Chapter 17

* * *

How do you spot a law enforcement officer among similarly dressed people? Easy!

I have nothing against cops, any kind of work is honorable, but they have one unpleasant trait, apparently stemming from professional deformation. For some reason, they always stand in the aisle. And in such a way that you have to go around them, making unnecessary movements. I knew a cop once, and when I told him about this, he was very surprised, thought about it, and confirmed it, feeling embarrassed. He was a good kid, yeah. Only he did all this while blocking my way from the room to the kitchen. Involuntarily. He obviously didn't understand why I was having this conversation.

Now, if I tell one of the three people in the room about my observation, he as well will think about it and then confirm it. The other will remain silent or say something unpleasant.

The third one is me.

And we are all in the office of the local police station. For now, the pretext is "to find out what's going on". By this uncomplicated euphemism is meant the crude "until we find something to put you in jail for". Naturally, it's all about our prank this morning.

The museum, the scandal, the commotion, the boisterous announcement, the howling of the alarm, the smoke, and the screaming - it was fun! Now, though, it's not too boring either. A relatively comfortable chair, a policeman at the door looking curiously, and a gray fellow from the ubiquitous caste of paper rats studying something important in the papers opposite and occasionally looking at me with a very-very meaningful look. Well, well.

He has nothing on me, and he's just looking at me, preparing a client, waiting for some important person. What's in the papers is also no secret. There's a listing of the reasons why I was detained, and he has already gone to the fourth, it seems, circle of study. Apparently, he liked the description, but it is not surprising. The sight was amusing. Well, it is quite clear that the important face will not appear until my plane leaves, the tickets for which were carefully studied first thing. It was as if leaving the beautiful land of wine, cheese, and strikes was such a difficult thing to do.

Leaning back in my chair, I smiled benignly at the policeman and closed my eyes without paying attention to the muttering. I had no intention of protesting or demanding. First of all, I was caught red-handed, and second, don't get too excited before you're charged. He gives you a meaningful look? Say something threatening? Looming, threatening terrible penalties? Don't pay attention to the yapping dogs; you have to be wary of the grinning ones.

"Well, well. However!" The official, judging by the sounds, carefully turned the last page, filed the sheets into a stack evenly... and rustled again. No, he's a professional, after all. He'd rather yell and threaten. It is less nerve-wracking. I needed a distraction, but with what?

With a sigh, I began to remember everything that had caused me to end up at the station. Right from yesterday morning.

The " poor victim," insidiously lured into the cells, did not quiet down until morning (I, it turns out, still can!), and when she awoke, she threatened every punishment, to which I replied by accusing her of sorcery and bad temper. Ah, there was a time when that was enough for scourging and a pillar of shame! Then I complimented her and sent her away, for the hint of chains and flogging made the "innocent prisoner"'s cheeks redden and her breathing quicken.

Rape, on a particularly large scale and in a particularly cynical way. And I was the victim. The happy winner left the castle with a triumphant smile, and I was left to mourn the destruction in the torture chamber: the rack had endured a month of abuse, but it had broken on us. I don't know whether that's a cause for grief or pride.

However, I did not have to cry for long: first, the traditional breakfast, and then I puzzled the chief of the guard about the need to find thirty men in Paris who would be willing to do a great folly for cheap and preferably even willing to do anything for the love of folly alone. The Gascon was puzzled, asked for what needs, and after explaining, he brightened up, saying that he could easily gather a hundred. I did not ask him how much he would charge them for participating in the real robbery.

Then I made some calls to old acquaintances and invited von Windifrosch to my place.

Elepar showed up half an hour later, looking like a puppy who had been lounging in his apartment when he heard the coveted "go for a walk!" - except he wasn't wagging his tail. How he knew about Esk's visit and the request to return the relic, I did not ask. The province, one place said and a minute later discussed ten kilometers away. I puzzled the baron colleague with the transportation of a valuable cargo, a box labeled "Gravstein souvenirs," which he was to deliver unopened to the hotel with the rooms I had booked.

In fact, it was the contents of this box that formed the basis of my plan, which was both grandiose and ingenious in its simplicity. But without it, I would have found something else. I had something to think about at night, distracting myself from the torture, didn't I?

I had been watching the siege this morning with one eye, noting the points of the operation in the paper, so I missed the moment when Marty fought three Italian mercenaries alone. Sato, well done, didn't screw up, bursting into the ranks of the attackers with a slightly shrill, but therefore much more impressive fighting swear in his native language. The berserker of the Rising Sun bowed apologetically to everyone he threw off the wall! And then guiltily shrugged under the angry yell of a martial friend who didn't have enough victims.

Then Izia reported that everything was ready and gave the contacts of the group commander. Then Sir Ulfric brought the report for the week. Eggie demanded money for his gimmicks, saying that some server was not pulling something there. Then we had to look for another lost tourist, then we looked for those who were looking for a tourist, then we found everyone and another one who broke away from yesterday's tour, rewarded the unwitting follower of Don Miguel with a meal and a "personal piece" from the baron's plate, served by the squire on a silver fork.

I remembered this custom just in time; the tourists looked at the piece with such hungry eyes that I involuntarily checked to see if their plates were full. They were. And there are dishes on the table for all tastes! But it always tastes better on someone else's plate and certainly on someone else's fork and from baron's hands.

The tourist I had honored immediately stood up and made a ten-minute speech, praising the kindness of his host, the dampness of the cellars, and the horrible moans and cries of the ancient spirits. I had to gag him with a rewarding glass of wine, for he was going wild.

We didn't moan that loudly.

