* * *

Grimacing, I twisted my neck, stretching it. Dan sighed noisily behind me, and the fighter accompanying von Welleschwarm looked at me with hatred and carefully shifted the spear from one hand to the other.

The battle goes on for the third hour.

The enemy was experienced, ruthless, and knew exactly what he wanted. And he wanted my castle... I, accordingly, did not want to part with the castle, and therefore:

"All right. So you're saying that according to the Truth of Esks, you have the right to call in the militia?"

"I've said it five times."

"Of course, I just want to clarify once more."

"Yes, I do. So I suggest you," von Welleschwarm rummaged through the pile of papers in front of him and pulled out the right one. "Surrender immediately to avoid unnecessary bloodshed because your available forces are far inferior to mine. I'm willing to offer you quite honorable terms, but.."

"But this question also needs to be discussed. Shall we continue?"

Dan sighed in a particularly heartbreaking way, and my baron colleague and I both pretended to smile in the same polite way and pulled our papers closer.

I wouldn't let him leave after the declaration of war. This is no bookish romantic Von Windifrosch. I knew that if I let the enemy go now, tomorrow, I would really have to go to war, and I didn't want that. Things happen in war, you know, and I had had enough of "things" in my youth. So quickly sending Marty away with a far-fetched errand, I invited von Welleschwarm to the negotiations, with my honest name guaranteeing his safety. The old man doubted my word. So we argued for another five minutes about how many warriors he had the right to bring with him, settling on five outside the door and one beside each other. Then we locked ourselves in the library, piled our books on top of each other, and started the fight. We measured the size of the guards and the number of militiamen, threatened international sanctions and publicity, poured in solid numbers, and made up arguments.

Von Welleschwarm had prepared quite well. For instance, he had sworn in not only the Police but also the Fire Brigade, so he could have more than a hundred men at a time. But there were only a few villages and tourist campsites in his barony, and I had the second largest city on the peninsula at my disposal, so if I gathered a militia, I had a better chance.

Except I don't want to do that at all.

I don't know what that stupid old man thinks he is, but I don't want to start a fight and spill blood. As soon as one bloody fighter falls, no matter which side, it'll be a different game with a different set of rules.

Technically this old moron was in his right and acted absolutely legally, but I think he had little idea of the consequences. In his eyes, everything looked quite logical: he decisively conquered my castle, becoming its de facto owner, and after voting and re-accession he confirmed the right to the "legally acquired property" de jure. I do not know what he expects to do with this historic ruin next, but the bloody moron wanted to realize himself in life!

And now I had to somehow turn him in a different direction, and that's why: "I'm afraid, Ewald, you don't take into account all the subtleties." I slammed the dusty Codebook shut noisily. "It's not the number of men important, after all, it's the morale, the readiness, the armor. So..."

The gaze of the old man sitting across from me wiggled a little, and I fell silent.

And suddenly I realize.

Sometimes it happens that you understand the thoughts and feelings of the person sitting across from you. It doesn't depend on how well you know the person, it's more like a kind of consonance. When I was young, I had a friend who used to work as a witch doctor, and he told the overly trusting about aura harmony, chakra cleansing, and all that. But we got to talking one day in the kitchen and he said something like, "There are moments when even the most cynical pragmatist starts to believe in magic, Shurik."

I was ready to believe it now. Because I didn't read his mind but felt the way the retired social worker, who had suddenly become a baron, was desperately hoping that I would get him out of this strange situation. He just didn't seem to realize right away that it wasn't enough to have the right and the opportunity to lead live people into battle, risking their health and lives. He didn't want to be a castle owner at all, but he couldn't give up the chance because there was never going to be another one. And I was just as ready to swear that what he wanted most of all was to be in his usual place in his office, surrounded by simple and understandable things. And that he just couldn't take a step back because... everything was right.

He is a baron. He has the right and must use it. It is legitimate and reasonable. A normal person does not miss such opportunities. But he is also an Eskenlander, who has lived his sixty years in this quiet and in his way comfortable place and he understands enough about life to imagine how this venture might end up for those whom he was used to seeing every day, with whom he greeted, discussed leisurely local news, walked the same streets.

