpleasantly striking when reading the reports of the failures. First and foremost, of course, was the effectiveness of the intelligence, or rather, of several intelligence agencies, keeping an eye not only on the aliens but on each other as well.

Geography was a factor, in every sense. The undead did not fare well on the islands, surrounded by a vast reservoir of salt water, except for the older ones on the central, largest island. Where outsiders were reluctantly allowed in. Only full citizens had the right to reside in the capital; all others had to make do with residence permits of a limited duration. It was a closed society, wary of foreigners, and it was impossible to enter the upper strata from the outside. The noble families were bound together by mutual responsibility. A very complex system of governance and appointment to key positions, opaque to the outsider. A strong school of magic, partly based on another in comparison to the Taleya principles. A state-supported cult of Green-haired whose priests were renowned for their mental skills.

Standard methods did not work in the Archipelago. Creating a community there required a fundamentally new approach.

"Okay, we'll discuss it later. I'm waiting for your suggestions, maybe I missed something. Now let's go, we have a lot to do."

What has changed? By and large, nothing.

Valier had proved smarter and more cunning than his predecessors, and he had proven that it was better to be friends with him. That was exactly what Celeste was going to do. If the Son of the Sea did not want peace and preferred confrontation, it would be a wonderful time of enmity. Preparations for this scenario had already begun. The vampire community is used to acting under constant pressure from the authorities, the last forty years were uncharacteristically quiet, so they relaxed. Zervan's betrayal shook the community, and forced it to pull itself together, so if a new blow follows, they will meet it fully armed.

So far, nothing has happened that would make Celesta give up the idea of defeating the Seven Rivers.

The Mistress of the blood kin watched with mild enjoyment the growing confrontation between Lash and the Church of the Saints. The Duke was pleased with the fall of the princes' sworn enemies, but he had no intention of stopping there. Now his men were targeting the chancellor's faction. It is unlikely he would be allowed to seriously interfere in the government (not now), and the composition of ministers would not change. However, to ruffle the nerves of his opponents Lash will be able. In fact, he has already started. Rumors of dubious rituals practiced by the Saints were circulating in the society, and two government newspapers came out with notes about the reopening of investigations into old cases which had been closed for lack of evidence. From somewhere information about the excavations at Nemmist had surfaced, gossip about the latter being willingly shared by Baron Tar with all those who wished to listen. Everything was going the right way in this direction.

What was not covered were the "lawmen" and the Triads. The fate of the latter cult seemed doubtful - its patrons at the top had lost influence, and the king did not initially view them favorably. They still had monasteries, churches, and land holdings, and the majority of parishioners continued to attend services, but there was a serious exodus of the nobility and rich merchants. It is unlikely that the Triad will finish. They would take away the most tidbits, get rid of the most respected hierarchs on plausible pretexts, and cut off access to valuable information. But to destroy it completely? What for?

By the way, Celesta found out why one of the top officials of Celestial Purity would pay a colleague from the Triad. The story turned out to be simple and trivial, the most common blackmail. The Voice of Silence used his position to place mental seals on wealthy prisoners, coaxing secrets from them, forcing them to sign documents of his choosing - figuratively speaking, having as much fun as he could. He lost all fear. The evidence of his activities fell into the hands of the rival leader, who refused to publish the papers, preferring to "milk" a lucky stray cow. The moral principles of both were similar. During recent events, they were arrested and, after grilling and interrogation, quietly executed. The information they gave him led to the exile of several of the king's relatives, not to mention the executions of dozens of lesser men.

In the current circumstances, it seemed unwise to intrigue against the Celestial Purity Society. On the other hand, right now, with their attention diverted to a weakened foe, it made sense to work prospectively. The seeds of a future fall are planted at the moment of greatest triumphs, Celesta had witnessed the maxim from personal experience.

The Mistress had no intention of hurrying; she preferred consistency in her dealings. She had more than enough time. Therefore, she calmly sorted out the routine, waited for the situation to settle, communicated with agents, read reports, and in general did things that she had no time to do before. She met with trustees, for example. She had an old acquaintance to whom she always listened, though she did not always follow his advice.