Then I finally broke free, dismissing Egilbert's attempts to slip me some papers, ducked into a cab, twenty minutes drive, check-in, boarding, an hour in the air, Paris, a cab, a museum, a waiting, impatiently dancing student, the leader of the group Katsman had assembled. In twenty minutes, we ran through the exhibit, looking around the future crime scene, with most of the effort going into getting the young guy not to hide from the caretakers or look around with such a mysterious look on his face. We parted at the entrance. I almost forced him to put his collar down and take off his dark glasses and hat... then I thought about it and ordered him to dress up again. It was good for the plan.

I called Elepar. He was just approaching the border by car, carrying his secret and valuable cargo. He was so impressed with the mission that even sitting in the car in the middle of the road he lowered his voice - another one! Everything, of course, was in order. I call Egilbert. Nothing changed in the castle except the tourists, who had expected to dine with the baron, were slightly upset by the news that Sir Erraine would replace me. Though impressed by the honorable duty, he was a little nervous. It's not a town hall reception - he's replacing the Baron himself! That's all right. He looks very entourage-like in his national costume. He'll do fine.

I confirmed I understood it was unthinkable to replace me, but I believed in him, so let him perform the feat. He would definitely be credited with it. Before von Schnitze took the phone away from the Mayor and started demanding something from me again, I disconnected.

Four o'clock in the afternoon, no matter how you spin it, no matter how you postpone it, there's no way out. The word was given, which meant that, no matter how creepy, I would have to do it. I picked up the phone and called:

"Hey, kiddo. How's it going?"

"Hi, Dad! It's okay!"

"It's okay good, or okay bad?"

"All fine!"

The daughter's voice was upbeat and anticipatory.

It meant that I had a very difficult evening ahead.

"So here's the situation: I'm in Paris, and I'm ready to give you and your sister a gift. One. Two at the most! I have three hours."

"Three hours a month on your own daughters!" It was said with a whiny wail, but I didn't buy it.

"There will be more later, but right now, it's business. So dispose of your father as you wish, but don't throw him into a thorn bush." And before she could answer, he added: "Time's running out!"

"Now! So, Paris, têche capitale of de bélé français."

"Where do you have such a terrible accent from?"

"From the popular British actor."

"It would be better to take your father as an example."

"I see you less often than I see him!"

"And the time is running out!"

"Don't push me!"

"By the way, half of the time belongs to Lenka. Why didn't you call your sister?"

"She's still little! I'll give her my makeup set. An old one."

"Do you have a makeup set, even two? At age of thirteen?"

"My mother used to say that men are babies until death, and I, the fool, didn't believe it..."

"Two hours and fifty-seven minutes! And a bar of soap as a gift. Laundry soap!"

"All right, all right, don't freak out, I'm almost fin..." My voice suddenly changed from cocky and cheerful to pity-begging: "Daddy-daddy, do you have a lot of money with you?"

Damn, she looks just like her mother!

"Speak up, you little racketeer."

"It shows that at the Roger de Nui Fashion Gallery, the sale started in two hours..."

"A sale and in the evening?"

"At night, Paris comes to life! - that's his slogan! He's a genius. He's the best fashion designer of our time! He always does everything opposite, and he always succeeds!"

"Our man. All right, give me the address."

The address was unfamiliar. I'd only been here about ten times, we'd been to more port towns, so I had to ask my daughter for directions. She giggled for a minute and showed me the route. Echidna couldn't help herself and at one point commanded, "Stop! Turn to the right... ... a little more... and now wave your hand to your daughter. There's a webcam on the pole! Well, you just like I remember!" They've built the Internet! What has my daughter been driven to? She only sees her father on the computer, and only hears him on the phone...

On the way, I chatted with Anya about everything that popped into my head. The money was flying out of my account, but what could I do if I had time once a month to have a quiet chat with my daughter? Once told about this Mitrich, he laughed as usual and said that after a couple of conversations, she invited me to the wedding, and in another, two or three grandchildren will appear, and with them, I will be even less likely to talk. Well, he knows better. He is experienced in these matters. However, just twenty minutes later, I had the urge to strangle the bastard. And it came after a cheerful one:

"Well, here we are! There's the end, stand up!"

I looked around at the long line, a block and a half long, made up entirely of girls and women (a dozen creatures vaguely resembled men, but I couldn't quite put them in the fairer sex). And my head was resting against the still-closed doors of a store, with advertisements in the windows... ...and the advertisements next to it... Oh, shit!

"Daughter, you sent me to buy women's underwear? Me, a grown man?!"

"Dad, Mom says you can get out of any situation!"

"It's nice to have faith in you, but I have a feeling that next time you'll be vacationing at your grandparents' house. It's been a long time since you picked up a hoe! The garden will re-educate you and teach you respect for your elders!"

"Pfeh! If there's one thing I'm in danger of, it's those extra pounds on my waist!"

Yes, my mother's pies are something. Taking a deep breath, I began to gradually come to terms with my hopeless situation, commenting out of sheer stubbornness:

"You've got to be kidding me, sending your own father to his doom!"

"Dad, they have a sale once a year, you can't lose that chance! You stand there for two hours, then you grab any rag, and run before they take it away!"

"Anything? What if it's a sixty-size family satin panties?"

"I'm going to wear it anyway! It's haute couture! You don't understand anything!"

"Well, what's with the mama's intonation?"

"I wanted to say that you just do not understand anything about fashion, but you are the best, kindest, most generous, and generally the best!"

"That's better! But what if they don't fit?"

"I'll present it to Lenka!"

"Mom's lipstick, big sister's boots?"

"She steals my lipstick anyway. Pa, I need the Nui thing! I really do!"

I didn't ask her who she was going to show off her underwear. I was going to set Elka on it, find out everything, and quietly bury the asshole somewhere in the woods. And my daughter to the castle, to the tower, for bread and water! Am I a baron or not?