He wasn't ready. He was caught up in a wave and dragged somewhere he didn't want to go, and all his life's wits were enough to find a foothold in dusty books-a wrong foothold, really just a nudge toward something scary. This seems to have been glimpsed in Egelbert's eyes and Fisk's... many. A vague incomprehension of how they were in this strange position and an equally vague hope that if they took it for granted, everything would sooner or later return to normal. I remember going for a walk with Anna, and she persuaded me to rent these damn rollerskates. And so I stand on them for the first time in my life, trying not to move, and there is a slight slope, and I pick up speed, knowing that now I will get to the first hole and crash. I can do nothing because then I'm going to crash right now, and I can only hope I somehow manage to get around down there. And the slope gets steeper and steeper.

Now there were two forces at work in that tall, gaunt man, and I just had to help one of them. I just had to choose the right words, and I had to do it now before he left. He wasn't a greedy fool at all, just an ordinary, elderly man who had worked all his life with the rules and by the rules, and who was now doing what he was supposed to do. He just couldn't figure out in time how it would end, and now all he could do was roll downhill, trying not to fall. As they say, "life didn't prepare him for that. But me...

"Ahem. So the war will be the war." The guard looked up in surprise at my tone. "So you're starting tomorrow?"

"Mr. Mogila, I've already told you about it..."

Great. So, I agree! Tomorrow we start the siege. I think since I have fewer men, we'll stay within the castle walls. I suggest we make camp in the meadow near Miller's Grocery, Sir Erraine will send men to set up.

"Um... It's reasonable."

"Now and here, we barons will swear to use only those forces that are at our disposal at this moment."

"Mmm...I agree."

"All right, the castle chapel will do. Dan, rush over to Eggie's and have him set up the recording equipment. Ewald, you don't mind the publicity, do you?" I tried not to be too fussy but to speak as assertively as possible.

"Not at all. I'm also..."

Not letting him finish, I continued:

"We'll put the medical tent on the left, in the parking lot."

"A medical tent?"

"With the status of immunity, for which my word and yours are the guarantors."

"Hmm. Yes, it makes sense. But the laws about it, unfortunately..."

"My dear neighbor, there are the laws here. I would put it this way - if there are no suitable laws, you can do anything that won't upset your mother. What would she say about such a tent?"

The old man was coming alive before my eyes.

"She would agree! She had been head of the department at the local hospital for twenty years."

"Then I'll give the order now, allocate your medic, and tomorrow morning we'll start fighting."

"Why tomorrow?"

"I want to have time to install the bleachers for tourists. Profit from them - in half."

"Hmm. I'm not sure that's consistent with knightly principles."

"The war must feed itself!"

"Then you get a third, and I'll get the rest, according to the number of warriors!"

"Forty percent for you, the same for me, and twenty percent for medics, advertising, and extra guides. We'll have to keep a close eye on the tourists, and neither you nor I have any extra men."

"Interesting! You have half as many soldiers, and you have an equal share?"

"Of course. I have a castle, and the whole point of this whole thing is to take it away. Besides, I'll provide the main flow of spectators!"

"And you'll also take the cream off the increased sales from the city merchants!"

We yelled at each other quite vigorously, which paradoxically calmed both the Welshwarmers and Dan. True, there were a few peeks at the door from the hallway, but once we were sure that all we were doing was grabbing each other's hands and waving thick volumes of law around, we closed the door.

Finally, after another forty minutes of arguing, we agreed. We do not call a militia, only the warriors, knights, and squires that we have with us at the moment, and the hostilities begin at the signal of the independent observer and end in the same way. We, by our Baron's word, guarantee the safety of every civilian. There were a lot of subtleties, for example - who pays for car places for the fighters of the Welleshwarm? - But that was left to the assistants, and we agreed on the main point.

As we bid farewell, after a brief but formal ceremony in the chapel, the considerably emboldened aggressor proudly cheered himself up:

"You shouldn't count on the revenue from the audience, von Gravstein, we'll take the castle in a day!"

"And lose the profits of the whole event? Well, well, well, someone told me the Esks were economic people." I said the last thing to Eggy, standing next to the camera in his hand, but von Velleschwarm looked at his thoughtful guards with displeasure. The ideological diversion, the first of the planned ones, was a success.