* * *

Old towns are shrouded in mystery, surrounded by a mystical veil of legend. The old-timers are happy to tell about the town governor's daughter who killed herself with unrequited love and became a ghost, or to show from afar a cursed house, whose owners necessarily die a painful death, for each storyteller is different. The Taleyans react to other people's tales with a contemptuous snort. They, who live under the Curse, do not need to prove anything to anyone.

Many of the capital's legends have to do with Celesta itself, but not all, far from it. It was said that a spirit who knew the future lived in an abandoned park near the riverport. If you come to him at night with an offering say secret words, and perform a simple ritual, with luck you can get an answer to any question or advice leading to wealth and happiness. The methods of attracting spirits, of course, differed with each storyteller.

Adults didn't believe in silly fairy tales, unlike children and romantic teenagers, and they didn't wander around the parks at night unless they absolutely had to. There was enough danger in the city without all the mysticism. A late-night passerby could be robbed and killed by dashing members of numerous gangs - or not even gangs, just idle drunks with itchy fists. At night, beasts of prey would come out of the dungeons, and though the vampires would kill them at every opportunity, they could never quite eradicate them. And it was unlikely that they ever would. Neither should the servants of the Mistresses themselves have been caught, for though they were forbidden to kill for food (the provisions of the Night's Code were no secret, moreover, they had been specifically told to mortals), sometimes things did go wrong.

The guards and priests of the surrounding temples did not believe the story either. They knew. A little more than ordinary people, but they knew. The park by the riverport had a bad reputation with the local gangsters, and the homeless people avoided it, and it was never a gathering place for crazy street kids. Those who lived in the park woke up at night. In the morning, the first passersby found dead bodies; gray-haired people claimed to have wandered the dark paths for days, unable to get out of the invisible maze; the poor people next door had had lucid dreams that came true too often to ignore. Prayers and ambushes by holy warriors did not help; magicians and servants of the gods searched in vain for the cause of the strange phenomena.

Celesta didn't question it - the City had no secrets from its Mistress.

Silently treading the sandy paths, she walked confidently to the far corner, where, in times immemorial, the architects had placed an artificial grotto on the bank of a tiny pond. Since then, nature reclaimed the positions taken by people, the grotto overgrown, it now looked more like a low hill. Occasional workers who came by paid no attention to it, as if they didn't notice it. Celesta did not encounter a single person along the way.

Before she reached the grotto, the vampiress lifted her chin a little, took a deep breath of the night air, and twitched the corner of her mouth in irritation. Again.

"Again, Chesta!" Instead of greeting, she exclaimed, quickly approaching the scruffily dressed man who was sitting on a short wooden bench by the pond. "How many times have I told you!"

"It's a strange day. It's like I'm tripping and I don't know if I'm going to catch myself or not."

For a moment, Mistress lost control of herself, her face turning into an unreadable mask. She took two steps forward and crouched down beside the body spread out on the sand.

"She's not stiff yet. Who is she?"

"Beautiful," the man looked away from the cloud-covered sky and at his Mistress. "Unhappy."

"That's why you killed her," Celesta realized. "Unhappy everywhere?"

"Everywhere. Lots and little. It's good now. You look like a noodle."

"Why?"

"Thread. Thread!"

Taking advantage of the fact that no one else was around, the diminutive undead squinted irritably at her feet.

"Thank you, man, for turning Hustin away from the way of the Seer! If you hadn't, he would have been the same way."

Chesta chuckled abruptly and then suddenly stopped talking. His gaze was blanketed in a silver film, and the madman asked calmly: "Don't call him. He will hear you."

Seeing Chesta like that was painful. The insanely talented, surprisingly open rшыутl had become something of a personal student of Celesta's. She set him apart from the rest of the youth. His amazing empathic abilities, coupled with his high intelligence and curiosity, led Chesta to master a number of unconventional paths in a short time, settling his final choice on the path of the Seer. Mistress cursed the day she allowed Hustin to train him. At the time the idea of having a pocket prophet seemed appealing to her; she did not realize the price to be paid for the opportunity to look into the future.