With the pain in my heart and warmed by these plans, I walked along the line. I wouldn't say I was scared, but it was uncomfortable! Women are wonderful creatures when one by one, but a whole crowd... And a crowd heated up with the desire to grab the fancy stuff... Aggression and excitement reeked down the street like a neighborhood war. But just like there, it was impossible not to participate. With a sigh, I approached the pack of teenage girls that closed the line. They examined me, and discussed in a lively voice, without lowering their voices, what suit them best in different situations. After a minute my ears were burning and my back was wet. I tried to distract myself by looking at the people around me... I quickly pretended that I wasn't looking anywhere: the return glances were blatantly appraising. Like a piece of meat - should you eat it here, or drag it around the corner? Maybe I was imagining it, of course, but... but maybe I wasn't.

"Mr. Baron?"

I could hardly contain a nervous hiccup and looked around. A small middle-aged lady was standing beside me, waving her eyelashes in surprise, a typical French woman... who knows why they are so easy to distinguish from the rest of the Europeans.

"Did you come to the Galerie de Nui?"

"Yes... I had to. Excuse me, ma'am, do I know you?"

"Oh, excuse me! I was at your castle two weeks ago. Marie Bavadier."

"Good to see you again, Marie. Going shopping too?"

"No, no, I work for Maestro Roge".

The next second, the line was instantly silent, and all the heads turned in our direction. Honestly, it was really creepy!

"Well... Mr. Baron, please, do us the favor! And the Maestro will be pleased to see you! He will be! Let's go!" In the next moment, I was flying, grabbed by the arm, and a meter and a half of French enthusiasm dragged my carcass like a balloon, sometimes adjusting my flight so that I did not hit any of the customers. On the way, she explained it was the stories about Gravstein that had served as the decisive impetus for the new collection. The dark and silvered store doors approached inexorably, then at some point swung open, swallowing the prey, and with a quiet clang cut us off from the whispering crowd.

After tossing me into the chair, Marie leaped (no, really!) across the stairs to the second floor and disappeared somewhere. She seemed so quiet and polite at the castle, but at work, she was on fire! Or am I confusing her with someone else?

"Mr. Baron?"

Alexander, just Alexander. - I looked up to see who was approaching. Judging by the fact that Marie was standing behind the man's shoulder, giving me some signals, and the bustle around him suddenly became more orderly, it was the "maestro". Tall, aristocratically stately, a polite smile on some too-pale face. A simple dark suit with a turtleneck and a whole lot of chav. No, it's probably jewelry from the best craftsmen, but in this amount of these kilograms of gold, there's no other way to call it! Three rings on his finger, bracelets, a dozen chains with pendants on his neck; no wonder why he was so stout; if he bent, he would not straighten up!

"Roge de Nui, fashion designer. I am glad to welcome you to my humble establishment!" His hand was thin but tenacious. "I apologize for some of the mess, but in an hour, we will open the doors to the public, and the program is not only trade but also a demonstration of the new collection."

"A sale at the same time as the show? Do you think the customers will pay attention to the models?"

"I want it to be converted, so it will be! And believe me, Alexander, everything will go great. I'm not making a mistake!" He smiled indulgently and added: "At least in such matters. Will you be in Paris long?"

"I got out for the day. Some business, I have to help a colleague."

"A colleague?"

"To Baron von Windifrosch. A long-standing debt and I promised him."

"A case of honor?"

"You could say so."

"I see... But you took the time to look into my humble workshop?"

I looked around. Ahem... Yeah, it's humble. And Gravstein is a little cottage on the coast, for sure.

"A young girl asked for a gift. Alas, here too, is a duty. There's no way around it." I looked around again and asked, "Roge, is it always... like this?"

"This?" He smiled indulgently: "No, I usually have a lot more fun than that! By the way, the private part of the show starts in ten minutes, would you like to be there? Please, I'd be very interested in your opinion! You might say it will be close to you!"

"As you wish, I don't..."

They didn't listen to me any further. De Nui, instantly shifting his focus, was off his seat. Apparently, he, as a hospitable host, had used up all the limit of free time on me and now had to make up for it - a dark-gold figure with a familiar leap ascended the second floor without touching (well, I swear!) the steps, a high impassioned voice began to command. I, meanwhile, had already been dragged out of the chair. Fearing that Marie in the excitement throw me on her shoulder and drag me personally, so as not to delay, I tried to repeat their gymnastic exercises with the stairs. It probably didn't look all that elegant. Alas, my limit was four steps. My pants get in the way. Marie is easier, she's in a wide skirt, and the fashion designer must have sewn himself special pants...

Upstairs they didn't give me a moment's hesitation. Several pretty girls grabbed me under the arms and dragged me into the darkness, chirping deafeningly and jerking from side to side, then the chirping became respectfully muffled. I was thrown forward a bright light hit my eyes.

"Friends, please welcome our special guest of the evening, Alexander von Gravestein! My compliments, Mr. Baron."

As usual, with fright, I looked around the room with a threatening look... So what if I could not see anything, as long as they seemed to see me! In any case, the applause and whispering were clearly heard, and the tone was respectful.

"Marie..." One word was enough. I was picked up and carried again, then thrown again... "Here we go!"

Finally, the music began to play. I tried to blink for a minute, cursing everything in the world. Then finally, a large hall with a podium track running down the middle emerged from the bright spots and impenetrable shadows.

On the stage, there were already a number of aloof and indifferent models, not the standard "sticks", but quite lively, if a little too calm, girls. I even met a couple of very curvaceous ones. And they were wearing... I do not know what Gravstein has to do with it, for the Eskeland whether it is better to wear something much warmed, but the sight was pleasant. If I had bought it all for Elke - heh, it would have suited her, very much so!