Standing at the gate, I waved at the uninvited guests and turned to find Sato, Marty, and Dan behind me. All three of them were looking at me doubtfully, albeit with excitement.

"What are you looking at? I told you, the baron's life is..." I stopped talking meaningfully.

"Hunts, feasts, and war!" Chanting amicably, but the question is not gone from their eyes. Actually, they didn't sign up for the war, and neither did the volunteers. And I don't want to go to war at all, so we'll have to think of something.

"Exactly! Dan, look for Norman, and get the armor list from him. Have you picked out your armor?"

"Yes, Mr. Baron!"

"Nice. Marty, in the kitchen... don't interrupt! Check all the food supplies, and separate forage for the animals. Do you understand why?"

"Yes, there will be a siege. But we agreed..."

"Just in case? War writes off a lot of things. Sato to the city, tell Sir Erryn and Sir Ulfric the results of our talks... Hurry, it's getting dark."

The youths scattered instantly, Sato to the bike, Marty pulling a notepad out of her pocket as she went.

I myself felt excitement mixed with bewilderment. I had to win the war somehow, with a crowd of civilian volunteers against a hodgepodge of Welshvarms guards, firemen, and reservists. Hell, I had a quarter of my "fighters" female and a couple over seventy! I don't know what to do, but I feel sorry for the castle, so I have to win, and not kill anyone, not even scratch them for nothing!

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and stood there for ten seconds. That was as much as I could spare, and then I moved resolutely toward the castle.

The prisoner was dozing with his hands behind his head and smiling at something.

"With your things on the way out!"

He only opened his eyes a little when the grate rattled.

"Why is that? I've got an evening tour to get to!"

"St. Egbert's Day Amnesty. You, in particular, are included in it."

"You're an asshole, Mogila. You don't let a man rest!"

"Get out of here at once. They declared war on me. The siege begins tomorrow."

Chief instantly picked himself up, pulling his shoes out from under the bunk and his phone out from under the pillow. At my skeptical look, he just shrugged:

"A gift to a poor prisoner from a beautiful and gracious lady."

"Crook."

"Artist, Sasha, artist. You're a crook! Do you know what I'll tell you?" He stopped at the door and looked around his cell. "Now, everyone will envy me. Because none of our kind has ever been in such a prison!"

"Send anyone who wants to come to me. I'll take it for a fair price. We'll split the money. By the way, is there anything else you want to add?"

"What are you talking about, Shurik?"

His eyes were absolutely sincere.

"It's just the little things. So there's nothing to add?"

The chief looked out the door, then took me by the button and informed me very seriously:

"You, Sasha, are great at everything. That depends on you, you always see it through to the end. That's a great quality. That's why I appreciate you." Then he moved briskly into the corridor, paid a compliment to Fisk, and with whistling quickly headed for the stairs.

I looked at him with a wrinkled eye and pulled out my phone. Ringing, ringing... where are you! Ah, here you are: "Elka? Hi."

"Sasha, what happened? You got drunk with your buddies again and decided to call..." At first, the quiet voice of my ex started to gain power worthy of a scandal, and I didn't need it.

"Is Aunt Vera still alive?"

Everything went silent on the phone, then a completely normal voice answered: "What will happen to her? She will outlive us all."

"That's good. Tell her I said hello because I'd forgotten in the rush."

"If you say so. Is everything okay in there?"

"It's just a little trouble. I remembered about my aunt, so I thought I'd give her a call. What's up with the girls?"

I listened to her story for two minutes, nodded, then said goodbye, slipped my phone into my pocket, and just like the Chief nodded to the guard, went out. The setup was old, from the early noughties, but I did not doubt that Elia would remember. "Aunt Vera" did not exist. There was an old friend of her father, a man dreary but reliable and always happy to take "nephews". Damn, Anna's birthday was coming up, and not only could I not come myself, but through the mother, I was sending them away from their friends... I have to think of a way to pay them off.

