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Spitting out a cherry pit, I followed the trajectory of its fall from the tower and turned to von Schnitze: "It's boring, Egilbert. Should we arrest the mailman?"

"But for what?"

"For ties with Unholy Powers."

"Excuse me, Mr. Baron?"

"I've been following him for two weeks now, and he's never been more than a minute late. Believe me, it's impossible to such a delivery without an agreement with the Prince of Darkness!"

"Alexander, you are very wrong here! We Eskenlanders are capable of..."

I didn't listen any further, just nodding decently. I was bored.

Over the past week, somehow by itself, that is, almost without swearing or running around, almost everything got organized. Tourists visited the castle six times a day, plus a joint breakfast and lunch (the manager still pushed me. I had to agree). They introduced an additional attraction: a night in the "medieval" way, in the refectory, on planks of straw, thrown under the tables. For some reason, it was much more successful than comfortable rooms with modern furniture. Tourists got up in the morning with groans and grunts, but happy!

We managed to figure out the origin of the howling and moaning. It was Ghoul. The kitten had been lurking in the ventilation ducts, sometimes entertaining himself with concerts. The bizarre acoustics did indeed carry the sounds to the dungeon cells in a strangely distorted form. However, we were in no hurry to tell anyone about it; there was no reason to deprive the castle of the atmosphere of an ancient mystery.

Volunteers were amusing themselves, retelling my fabrications as ancient tales, and the restoration work was progressing at a respectable pace, even though only the simplest work was being done - the restoration of the murals had been postponed. In the city, too, everything was in order.

Boring.

"Alexander, what's wrong with you?"

"I don't know what I'm longing for, I have no peace of mind." The old man glowed when he heard the familiar lines. Romantic people, these Eskenlanders. "I wonder what to do."

Of course, it is completely wrong to reveal the greatest secret of leadership - that sometimes it is just mindlessly resting rather than plowing for the glory of the work process. But I needed something to do!

The usual methods of combating boredom were not available.

Drinking is not an option. First of all, there is no one to drink with.

The squires are young, and there's nothing to drink with them. Eggy Jr. and his father would have kept me company, but that wouldn't have been entertainment, it would have been using my position, because, after all, I'm a baron, and they're a family of managers. Volunteers are not an option, they have their own entertainment. Although the thought of organizing something like a festival flashed through my mind, but we need a good reason. I'll have to dig into the history of Esks, there's bound to be a date coming up, and then I'll have a good time.

Women? Yeah. There are tourists with strong bodies, you kick them out the door, and they come in the window.

A man should be a hunter, not a prey! I was hunted all the time. I had never been a sex symbol, I was taller than average, and my face wasn't exactly ugly - but here I saw the eyes of the visiting ladies light up: 'Prey! Get it!'

I had an acquaintance who was a smart woman, but one day she suddenly said that we didn't understand anything and if she were a man, then she listed all the things my friends had done that caused them various problems, from financial losses to health and legal problems. But she was sure we were just passing our chance. Yeah, right.

Looking at those predatory sweet smiles, listening to the constant "Mr. Baron, what are you doing tonight?", "Mr. Baron, would you mind" and "Mr. Baron, I've dreamed so long" - I wanted to crawl away to hole up with the Ghoul.

No, not a kiss without love! I could, of course, go away somewhere, I was not chained, but I was too lazy to go away.

There's still work to do. Oh, von Schnitze just a hint and there will be more work than necessary! I looked around: the manager was standing nearby, waiting for something. Maybe just a hint? Well then:

"They say once in Denmark a girl came to school with a cross, and they told her to take it off, but she didn't. And she was crucified on the cross!"

The old man chewed his lips thoughtfully, moved his eyebrow a few times, looked at me, and cautiously answered:

"Mr. Baron, I still think that in some ways this story is not quite... um... true."

"That was a thousand years ago."

His face instantly brightened.

"Oh, then it really could have happened! Where did you hear such an interesting legend?"

"The old people used to say..."

I sighed. The old man had a sense of humor, but a very peculiar one, and he didn't understand most of my jokes. Or didn't want to.

It's boring, though. I've got to do something, or I'm going to start acting weird!

"By the way, this legend is proof that already in those centuries there were schools in Denmark, and women were educated there on an equal footing with men!"

Egilbert and I looked at Marty and stay loudly silent.

Yesterday she finally put three knives in a row in the middle target and fought her way to becoming assistant to the chief of the guard. An hour later he sent her to Eggie. In another hour the latter sent the girl to the father. The old man tried to tear himself away for a long time, running around the castle, but he couldn't, for all his swiftness, and I reckon he came up here to the tower so that I could somehow put the combat friend to rest.

Oh, that energy for peaceful purposes... At least she's a little afraid of me.