But for a daughter? It's all dark red, lace, slits, rhinestones, ribbons... shame!

And I promised, didn't I? Should I run away?

I had to endure the moral turmoil of being in the vicinity of an artistic-looking guy writing in his notebook on one side and a middle-aged woman giggling all the time on the other. There was a lot of nervous breathing and a lot of incomprehensible exclamations, but on the whole, the audience seemed to like what was being shown. So did I, but by the time I had finally calmed down, the show was over. Marie glimpsed, and I was tugged out of my chair and carried somewhere. I wonder if our Olechka-secretary isn't her sister? The same excessive pressure of enthusiasm throughout my body...

Backstage, the fashion designer shone with kindness and golden shine.

"How was it, Alexander? Did you enjoy it?"

After a few seconds of silence to formulate an accurate answer, I couldn't help myself, so I said what was on my mind:

"Yes. But... could a young girl really like that?"

"Of course!"

"What strange outfits are being worn these days."

In the mirror, I saw Marie wink meaningfully at one of the helpers. Yes, of course, all men are assholes and don't know anything about fashion.

"One minute!" I think, this time, I saw the maestro and his assistant flying off on some urgent business. Well, the direction I saw for sure!

I looked around and cheered up. A working atmosphere is always invigorating, and here it was the most working atmosphere there is! Rows of hangers with scraps of cloth on them, paper programs, girls-assistants and boys-of-all-trades running around, a dull-looking security guard, a pleasant grey spot standing out among this riot of color, half-naked and completely naked bodies that no one pays attention to, some paper sheet with pictures - it's interesting, after all!

"Mr. Baro-on?"

It was hard not to flinch. I could barely contain myself.

"Yes?"

A young, half-dressed girl stood behind me, flapping her eyelashes pleadingly. Yeah, I'm going to be lured away. I've experienced that before. The familiar situation finally sobered me up.

"I have something up my nose. Can you help me? What is that smell?"

She dabbed her finger on the neck of the vial, then on her collarbone, and held it out to me for identification. Exclusively out of politeness, I leaned down to the girl's neck, sniffed...

"My dear Baron, I understand young beauty is appealing, but if you're so hungry, it's only worth a hint! But not models They still have work to do!"

I shook my head and looked at the girl with the "runny nose" that Marie was dragging somewhere. De Nui looked at me with some reproach. I shrugged:

"I not that hungry... It's just that it's dinnertime in my castle. Egilbert, the steward, is always demanding that I eat more often. He says there are a lot of tourists, we have to give everyone a chance..." I waved my hand in the air, clarifying the thought. "And then there was that smell. A popular scent, apparently? And the atmosphere is just like at my table back there in Gravstein."

The fashion designer nervously jerked, averting his gaze.

"Smart, smart... One more tourist, one less tourist."

"Yeah, well, one got lost yesterday without anyone noticing." I didn't know what he was getting at, but I had to keep the conversation going.

"Makes sense... here too, sometimes one gets lost... I mean, lose their heads. By the way, let me give you some souvenirs as a memento." There was a rustling in the air, and Marie, who emerged from somewhere above, smilingly held out several parcels and an envelope. "I'm afraid, Alexander, there won't be anything worthy of your attention next. The dull prose of the fashion world! Besides, in ten minutes, there'll be a crowd of ladies eager for new clothes."

"Is it dangerous?"

"They'll tear you to hell." Judging by the intonation, they are exactly going to tear and exactly to hell. They stood there for hours, and I was given presents for nothing. The goodbye was short, and I invited the fashion designer to my place in Graveshine, to which he reacted nervously. Yes, a busy man, he is always being invited somewhere. Roge personally escorted me to the exit, not the main one, but to some gate at the side, promised to send me an invitation to the next collection show, and also invited me to contact him at any time. The difference in mentalities - you could really address him there, but here... Polite people, these French, without a couple of apologies and expressed regrets won't even send you to the ass. But this one's a bit atypical, though, he's given me gifts. Free gifts! Well, I'm a bit of a character now, sort of an advertisement for him.

I pulled an envelope out from under my arm and pulled out the pictures. A master shot, even I could tell! Slim, airy, shining with all his gold Roge, and beside him, heavy as a tank and equally charming me. Well, it could have been worse. I remember that for me the light on the podium was too cutting, but there were no tears in my eyes, and I just wanted to punch somebody in the face. However, Roge and I were subtly similar. Yes, it's a good picture. I can brag about it, like I was at a fashion show once, a private one, of course... Brr, I don't want to blurt it out in front of the men!

I looked at the bags in my hands and sighed. Okay, an hour of shame, but the girls are happy. Or should I cut up this lacey mess and send them Eiffel Tower magnets? Looking back at the line of eager customers entering the shop, I once again read, "Tonight! Roge de Nui's new collection, Whispering Twilight!" Something like that was said in the smoking room, that chicks were crazy about some twilight... I bet Anka's crazy, too, huh?

The pensive father's anguish was interrupted by a call, Elepar whispering that he was already at the hotel and waiting for me.

Taxi, twenty minutes, hotel, von Windifrosch sitting on a bed hugging a box.

I threw the packages on the chair and went into the bathroom, sticking my head under the stream of water. Damn, this is creepy! All these rags, women, fashion designers, and lights could be tolerated separately, but in a cocktail like this? Two hours, and I was exhausted, as after the battle for the annual report.

"Alexander?"

"Now... All right, let's unwrap this."

"Is that a weapon?" Elepar was very curious. He sat fidgeting with his whole body; apparently, his innate decency prevented him from opening the box on the way and finding out what was inside, and now that he could finally find out... poor man, he had been tormented all day.

"It is more than a weapon. It is the instrument of our victory!" And I pulled the Eskenland Chalice out of the box.