From there, I was swept up in a torrent of urgent business. A river of food and supplies flowed into the castle, and I had to decide where to put the bleachers, find materials for them, install lighting, set up a medical tent, warn the tenants, answer questions from the townspeople, command the volunteers, check, advise, and decide. Along the way, I did manage to take a poll among my servants, asking them if they were ready to fight in the war. Surprisingly, almost everyone agreed. Perhaps I was too serene-looking, and no one believed in any danger: people eagerly grabbed armor and weapons, helped each other to put them on, and someone had something warlike chanted. The hardest part was Marty, worrying about the safety of our combat friend. She was given a monstrously strong and equally uncomfortable armor, plus an ill-fitting helmet from another set. She could only look straight ahead, but she was the best-protected. A turtle indeed, a turtle!

Everything finally calmed down in the middle of the night. I found myself sitting on the upper platform of the donjon. To think that I had been bored this morning! Yes, if everything goes as I planned... No, when everything goes as I intend. Well, you won't be bored. That's all right. I'll tell everybody around here who they should listen to because they've got no laws. I'm the law!

I put the cup with the rest of the iced coffee on the stone, and then I reached around the volunteer, who was asleep with his spear in his arms and went downstairs. Tomorrow I would wake him up with a kick for such a thing, but today I would let him snooze. And the punishment would be a monstrously stiff body.

There was a fire burning on the wall by the gate. Romantics, so you, they save electricity, and they don't feel sorry for purchasing firewood. Although a live fire in such a setting...

I paused in the shadows as the Chief of the Guard, seated beautifully on a rock, told tales to the squires around him with the impeccable intonation of an old soldier.

"Actually, the Baron and I are old acquaintances. I used to, you know..." Izya looked thoughtfully somewhere into the sea, his eyes as if they had seen his long-gone battle friends. His face became stony and a little cruel. "Yes, there was no need to look for a nickname for him. He had a surname. A talking one, For those who understand."

Yeah, right. My nickname since my arrival in the capital for happiness was Shoostrik. When I once ate a rabbit at the cottage with my girlfriends, they finally called me Grave - who knew that it was a decaying pet, decorative and purebred, which was taken to bury in the countryside? I wondered why they hadn't gutted him. A rabbit is like a rabbit. It tastes like a rabbit.

The squires listened as if spellbound, even Sato listened to "Mr. Hatamoto" Izya spoke slowly, weightily, but very vaguely, in hints. To write everything on a sheet of paper would be nothing but like this, in trembling shadows, on the wall of an ancient castle, before a fight, clutching a real weapon in his hands. It's very inspiring.

"Isabel."

"Yes, Mr. Baron!" Izya jumped up, nervously folding his arms.

"The young ones sleep. There's a lot to do tomorrow. You are on duty until sunrise. Then Fisk will take your place."

"Yes, Mr. Baron." He wanted to ask me something else, but I had already passed by, majestically and indifferently. Not only did Gasconians know how to make stern faces, but the Romanian nobles also are not inferior to them.

It was almost dawn when I collapsed on my creaky bed.

And immediately I was awakened.

Von Schnitze Jr. rattled off a pile of iron on the nightstand in front of the mirror and apologized. The young boy-servant put a tray of scarcely warm breakfast beside me, and both began to dress me up. After half an hour, I finally рhushed them both away and was able to look back at my grace in the mirror.

Almost full body armor. I was 25 kilos overweight but so much more imposing! I took an appropriate pose and recited a rephrase for the moment:

"Some were feared of Arthur, others were feared of Galahad. And me... I was feared by Percival himself!"

"Really?" I turned sharply around. All six of the squires were looking at me from the doorway with a kind of incomprehensible enthusiasm. A man in armor, so what? They themselves are not yet uniformed, still running around a light, so next to metal me looked just squires.

"Yeah." After thinking about it, I took the knife off my belt and put it on the table. Less temptation to use it, and less consequence. My mace, a halberd with a two-meter shaft, and a shield, which could also be a bit of a nuisance, were all my weapons. And in general, it's beneath the law for a commander to get into a fight, his place is behind, at the command post! So I'm going to match that.

I have to highlight this. This is a paraphrase of a phrase from Treasure Island. There they say of Jack Silver that Flint himself was frightened of him.

"Warriors, it's time. Help each other with the armor."

"Yes, Mr. Baron!" The youths disappeared instantly. I picked up my helmet and followed them. Oh, I don't want to fall down the stairs. I'll wake up all of Eskenland with my clang!

Downstairs, at the door, they were waiting for me.

