If on his previous trip to the capital, Cyril remained gloomy and despondent, this time he radiated cordiality.

Something had changed, a decision that was still unconscious but strong enough to make him want to move forward with joy. Of course, Cyril remained true to his desire to end his life and, as he hoped, be reunited with his family. He believed that only by dying could he be truly happy. Still, the decision made filled him with joy and a willingness to take risks again.

This time the curtain between the driver and the passenger in the carriage remained open, and Cyril listened with a smile as the driver cursed furiously at passers-by in tight doublets and other drivers in ridiculous caps.

"Where are you going, you brute?" The driver swore and whipped the horses harder.

"It's actually a sidewalk, isn't it?" Cyril asked, removing the happy smile from his face.

A pair of horses brought the carriage to the very edge of the street, and a startled passer-by ducked through the nearest door. The wall of the house, made of clay and wood, floated through the carriage window, and Cyril could have reached it with his hand if he had wanted to.

"Where do you expect me to go around this damned cart?" The cabman turned and nodded toward the street.

"That's true." Cyril agreed, looking out the left-hand window.

An old cart without a wheel lay on the road, blocking the path of two other carts. Against the background of these carts, the expensive carriage looked like an alien ship in the middle of a remote Siberian village. The straw from under the cart had long since been taken away by the locals to dry and update the pillows in cheap houses, but the cart did not seem to interest even the beggars.

'I wonder if there are any social services in the city, or if the cart is going to stay here for three more days until it's used for firewood.'

"Listen." He called to the driver on the box. "Why aren't there any guards on the streets?"

He had been in the city for a week, but still had not met a single guard or policeman. It seemed to Cyril that in such a city there should be Musketeers with swords, or at least street sweepers, but so far he had met only two Bloodhounds.

"Hey, because no one cares about order!" The cabman swore and turned off the sidewalk and back into the street. "The clan of Fate watches everything, they say! But I'll tell you what, master Cyril. The clan of Golden Cup has been running everything for a long time.

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"Interesting." Cyril said, perking up when he heard about the new clan. "Tell me more."

"It's none of my business." The cabman said. "The lady will tell you everything herself, if she sees fit."

If Cyril had previously allowed himself to lie in a room on the second floor of the tavern, now he was impatient to get everything sorted out. Dyck's agreement to fight back against the Clean Heel clan, the successful theft of the mechanic's corpse, and the maid's willingness to smile at the guests while occasionally pleasuring Cyril, made it clear that it was time to act.

He could hide and do everything quietly while he searched for a mechanic and dug a well, but now he was ready. When asked what he was ready for, Cyril shrugged. Die in glory?

"May I ask how I have earned your mistress's attention?"

"You can ask, but I can't answer." The driver snapped, and whipped the horses.

"You have a sharp tongue." Cyril said, and leaned back in the cushioned seat.

He didn't have time to think about what to do next when the carriage suddenly jumped on a hole in the road and Cyril almost flew headfirst into the ceiling.

"Sit on the box with me, master Cyril, and you'll become even sharper." The driver said in his most casual tone.

'It's like I came home and got an uber at a discount.' Cyril chuckled, grabbing the edge of the seat. "Fucking great."

The city passed through the window, and the ramshackle dwellings were replaced by strong houses made of stone. The walls rose two or three stories, and each building seemed unique. Cyril had already seen the area when he got lost with Clara.

'I could start breaking down walls and killing people to attract the attention of the clan of Fate or the Clear Heel clan, but what good would it do me? Clara hasn't returned yet, and that's starting to worry me. Well, I'll stop by for tea and look for answers. I haven't seen the proverbial magicians yet either.'

"By the way, is Thursday coming soon?" He asked the driver.

"The day after tomorrow, master Cyril. It's Tuesday."

'Damn, and why did I promise Dyck to promote the tavern? It's just that Cyril is the kindest.' He thought, looking out the window. 'First he was kind to his family and clients at work, now to a fat grumbler with a live beard. Okay, maybe I'll have time to fulfill my promise and die with honor.'

"Here we are."

"Thank you, uber at a discount." Cyril chuckled as the carriage stopped.

"I don't know what that means, but you stay healthy either." The driver said, and got down from the box. "Wait here, Mr. Cyril, and I'll report."

As much as Cyril wanted to do it quickly, the outside world in the face of the driver made him wait for something again. Perhaps social conventions and habits of living among people penetrate our minds more strongly than we imagine. Even when he was drunk, Cyril didn't kill anyone, so why would he go crazy now, when his heart was light and the streets were filled with sunlight?

Cyril sat a little longer and got bored. He opened the door, jumped down on the sidewalk, and shuffled his bare feet, watching as his bare fingers tried to grasp the edge of a stone on the pavement.

He was both curious and anxious. What lay ahead? What adventures were waiting for him outside the gates of the mansion? Can Kalim revive the mechanic? How does it feel to cook daiquiris in the likeness of medieval Munich, when everyone is satisfied with warm beer? The thought made Cyril laugh.

For a moment, he felt the joy of life again, and the desire to die receded. I could stay here, he thought. Live a full life and slowly forget who he loved in the past.

'And I wouldn't have to kill anyone.'

Before he had time to think about it, a small gate in the high gate opened, and a cabman came out with a beautiful, tall girl in a long floor-length dress. The red fabric that clung to her chiseled figure made him forget both his dead wife and the daiquiri.

"Follow me, master Cyril." The girl said in a rather dry tone.

"Okey-dokey." Cyril agreed, and winked at the driver. "See you later, discount uber."

The cabman grumbled something in response and headed for the horses, but Cyril didn't hear him. He ducked through the gate after the beautiful lady, waiting for any twists of fate.