I shoveled crumbs of packing material off it, threw it on the bed, reached into the box, pulled out another Chalice... and another. another... and another. I ordered twenty of them in a test batch, and that's how many they sent.

Von Windifrosch looked at me with an expression that was hard to define. There was mild bewilderment, genuine doubt, and even a bit of resentment.

"So, my friend, I promised to help you get the Chalice back home. Is that so?"

He nodded, calming down.

"Elepar, one of the greatest sages of my homeland teaches - always respect the Penal Code! The cup is believed to belong to Spain."

"It is ours and always has been!"

"Sha!" Elepar, sniffing indignantly, sat back down, looking up at me angrily. "I said, "as it counts". But we know the Esks have all the rights. So we have to make sure that this wonderful ... Yeah... ...should be better described as a peculiar piece of medieval jewelry changes its owner. And importantly, we have to do it before the last day of the year. Is that right?

Von Windifrosch nodded.

"So, listen to what we're going to do tomorrow..."

The plan was received without enthusiasm. Elepar wanted fights, chases, and feats. I proposed a dubious prank in which he had a rather modest role to play. It took an hour of persuasion before he sighed and agreed that the direct route was not always the quickest. I did not, however, fully convince him.

After having breakfast in the morning (my accomplice could barely cram a cup of coffee into himself, nervously crumbling his croissant into scraps), I called the head of the "diversionary group", and half an hour later, we were already meeting the square in front of the museum. Yesterday's student seemed nervous and come with the company. There weren't thirty as he had promised, but twenty people were there. This group of conspiratorial-looking people of all ages looked as natural as a tailcoat on a cow. At first, I must thank everyone for their help, then explain exactly what they had to do (again, a bunch of disappointed grimaces, people seemed to be about to fend off guards and keepers to take out the display case with the exhibits under the bullets... r-romantic damn!).

After explaining the plan and rehearsing it three times without regard for the police, under the gaze of the passers-by, I felt that the artistry of the gathering would suffice. I did, however, leave the less-than-dangerous stuff to Elepar and the more intelligent-looking old lady. The latter, as it turned out, was a coincidence-she had only arrived in Paris in the morning, happened to be passing by the museum, and had joined the party of habit.

While I led her by the hand to the hall where the secondary relics were on display, I listened with interest to a few stories about the " happy sixty-eighth" and the turbulent youth at the barricades. When I looked around, my eyes met those of an old man dressed in overalls, who nodded at me affirmatively. Props had been handed out, the crowd was in position, and it was time for the main character to come out. Apologizing to my companion, I stepped forward and coughed loudly. Most energetically, the museum staff reacted to my attempt to attract attention as if they were about to jump. I was more than certain that preparations for an "Eskenland-style robbery" had not passed the police and that all necessary precautions must have been taken.

It's even better, though.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen! Citizens of the Republic! An item once stolen from the Esk people is on display in this hall! For centuries, the crowned oppressors have guarded a relic, preventing the common people from touching a piece of their history!" The attendants began to trickle past the visitors to me. An old man in a uniform passed behind me, put a metal goblet in my hand, and vanished into thin air. "Friends! Here's to all the little ones unjustly oppressed by the strong ones! This Chalice is not empty! It is filled with anger at those who greedily keep other people's goods in their cellars! The relics of the people must belong to the people! Let the greedy jaws be filled to the brim. Our generosity knows no bounds! Long live Eskenland!"

"Long live Eskenland!" and twenty exact replicas of the Chalice that had been handed out in the square flew into the air. Two dozen people pretended to drink from the empty cups, and the next moment an alarm sounded somewhere in the corridor, indicating that one of the cabinets was being tampered with. That was the final jolt - they were throwing themselves at me! I calmly retreated, hiding behind my friends from the guards trying to get at me, while over their heads to the screeching of the alarm bangs of festive confetti, firecrackers handed out at the rate of five per participant, and strips of streamers flew.

Finally, two minutes later, to the applause of the crowd, I was "arrested". They tied me up nicely but politely. They did not throw me to the floor or kick me. Just nervously took off more and more of paper streamers, which were generously handed out by my fellow revolutionary. More and more visitors of the museum got involved in the process and while they were dragging me along the corridors I heard about five different versions of what was going on in different languages. The main one, as I suspected, was that some group had organized a flash mob protest. Well, if Elepar and his comrades didn't fail, then...

* * *

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Excuse me?" I twitched, woke up, and looked at the official sitting in front of me. "It's so cozy in here. I dozed off. Would you mind repeating that?"

"I'll say it again." He reassembled the sheets and padded them again, smoothing them out, but thank goodness he didn't re-read them. "Do you have anything to say about what happened at the museum?"

"Was there something there? I must have been taken away before it happened. What happened?"

The policeman took a closer look at my face, drew some conclusions for himself, and finally deigned to make a complaint:

"For all we know, you were preparing to steal the Chalice from the Spanish Crown Treasures exhibit."

"Steal? Oh no, I was preparing a mass protest against the theft, yes. But the crime itself was committed back under Charles the Ninth when the relic of the Esks was stolen by the occupiers."

"And you weren't going to steal the exhibit?"

"Excuse me, do I look like an idiot? In broad daylight, in front of dozens of people?"

"Museum plans have been found in your belongings!"

"Is that a crime?"

"This is an aggravating factor!"

"An aggravating factor of what? All right, I admit..." he's tense. "I really planned to cause some public resonance through an artistic installation drawing attention to the fact of illegal possession of a public relic by private individuals with title deeds. After all, it's not the citizens of beautiful France to explain what the arbitrariness of the crowned heads can lead to!"

The official grimaced, and the policeman at the door gave an audible sniff.