In general, I never ceased to be amazed at how these guys, my squires, took everything seriously. It would seem that they had spent not so little, but not much money on some courses, in fact - a theatrical recreation. Did they not realize that not so much and get? And that at any moment they could take off and go away on really important business instead of letting themselves be abused?

Probably not.

More than that, Eggy reported that there was a waiting list for a second set of squires, and some of the volunteers (probably at the instigation of one brave mustachioed man) had opened some sort of training course.

Though why am I surprised, there's a whole small country that thinks that if you pretend that everything goes as it's supposed to, then everything will go as it's supposed to. Oh, those eskies...

"I'm going to go check out the basement. Has the group left yet?"

"Yes, Alexander." Von Schnitze stared at me hopefully, but I, being a tyrant and a despot, did not take Marty with me.

It's been a long time since I've been in jail! It's been a week now. First of all, I don't like it there. Not because they are victims of my injustice, but because there are tourists there. Secondly, something constantly happens to the tourists - someone twists his arms and legs in the torture chamber, testing the strength of the shackles, or some Asians altogether managed to get locked in an empty cell. It was quite a sight, twenty-two people staring sadly at Erdar, running along the walls with excitement, and photographing non-stop - the poor guy almost broke the bars with his bare hands. That's okay, now we also take "barred" pictures. Americans are especially eager to take them.

From the door of the first cell came groans. The tax collector, pleasantly surprised by the percentage dripping to him, like most of his countrymen in such a situation, immediately began to improve his skills - did vocal exercises to develop the voice, and worked long and thoughtfully on the costume. Still, the locals know how to work, even I was impressed.

"You, dear Otto, were in the wrong business; you should have been on the stage. You're wasting your talent. As soon as you've finished your time, you must enroll in an acting course."

"Thank you, Mr. Baron, I am very flattered. I'm thinking of introducing some recognizable classics into the repertoire."

The prisoned tax collector changed his expression to a more tragic one.

"Better gesticulate more actively, place the image three-dimensionally!"

Schreiber hesitated, moved his hand at random, stared at his palm, put it to his stomach and to his chest several times, guessing.

"Genius! That's what I've been missing!"

"Happy to help. Are the conditions acceptable?"

"Considering that I still consider my detention to be arbitrary..."

"... fully compliant with local laws, so it's more of a working point."

"Let's presume. The conditions are decent. But I resent it! Why is my neighbor's door open and mine is not?"

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Well, you seem like a relatively decent person, here, even a spark of acting talent shows that you just lost your way at some point. And your neighbor, he's a mess. The banker... On the other side of him, as you note, sits a perpetually hungry cannibal. We don't give up hope that one day they'll find each other."

"Оh... I understand. But I'm afraid the poor African guy has no chance."

Here I agreed with him.

After nodding to the publican, who had begun practicing his most soul-crushing moans and curses in the third act, I moved on.

The next two doors were open.

The African was now running somewhere upstairs; he only came down to the cell before the excursion. The black man, having learned that the taxman's artistic wailing was paid in cash, at first went on strike. When I found out about this, I threatened that he would also go on a hunger strike. The African went back on his word, and we came to an agreement. Now the "wild ogre" usually hung around upstairs somewhere, and during visiting hours he came down, locked his cell, and greeted the tourists by gnawing on a huge bone, glaring with his eyes, exclaiming something unintelligible, and stretching his arms. Once, carried away, he almost dragged a careless Finnland guy to himself, biting into the sleeve of his jacket with his teeth, but the other tourists fought off the fellow and tried to break into the cell. I had to intervene to protect the "emotional but evil child of nature," allowing all the ladies to take pictures with the smiling "outstanding specimen." The men stared grimly and threatened the cannibal surreptitiously with their fists.

Finnland guy, who was in his usual melancholy body, didn't even seem to realize that someone was trying to eat him.

Schreiber was very jealous of the success of the Cannibal theater and moaned twice as shrill afterward. But there was no way the two prisoners could shut up the true star. Blumchild sat in his cell with the door open, glaring at passersby. It was hard to see him in the dark, and the smell, despite the daily cleaning, was noticeable, but every tourist was eager to take a memorable photo just in front of this camera. It was interesting to observe how people walked away from the plate with an explanation of his faults (we had long thought it up with Eggy and as a result described everything honestly as it was) with dreamily wistful faces. They don't like bankers for some reason. Regardless of nationality.

In any case, there was already a waiting list for the jailer's place until the end of the summer. So far, however, the torture chamber was not in use, but three of them boasted that they had almost managed to use the lash to lure the moneylender out of the cell.

In fact, that's why it smelled - he didn't bathe. Schreiber was let out for two hours every night for good behavior. African guy was used as a handyman for dragging or sweeping. But the banker chickened out.