The young vampire failed, his mind lost in different versions of reality. Chesta saw the present, the past, and the future in hundreds of ways, no wonder his mind became clouded. The attempt to return the madman to ordinary thinking almost ended in the death of Celesta herself, although she achieved some success - the student stopped degenerating, and his condition stabilized.

The worst thing is that he was still kind in his own way. It's just that his criteria for evaluation were now completely different. When he saw a girl whose future fate he felt compassion for, he might well decide that by killing a mortal he was doing her a favor.

"Where are your servants?"

"They are already dead. Or they haven't been born yet."

"I mean the ones I've assigned to you."

"Writers," the vampire remarked dismissively. "The empty shells."

"That's their responsibility. They record everything you say and try to decipher it. So, wait..."

Celesta quickly contacted Merck, ordering him to send a team on duty. Normally she would have a guard escorting her into the city, but now almost all of them were in Lanak. There was only one five left, the one she'd escaped from. The constant sensation of another's gaze, despite her habit, was slightly annoying, and Mistress enjoyed the rare feeling of being alone.

"Let's go," she pulled Chesta by the hand. "Let's stay out of their way."

The prophet got up from the bench and walked beside Celesta. He didn't seem to care where they were going or what they were going to do.

"You're getting out on the surface more often than before."

"You finally have a throne."

"Not yet, it's still being carved."

Mistress quickly pondered the answer. She asked why Chesta had begun to leave his underground shelter, where he spent most of his time, and he replied by mentioning that arrogant-looking thing in the central hall. Was he disturbed by the construction? But it seems to go far enough. Or is the throne one of the markers that allow him to navigate the chrono-flow, for better or for worse? More likely the second, but just in case, we should check which ways the materials are carried and the workers walk.

"The palace is beautiful. It's nice."

"Medea worked hard; she sent the best architects."

"Eternal Wind. Coming to visit soon."

"Soon, when is that?" Chesta smiled uncertainly. "I see. I hope you're right. Until I know what to expect from Valier, she has nothing to do in Taleya."

"Ooh! Valier the Second! The Holy Crusade! The Silver Spring! Excuses are the lot of the weak! The Coast of Stone Bones!"

"The hike is going to happen after all," Celesta grinned harshly. "That's good to hear. Where are the Stone Bones?"

In order to understand Chesta, you had to understand the images he was thinking about. He would have been happy to help, to answer questions, but his answers were even more confusing to those who asked. Only those who had the time and patience were able to hold a conversation with the prophet and translate his remarks into a code that was acceptable to the common mind. The Mistress was certainly one of them.

They spent an hour and a half in conversation, difficult for both of them. Despite her experience, Celesta had difficulty deciphering her companion's speech, while the latter strained to remember how he thought, existing in one "here and now". Several times Celesta forgot or simply could not find the right words, and then he transmitted the images directly into the mind of his Mistress. Someone else would be driven mad by this mode of communication.

Despite the hardships of the Taleya community's very existence, Chesta was also of great benefit. For one thing, it served as a visual aid to those vampires who were thinking of mastering any form of working with time. Not just divination, but in general. These sections of the paths were considered closed, and after meeting Chesta, outraged aspirants understood why. Many abandoned previous plans and chose to focus on other, less dangerous ones. Secondly, a vague outline of the future, certain elements of it the top vampires received. Far from taking the prophecies as a guide for action, they were still given a starting point for analysis, which made planning much easier. It was worth remembering, though, that Chesta had his scale of values, and what she considered important to him might mean nothing at all.

There didn't seem to be any war with mortals in the near future. At least, that was Celeste's impression. Before Zervan's betrayal, Chesta tried to warn his mistress about something, but he did not insist and generally believed that nothing serious would happen and that all would end well in the end. On the other hand, he emotionally praised the underground palace, tried to advise on how to set it up, and even promised to give it a separate room. Considering how much the prophet avoided any society, this was an unusual request.

Celesta left him slightly relieved, having once again made a promise not to kill.

"It's their life, Chesta. Let them decide for themselves. If they want to, they'll leave, if they don't want to, they'll tolerate it. You don't have to interfere. You don't have to help."

"Apples grow differently. Some are red and some are rotten."

"I don't feel sorry for the rotten ones. Just, please, don't get caught."

* * *