Taking my documents from the papers in front of him, the grey man sighed, showing his unwavering patience:

"OK, let's start at the beginning. Alexander Nikola... ... evitch MogilA."

"MogIla."

"So be it. What are you doing in Paris?"

"Arrived on personal business. Business, a bit of tourism. An art."

"Mm... okay. You arrived in the Federation a month ago, I see. For what purpose?"

"A work."

"Aha! You don't have a permit to work in the EU!"

"Technically, no, of course. Only it is not a job, but rather something between duty and obligation."

"An obligation to rob museums?"

"Why, did somebody rob someone?"

"That's what we're going to find out!"

"Gotcha. So there's no information yet?"

"We know all we need to know! What is your reason for being at the exhibition?"

"Curiosity and a feeling of duty."

"We're not kidding around here!" The official even tapped his desk. "You are being arrested at the scene of the crime!"

"So, am I under arrest already?"

He clicked his mouse, looking for something on the computer, and then made a killer argument:

"Well, that's not news to you, is it? You have already been investigated and spent quite some time in prison!"

"It was politics."

"Everyone says so!"

"And you check. I am arrested in a case related to Mr. Mikhailov, and you have him recognized as a prisoner of conscience."

Exactly. They are still holding him, waiting for that very conscience to emerge, and he will return at least half of the loot.

"Well, well. We don't like repeat offenders here! I'd advise you to help with the investigation right away. That'll help you!"

When asked if I had been arrested, he never answered. So far, it's going as planned... but it won't be for long.

The official, looking for something to nag at me, rummaged through the bag of the property taken from me and happily pulled out a folding knife.

"It's a knife!"

"Oh, you're absolutely right. It's a knife."

"Do you always carry a weapon with you?"

"No, I carry a knife like any normal man."

"Well, well... he insulted me by calling me crazy!" The latter was said to the policeman standing at the door.

"Just stating a fact."

"Why do you carry a knife?"

"I'm supposed to do that. You see, according to the traditions of my people..." For the next five minutes, I poured out everything I could remember from a particular book on the Frenchman, trying not to be so hackneyed. "So a dagger duel of honor requires a dagger. So I carry a knife with me."

The official even shook his head. What did he think, he is the only one who messes with people! Though weak, weak. Or stalling. Like me.

Behind the door, meanwhile, the noise was growing. I glanced at the clock and wondered whether the journalists I had hired should be up in forty minutes, but there was clearly someone demanding something, and sometimes the word "grave" flashed in the speech. Finally, the door opened, and several people came in at once. There was one man I knew for sure and the last person I expected to see here.

Roge de Nui, in all the glitter of his gold, bowed slightly with a welcoming smile.

"Good to see you again, Herr von Gravstein!"

"Gravstein? It's a mistake. He's not."

"It is indeed a mistake, Inspector. And you made it! Commissar, I would like to know what my friend and guest, Alexander Mogila von Gravstein, is being accused of?"

"Mr. Count, no one is accusing anyone yet..."

"Shut up, Inspector. My lawyers will be talking to you!"

I watched in a daze as the fashion designer, to whom the servants of the great Republic, for some reason addressed only by the title, led two policemen on while they fought back in a languid and somehow unenthusiastic manner. The Commissar, a stout man with a mustache, glanced angrily at the inspector who questioned me and assured me that everything was about to be cleared up and the case would be solved to everyone's satisfaction. At the same time, he did not want to set me free, but he was still hoping that he would somehow get me for robbery.

"You are detaining an innocent man!"

"We merely asked Monsieur Mogil... I mean Mr. Baron to explain some aspects, so to speak, to have a chat..."

"Well, we've had a heart-to-heart talk. Can I go now?"

"Um... I have yet to find out..."

"Can I call my stewart then?"

"I'm not sure that..."

"You may, Baron." The Count glanced angrily at the commissioner and handed me the phone. A moment later, a familiar voice answered me:

"Alexander?"

I put it on speakerphone and reported back:

"Von Schnitze, I am in Paris, captured on trumped-up charges."

After a second of silence, puzzled around me and belligerent on the tube, the old man affirmatively asked:

"Do you want me to call up a militia?"

"Do it. Do I have the right to declare war on France?"

"Oh, that's an interesting question! In principle, yes."

"Good. Call Earl Erik and tell him that I am offering him to conquer Lutetia with me."

"He'll be thrilled, Alexander! His ancestor had already done it once." The policemen looked at me with growing bewilderment while the fashion designer smiled happily. "But I would like to point out that Mr. Jarl is currently undergoing medical treatment for a broken arm."

"Egilbert, it was Eskenland he had to conquer with two hands and that didn't work out. For belle France one is enough."

"I absolutely agree with you, Mr. Baron!"

The inspector snorted angrily, the commissar coughed angrily, and de Nui shook his head slyly. To him, I nodded apologetically and winked.

"Good. What about von Windifrosh?"

"I'm passing it literally - he's on point three, and everything's normal."

"Excellent. If I don't get back to you by three in the afternoon, we declare war!"

"Yes, Mr. Baron!"

I hung up the phone and spread my hands:

"An Eskenlander, a hotheaded lad. Just let them have a fight with someone."

The policemen looked around, finally the commissioner cleared his throat and asked a question with a "political smile":

"What was that about the war? Some kind of play of words?"

"No play... there's a scroll in the papers over there. Inspector, would you mind unfolding it?"

An hour ago, the policeman had unfolded it but could not read it and put it aside as unnecessary, but now he nervously grabbed the parchment and handed it to the commissioner with some trepidation. He unfolded the thick material and stared at the dangling stamps.

"What is this?"

"These are my documents. Written out properly, according to the custom of the Esks... Well, an imported custom, since the little people had no written language of their own, so all diplomatic correspondence was in Latin."