In fact, I'm really good at it. Two weeks as a baronet, and already have three prisoners in the cellars. A tax collector, a moneylender, and an ogre. Who else would you like to add, just to complete the picture? A journalist, perhaps? Or...

I stopped at the door of the last cell. Strangely, the bars were locked... I hadn't been down here in five days, but I remember that this, the last, farthest from the entrance, was open. I looked around and nodded to the officer in charge, who rushed over to me. Actually, Fisk should have been promoted by status, but he looked very picturesque here.

"For what is jailed this... " I twiddled my thumbs, searching for a definition. "Prisoner? And who imprisoned him?"

"So according to your Grace's order. For imposture." Erdar shrugged his shoulders. -"He showed up, started demanding something. Here," he held out his journal. "He called himself your friend... There were a lot of them, friends and relatives."

"Yes, I remember. The entire plague."

"Yeah. Well, we explained it to everyone at first. Everyone understood, yes, but this one kept getting angry, threatening that you would be displeased. So we put him in jail. They put it on the door - a vagrant and a crook. Weren't you told?"

I went to the door once more. Something about the man lying there was very familiar... very, very familiar.

"He also called you by Arabic name for some reason. Shurak, I think."

Closing my eyes, I covered them securely with the palm of my hand. Then I reached my hand out to the side, and Fisk immediately put the keys in it. When the well-oiled door opened almost without a sound, the man in the room twitched his shoulder in displeasure, as if to say, "Do not interfere". I coughed:

"Ahem. Hey, Chief, you okay?"

"Who's there?" The prisoner lifted his head from the pillow and turned around unhappily. "Ah, Sasha, you. Hi. What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean, what? I'm sorry, it's my executioners' fault, I didn't know you showed up."

"I got it, I got it." The short, stout man rose on the couch and suddenly stretched contagiously, yawning. "If you only knew, Shurik, how well I rest! The first two days I was mad, at how it was without me, but your cerberus did not let me out, even once did not let me call out. He is strict, you should respect him!"

"I will." I gloomily looked at the guard, and the latter, picking up the intonation, guiltily shrank back. "Come on, out with your things. You've done your time for a crime against my grace, you're transferring to the free. Or do you want to go straight to the hospital?"

"No, I'm fine. Imagine, I sleep as much as I want, my meals are simple and healthy, and most importantly, no one demands or even asks for anything. A vacation resort, just like that! A real one, not this alpine misunderstanding."

"So ask me if there's anything you need. I have shackles for strength training, and a torture chamber with a rack to treat joints and restore posture."

"Justify the last name?"

"Do you know what the name of the castle is?"

"I laughed already." He suddenly leaned back. "You know, I think I'm going to sit here for a little while longer. Do you mind?"

"Aren't you worried about business?"

"Screw it I'm thinking about living here, I'm not rushing anywhere."

"Who are you and how could you take the form of my friend?"

"Ridiculous. But really! Besides, this is the third time a lady has come in here, and she looks at me so pitifully... I'll wait for tonight's crowd."

"Well, then you sit without any indulgences. This is the kind of people here. They don't understand such a rule-breaking."

"Let it be! But now, none of our oligarchs can reproach me for not knowing the life! I was in prison, where they will never be, no matter how much money they take out of the budget!"

"So, what are you doing here? Have you decided to go into politics after all?"

"Shurik, can you believe it, I just came here to watch. Like a tourist!"

I don't believe it. I'm just a simple guy from the farm. And for that sneaky face to do something "for nothing"? He even visits the bathroom with a five-way plot!

He would have liked to have been knighted. The spirit of romanticism is strong in him. But out of my hands, he wouldn't. Twenty years ago we were friends. Now we have a different relationship, and his current acquaintances might not understand. Nevertheless, he is here, and he even pretends to like it here so much that he does not want to leave. Even came up with a kindhearted tourist. Okay, I have a space.

"Do you have any complaints or requests?"

"Do you ever get anything to eat around here besides gruel?"

"Don't you like folk food, moneybag? If you're bored with gruel, do five hundred push-ups and five hundred sit-ups, then you'll get bread and jam!"

"Sasha, are you crazy? I'm going to die!"

"Do you want a sweetie? Work then!"

"I would like something easier!"

"They're going to put shackles on you! Ten kilos on each limb, that makes fifty."

"Shurik, have you counted accurately?"

"Hands, feet, tongue. Or did you think of something else?"

As far as I know this rascal, he'll have the same things for dinner as I have, only the cook will give him extra. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd had it all the first night. Now Chief looked complacent and a little sly. Yeah, right. I'll bet. No, he may be honest and sincere, but... I know him better than anyone alive today, and he knows it. And yet he's still playing the comedy... Oh, there's something wrong here!

