Half an hour later, Cyril came out of the forest with a basket of herbs. The weather was hot, and he enjoyed the wind on his skin. Returning to the main street, he turned left in search of the bathhouse.

Suddenly there was an indistinct noise ahead. Cyril noticed a commotion in a distance, people running, horses neighing. A column of white smoke rose above the road.

What's the problem? Cyril thought, and quickened his pace.

A carriage drawn by two horses raced towards him. The driver whipped the horses furiously, while a man in an expensive doublet peered out of the window, glancing over his shoulder.

Something really scared them. Interesting.

"The devil's cauldron!" An old man shouted to Cyril and made a strange sign with his hand. "Fate will save me, Fate is merciful."

The old man fell on his knees and began to pray, repeating the word fate. The old man had obviously run away from the white smoke, but Cyril couldn't see from his position what it was.

White smoke rose in the middle of the wide street, and a crowd gathered around the source of the smoke, blocking the view. People spun and ran, some jumped out of the crowd and ran away, talking nonsense, others on the contrary flocked from the doors of nearby houses. The infamous demonic cauldron boiled the mass of people in the juice of curiosity.

At home, everyone would get their smartphones out now. Cyril thought. And they would start filming.

Finally, he reached the shouting crowd. Cyril was about to push people aside with his elbows when he noticed that people were parting in front of him with horror in their eyes.

"What? What is it?" He asked to the nearest woman. "Oh, fuck…"

He suddenly realized he wore rags, and his hands, face, and half of his body were smeared with bear blood. A basket full of herbs probably turned Cyril's appearance into a grotesque version of little red riding hood.

"Boo!" He threw up his hands, startling onlookers. "Let me pass!"

The fifty or so people in front of him parted to reveal a four-wheeled cart with a pot-bellied cauldron on a platform. A long chimney protruded from the cauldron, sending out a column of white smoke. Various valves and tubes spat steam. The machine was making noise, and the steam force was pushing the pistons, propelling the michine forward. A man in a leather apron and goggles sat on a simple bench behind the cauldron.

Dyck is an asshole. He didn't say they had steam engines in use. Cyril swore as he remembered the morning dialogue with the bartender.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Children of Fate and simple sinners!"

The man on the steam machine stood up, smiling at the crowd.

"Demonic henchman!' The crowd shouted, throwing a stone at the steam carriage. The stone hit the iron side and fell on the road.

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"Don't be afraid!" The mechanic raised his hands. "My car has nothing to do with demons! This science was given to me by Fate, and with the name of Fate I present to you the Hissing Chariot!

Hissing Chariot? Cyril almost choked. Really?

"The Hissing Chariot is safe." The mechanic smiled. "You have nothing to fear!"

That old man also muttered about fate. Cyril thought. Is it their local religion?

The Hissing Chariot, as the mechanic called it, surprised and frightened. But the mechanic himself had no less a gift for seduction, for the timid herd of townspeople had grown noticeably quieter. The boldest even came closer to study the mechanism.

I need to wash off this blood and change into something. Cyril looked at his hands. I won't go far looking like this.

He wanted to leave the crowd and go to the baths as he planned, but he realized that the steam boiler might be useful. He decided to make an acquaintance first, and then clean himself up.

"Hey, dragon tamer!" Cyril said from the crowd. "Look at this, you fucking steamhead!"

The people around Cyril shied away, looking at him with the same fear as they had a moment ago at the steam engine. The mechanic on the wheel platform smiled over curious heads to find out who was calling.

"And you're quite right, my fine-looking friend." The mechanic pointed out, ignoring the insult. "A common steam makes my machine work. The same steam that rises from a pot when you heat the water for your morning tea."

The crowd murmured in surprise. However, no one dared to look at Cyril without disgust or fear.

"Tell me where I can find you." Cyril said.

"Oh, my workshop is on Carpenter street, you can't pass it by." The mechanic smiled. "I'll be there tonight. Everyone who wants to learn more about the power of steam can also visit!"

The mechanic gave the crowd a beaming smile and leaned toward a little girl who wanted to ask something. The girl's mother was smiling guiltily at the mechanic, but he didn't seem the least bit embarrassed. Getting what he wanted, Cyril pushed the crowd apart again.

He left the steam miracle behind and went to the baths.

Dyck said the bathhouse was at the end of the street. Cyril recalled. I wonder if high-pressure steam can penetrate my belly?

Contemplating suicide by steam, Cyril soon reached a single-story red-brick building. At the two ends of the long building, chimneys rose a few meters high, sending thick white smoke into the sky.

Cyril found the main entrance, which was a covered porch, pushed open the heavy door, and went inside. Inside, a pretty girl in a light white dress stood behind the counter, smiling affably.

"Good afternoon." She said, not paying attention to the appearance of the guest. "Would you like to take a bath?"

"I definitely would." Cyril said, and moved closer. "If possible, I'd like to take a look around and see how it works."

"Oh." She said. "Excursions are not included in our standard set of services."

"Set of services? Is there anything else besides a bath?"

"The standard set of services includes bathing in the bathroom, hot grotto, caressing concubines and rubbing the heels with pumice stone. The entire range of services will cost you ten silver coins or one gold. You can also order one or more services."

The beautiful girl's smile never left her face.

"I think I'll just use the bathroom today." Cyril said.

"There are three payment methods available in our baths." The girl nodded, without changing her face. "Payment in money, working as a concubine, service to the Clean Heel clan."

Flexible system. Cyril chuckled to himself. Not bad.

"Can I hear more about it?"

"Sure." The girl nodded again. "A bath costs seven copper coins. The service of a concubine or concubine implies sexual satisfaction of a willing guest of our bath from any department, whether male or female."

"Wait, wait." Cyril said, holding up his hand. "It's my first day in the city, I'm not catching up. Both male and female halves?"

"Are you in a hurry?" The girl asked.

"Where to?"

"Sorry. I don't understand who or what can't you catch up."

Ugh, fuck!

"That's slang. It means I don't quite understand."

"Oh, I've caught up right now." The girl said. "Yes, the last year king Phalos declared our society tolerant, so intercourse between any gender or race is permitted. Can I continue?"

"Wait." Cyril said. "Do you mean races of people or other beings? You know, like, Caucasoids, Negroes or dwarves, elves, whatever else Tolkien had."

This time, the girl finally changed her face, looking at Cyril with suspicion.

"Please, sir, I can't catch up with you now. Who is Tolkien and who are the Negroes?"

"It doesn't matter." Cyril said. "Are there other intelligent beings besides humans?"

"Yes, of course." The girl said. "But they are rarely seen in the capital nowadays."

"Why?"

"Many are still afraid of repeating of the war. Too many races have suffered from human cruelty in past. Can I tell you about the third payment method?"

So there are other races. Is that why the Kingdom has such a stupid name? Although, here is a real problem with proper names.

"Yes, go ahead."

"Going ahead." The girl nodded. "You can take a bath if you agree to do whatever the Clean Heel clan wants you to do. The significance of the order depends on the service we offer. That is, taking a bath can mean, for example, passing an important parcel or participating in a game match of clans.

And there are some clans. Cyril made a mental note.

Caked bear blood on his arms and chest began to tighten uncomfortably, and Cyril scratched noticeably. Not only did he want to wash away the blood, but he also wanted to understand how the sewers worked here. Cyril scratched again and thought of something.

"In the name of Fate, I command you to show me the baths."

"Why didn't you tell me you were from the Inspectorate?" The girl's eyes widened and then she hastened to smile. "Of course! You were testing me. Which half do you want to start with?"