"Diplomatic?" The Commissar was still trying to play it cool, but it was clear that he didn't like what he heard.

"Right. A visit from the head of state, however unofficial... I brought my credentials just in case. That's what they are."

"Heads of state?"

"Oh, you don't know? With the secession of Eskenland, Gravstein became an independent subject of international law, and since I've been running the Barony for the last twenty-three years... Our sovereignty was recognized by the Republic at the time of the Consulate. I checked. And since the position obliges me, I had to write out my documents. I did not want to give them to the president personally, but I am here on a personal visit - to breathe in the air of free Paris, to see the new collection by the maestro and to visit the museum... and express my attitude to the exhibition of relics once stolen from us."

The Inspector and the Commissar glanced at each other. The Count's ears were whispered at both sides by very official-looking men, while at door three other men were busily scribbling notes in their pads. Finally, the Commissar, who had finally darkened, cleared his throat and asked:

"Then why... I mean, why, honorable Mr. Baron, did you allow yourself to be detained... I mean, couldn't you have explained this two hours ago? We would respectfully have participated, and I assure you that... ahem... we could have avoided some... unnecessary friction. Again, Mr. Count..."

"I got up and started collecting things from the table, shoving them in my pockets."

"Indeed, why would I want to draw attention to myself?" I winked meaningfully at one of the journalists, whose eyes immediately glittered with excitement. "Two hours, plenty of time... I think the shipment of copies of the Eskenland Chalice I ordered is on its way to Graveshtein. I should hurry, lots to do. So you say the Chalice is in place? Good, that's what I thought. Of course, where would it be? Because Nobody. Stealed. It." And winked at the journalist again. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Commissioner. Count, why don't we take a little walk?"

"Oh, of course, Alexander!"

The look on the inspector's face, with a successfully solved case and a possible promotion snatched from under his nose, was an acceptable payment for two hours of boredom and nervousness.

"Now that the facts are clear, I can't keep you any longer, Mr von Gravstein. Of course, there are still some questions..."

"I'm going to be pretty busy for the next month, but I'm sure the manager will be happy to help you. He's my part-time foreign minister, so you're welcome to him. He's not very fond of the French, but who's without faults? Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I have a lot to do!"

On leaving the station, the journalists raced from their seats. De Nui and I looked behind them and bowed with identical smiles (albeit for different reasons) at the same time:

"Thank you, Count! Your participation was most welcome, but really, was it worth the trouble?"

"Of course, Alexander, of course! You interest me very much as a person and as a baron. I couldn't do otherwise! Thank you, gentlemen. Your help will not be necessary from now on." After letting the lawyers go, we walked along the streets, having an informal conversation.

"There is, after all, something bad about all places of authority, especially those associated with the administration of justice. When you walk out of there, it's easier to breathe... but maybe it's the "air of Paris"?"

"Perhaps, Alexander, perhaps. I understand that you had to..."

"Sitting at the station for a while, while my friend, Baron von Windifrosch, is busy with other things.

"Other things, is that it? Well, I hope it works out for him. Nice cafe, by the way. Shall we go in?"

I still had time, so we stopped by. The fashion designer turned out to be a good conversationalist, but for some reason, he brought all the topics to one point:

"As Baron von Gravstein, you can claim the throne of Neimorica through your distant predecessor, Egroin Gravstein. And thus to the throne of certain European states, for example, the very same Britannia... or rather England."

"A right is only a right when it is backed by force."

"Nice to see some real Eskeland practicality!"

"More like Roman. Romania is, after all, the last of the provinces of old Rome, surrounded by the darkness of ignorance."

In some ways, our conversation reminded me of those hectic years when you had to constantly prove who you were, who was behind you, and who knew you - not that there was a shred of truth in a word you said. The main thing is that people believe your words like "the whole Sloboda will stand for me! I work with Skull himself!" I've suspected something similar about the aristocracy all my life, though. The wording is a little more glamorous, but the essence is the same.

Shouldn't I go to old Carl Jerome Friedrich's grave and brag about my exploits, like a baron to a baron? Especially since it's not far from my barony...

"So in principle, you can claim the ducal throne."

"Tell me, gracious Count, do I have a claim to the throne of France as well?"

He fidgeted nervously, but before he could answer, I interrupted:

"Well, that's it! Don't go on or I'll really have to conquer Paris!"

"You know, my friend," he looked around and suddenly sighed heavily. "I wouldn't mind... And I wouldn't be the only one."

No way! Why do I need so many Arabs and champagne?

"After a moment's silence I asked, changing the subject:"

"And how is it that you have the right people at your fingertips?"

"Oh, my dear Alexander, just yesterday, I realized that you're the kind of person who doesn't fit into a civilized framework. There is something about your face..." He wiggled his fingers vaguely, and with a sigh, I prompted:

"Pirate?"

"Exactly! Exactly!" de Nui suddenly clicked distinctly, switching and going off somewhere in his mind. "Pirates... but really... a great idea, just the final touch!"

Trying not to picture bearded, one-eyed, one-armed, one-legged sea robbers dressed in sheer lace "by Nui," I glanced impolitely at my watch. Roge, however, was already scribbling something on a napkin, with occasional apologetic glances at me. I don't know why he was helping me, but we were now drifting apart sharply. Once again, thanking him for his participation and inviting me back to my castle, I took my leave.

Call, taxi, a ten-minute drive, train station, train. Luckily for me, there was a smooth way out of town today, so an hour later I was already far away. The train station of a provincial town is very similar to those in Eskenland. A cafe. The phone call.