The chief, realizing what I was thinking, pretentiously stretched out on the boards with his hands behind his head. Then he looked at me with superiority, pulled out a chocolate bar from under the pillow, slowly unwrapped it, and after taking a bite, thoughtfully uttered:

"Shurik, you have such kind subjects... Take care of them!"

"What did you tell them for a chocolate bar?"

"Told a couple of stories from our younger years."

"Weighing in at twenty years in prison altogether?"

"No more than a five. Don't worry, not a word about you."

"That's good. We won't have to wall up the cell." I sniggered and asked again, "Are you sure you're not looking forward to being free? Or let's get you a break-out, shall we? With a fight and a chase and a gunfight?"

"You know, Shurik, your initiative has to be kept on a leash. Otherwise, you'll do such a mess!" He looked at me with an unhappy expression. Displeased because I had no reaction to the chocolate. "No, I'm going to sit here, and shame on you!"

"On me?"

"Ah yes, Mogila has no shame." He suddenly froze, then smiled: "You go, Sasha. I'll sleep here until tonight, in fact, when else will it be... Well, since childhood I dreamed of Count of Montecristo, solitary confinement, unjustly imprisoned, and the real ancient castle!"

"Buy one of these and make your dreams come true. You could, like me, put your friends in neighboring cells."

"No, that's not it, that would be a play. It's just like the real thing."

"Well, then sit here." Now I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or not. "I'm going to keep going, I've got..."

"Lots to do, Baron?"

"I'm bored here. All the things I have to do are done."

"Don't you worry about it..." He chewed the last bit and crumpled up the paper and shoved it back under his pillow... as he had done since I first met him in the dorm. "You wouldn't get bored."

And after muttering something unintelligible he turned on his side, pulling the blanket over his head.

I immediately felt like kicking him in the ass. B-bastard, he knows something, but he doesn't say anything! And I can't get him out... even though I have a torture chamber right here... but he won't tell me anyway.

"Erdar, our guest is going to stay here for a while longer as a prisoner. If he wants to leave, call him a car."

"Yes, Mr. Baron."

I walked down the halls, contemplating the meeting. No, we were not friends; we were too different. He was a climber, a real adventurer, with a head, nerves of steel, and not even a hint of conscience, which I could not be. Still, there was a certain affinity between us. I could have sworn that I was more than just a trusted employee to him. That meant that he would only betray me if he really needed to. It wasn't in the Chief's nature to make a nuisance of himself. But he turned away. And I didn't say anything.

And he didn't leave.

What I had feared since arriving at the castle was looming more and more clearly - big, shitty, international politics and its twin brother big business. Things that recognize no pity, no friendship, no oaths - only rationality. And I didn't want to let that into the slightly fabulous world of Gravstein.

But the Chief did not leave, and even his guards did not work the evacuation.

My thoughts swirled more and more in my head, and the boredom vanished. No, it's not much of a barony, not on that scale, but... but my old pal's here, which means that...

I didn't have time to think it through.

The bright afternoon sun glared as I exited the building, and I automatically squeezed my eyes shut.

"Mr. Mogila von Gravstein?"

"Yes, that's me. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" I looked around at the older man standing in front of me. Tall, neat gray mustache, gray suit, hat. A typical pensioner, only he lacked a newspaper in his pocket. Next to the "pensioner", two unfamiliar policemen were shifting from foot to foot.

"Baron Ewald von Welleschwarm, your neighbor. I apologize for not calling."

"That's all right, I welcome every colleague! Come in, please. What brings you to my house?"

"I came to declare war on you!"

Sighing, I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

"Well, don't think I'm complaining, but it's getting monotonous. Shall we go for a drink?"

"I don't drink alcohol. You'd better start getting ready because tomorrow morning I start military action."

After this the pensioner nodded goodbye, turned around, and hurried to the exit, accompanied, as I only now realized, by his bodyguards.

I really wanted to throw something heavy at his back, but I had to restrain myself.

"Sorry, Alexander, I was looking for you, but I didn't have time to warn you."

The manager was standing nearby, nervously rubbing his folder.

"Egelbert, why does everyone come to me with war?"

"Because by war we traditionally mean the seizure of a castle. In our land there are..."

"Only two, Gravstein and Eskenborg. I withdraw the question, they will continue to be coming here."

"Oh, not everyone. It's just that Mr. von Welleschwarm has been retired for seven years and is very bored. Also, as a former social worker, he knows exactly what benefits and privileges he can count on. I'm sure if he came today, it means that yesterday he finished making a list of the rights and opportunities he has."

And I also suffered that I was bored!

Fool, don't wake up trouble!

* * *

"How much Essie does it take to change a light bulb?

Three - one will change the light bulb, the second will make sure everything is done by the book, and the third will remind everyone of the great history of their nation."

from a collection of jokes

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