Half an hour later, we were driving down the road towards the Belgian border in an old, totally un-aristocratic Volkswagen. My driving "sidekick" occasionally interrupted to glance through the news reports about the incident, and finally, he couldn't take it anymore:

"Alexander... what's next?"

With satisfaction, having finished another comment in the discussion of the article, I shrugged:

"What next? The incident at the museum will become known to all interested parties and the sensation-hungry public, and everyone will wonder what actually happened. At first, the French will begin to justify themselves, saying that nothing has been stolen from them and that all this is malicious slander. Of course, no one will believe them; after they have arrested me and kept me in custody, anything they say that contradicts mine will be taken as an excuse; people always believe what they believe, and believing in a beautiful robbery is much more pleasant than listening to the boring arguments of the authorities. Was there a ruckus at the museum? There was. You set it off by shorting out the alarm! Is it thought that the Chalice has been tampered with by an adventurer? I mean, a patriot Exenlander! Yes! We've got twenty accomplices who'll brag about their bravery for a month and a hundred eyewitnesses who'll "remember" anything. I bet they will. We gave them such a spectacle!"

"Then we will pretend that we already have the Chalice, we just fear for it, and hide it in different places, under the guise of replicas, and here we are just going to be believed. Then the Spaniards will be outraged, but I have something to reassure them."

So, there will be several rounds of negotiations, and then there will be a story flashed somewhere that there was an exchange of historical relics of cultural value for the fraternal, historically related peoples of Spain and Eskeland, and the Federation will not miss the chance to show that it is also involved so that no one will hear the truthful arguments of France, everyone will say that yes, the Chalice was stolen, but we will not talk about it, especially since the Eskis as a noble people have paid off. A "copy" of the Cup will be presented to us as a "memento", I will give this "copy" to you, and you, fulfilling the vow given, will put it in the hands of old Egelbert, who will be glad to death. We will get the original without crime and violence, the Spanish will get a comparable relic, the Federats will get a chance to show **** their neighbors, and the French... well, "we beat the French", they are used to it! France is beautiful as it is.

"But there won't be a real Chalice at the ceremony, will there? It's unlikely you'll be able to finish the negotiations in time for the last day of August?"

"My dear one, what makes a relic a relic? Our faith! Everyone will be convinced that Chalice is real, and that will make it real. And we will return the original to its place a little later."

Elepar looked away and sighed heavily, shaking his head, while I looked again at the invoices. The copies of the Chalice have been ordered in substantial quantities, but I'm sure I can make them sell like hotcakes at the big break. I just need to spread the word... And add a zero. If we're going to sell national relics, we should do it for a lot of money!

* * *

Have you read about the museum robbery? I have an acquaintance in the Paris police. They say the Eskenland Chalice was actually stolen! But the Essies, as usual, screwed up, put the real one in a pile of copies, and now nobody knows where it is! If you're buying souvenirs in Gravstein, look closely, there's a chance of buying an original!

comment on a popular blog

* * *

"Brothers! Today we are one step closer to the secrets of the Founders! We have helped one of the Ancients, one who is the son of the True Lords of the Night. It is a small act, but the True Light will illuminate us, and we shall finally be able to..."

from the Grand Master's appeal to the members of the Golden Darkness Lodge

* * *

Chapter 18

Gravstein greeted us with the usual gloomy skies and light rain. Elepar said goodbye without going into the courtyard, so I walked down the street to the gate with mixed feelings - it was nice to be back in my own home, and it had been a fun trip, but there would be problems, demands, strange people, and all the other things that go with ancient castles. I can't worry about them. I'll just solve it somehow! Or I'll leave it for the morning. Am I a baron or not? I'll have a feast with my faithful retinue.

Egelbert was waiting for me at the gate, as frowning as everyone else around me.

"Got dag, Mr. Baron."

"Could be a little less formal, mate. Or have we got a problem? Of course, something happened. I hope the castle hasn't been captured yet."

"No, this morning's siege went well. We won again."

"Nice! So what's so bad then?"

"Baron Elig von Custhiv visited the town. Unfortunately, there was an incident..."

We were approaching the main tower, and it was strangely quiet. I wanted to get away from the drizzle from the sky, too. The rain was a mental mockery. I could call upon myself the kitchen duty to be closer to the hot ovens!"

"What kind of incident?'

"Miller, the one who owns the shop at the corner of the castle, took slight offense at the demand made of him, after which he caused the baron to be disrespected by his words and actions... the Baron's indignation. The shopkeeper was detained in accordance with the nobleman's demand. He is now in a cell in the castle prison, as von Custhiv has sentenced the commoner to the proper punishment and placed him in your hands to administer justice."

"Couldn't he do it himself?"

"He took the opportunity to hand over the accused to you." Von Schnitze's voice was strange. "First, the defendant is a Gravsteinian, and second, you, as the eldest of the country's barons, can and must protect the interests of other barons by exercising the right of 'counsel at his word'."

"OK, let's put him on trial, get an acquittal."

"The trial has already been held by Baron von Kusthiv."

"Then send him for a further hearing so he can be pardoned. Or no, I'll put him on community service for a week. That's the third complaint!"

I threw my bag on the bed with relief and turned to the door. The stewart stood with his head still lowered and nervously twitching his cuffs.

"A convicted person can only be pardoned at dawn the next day."

"What? Oh, yes, I seem to recall you saying something like that. Then put the old troublemaker in a cell and let him sit up till morning to think about his anti-social behavior. Don't forget to bring him a pillow and a proper blanket."

"Alexander... Mr. Baron... The sentence under the Truth of Esks shall be carried out before sunset of the same day."

Before sundown... the trial has already taken place. Baron. Commoner. Several pieces of the puzzle clicked together, and the next moment I raked the old man by the collar and hissed in his face:

"Are you suggesting that I execute a man?!"

* * *