"Uh... Alexander, can you help me? There it is again, that..." Von Schnitze Senior poked my direction with his spread fingers in a sorrowful way. I, with a sigh, opened the door and took a step, expecting an attack. After a short but bloodlust-filled "Meee!", the goat jumped up, hit me right in the middle of my cuirass with a flying punch, and sat on the ass with an indignant noise, shaking his head. I, swaying, answered him with a two-handed "fuck". The armor is a thing! Now all work in the barn until the Beast is taken away (or until I rip his stupid head off) will be carried out only in full equipment!

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Get him out of here!"

Without looking back at the dazed goat and the servants approaching fearfully, I came around the corner and stopped, barely refraining from cursing. There were forty men standing in the corner of the yard, listening intently to one of the volunteers.

"Egelbert! Who the hell is that?!"

"Tourists, Mr. Baron." A polite bewilderment was audible in the voice of the steward who emerged from behind him.

"How did they get here?"

"They have a tour booked, and according to the schedule they..."

"Doesn't it bother you that we have a war here?"

"Oh, not at all, Mr. Baron! I warned the besiegers, they had no problem letting everyone through on the list."

"Von Schnitzel, there's going to be a scuffle and a massacre!"

The tourists, listening attentively to our dialogue, applauded amicably.

"What are you so happy about? They're going to break down the gate and break in, rob, and rape everybody!"

Tourists were suddenly even more excited about this news, not only women but also men. Europe! A minute later, however, it turned out that I was wrong - most of the men of tourist nationality were going to take part in the fight. All was not yet lost for the Federation.

Still, it took a few more minutes to remove all intruders from the intended area of hostilities. Now every window facing the wall had animatedly gallivanting sightseers, flashing their cameras every now and then.

"Alexander! Hurry up and get over here!" Eggy waved his arms from the wall, drawing my attention. His voice was anxious

The armor is good, of course, but to run up the stairs quickly in it... I swap the barony for the caliphate. Let them carry me in a palanquin! Still, what I saw from here was far worse: three cars were driving up the long, narrow street that ran past the townhouses to the castle, and out the window of the first was a familiar figure waving a baseball bat.

Von Windifrosch rushed to the rescue!

Von Welleschwarm's men quickly placed one of their cars across the street (remembering to place warning signals nearby) and began to line up in two groups, preparing to receive unexpected reinforcements for the still-unsieged us.

Damn... damn! Damn! Damn him to hell!!!

"Open the gates! Warriors, to me!"

As much as I didn't want to go into open combat, there was nowhere to go. I'm not so medieval that I can watch from the walls as a good man and the only ally I have been slaughtered before my eyes.

Immediately the difference in training became clear. Fifty policemen and firemen on one side, trained to work as a team, dressed in "anti-demonstrator" armor, with plastic shields and batons, faced a dozen and a half pseudo-medieval fighters on my side (the others pulled up one by one, losing pieces of equipment in the process) and nine young guys in sports gear and helmets from von Windifrosch.

"Alexander! Hit from both sides. Meet me in the middle!"

He put down the visor of his biker helmet sharply and swung the bat bloodily, nearly hitting the fifteen-year-old standing next to him.

Crazy one!

"Stand up! Work the shields..." I glanced around. There were exactly eight men in the wall - myself, the squires, and Fisk. The rest were clustered around chaotically, and Izzy was sitting proud and belligerently on the wall. " All right, listen to me! Push them off, push with shields, give our allies a break through to us, then go to the castle. Ready?"

"Yes!"

"Who are we?"

Silence... Okay, I'll give them a hint:

"Gravshtain!"

"Gravshtain!"

"Wyndifrosh!!!"

"Welleshwarm!"

The three armies moved toward each other.

I stood in the middle, Erdar on the right flank, and Dan and Robert on the left. I thought of sending Marty, too clumsy in her armor, to the rear, and with her the fast but puny Sato, who had procured a set of samurai armor somewhere, but it was too late. Two dozen Velleshwarrians were moving resolutely and cautiously in our direction. And now...

I had heard the car horn coming from the city a long time ago, but I didn't pay much attention to it. It just rumbled and rumbled, and didn't matter. But when the car of the Gravshtain police department came out of the alley, that piercing horn surprisingly stopped all three groups of people who were just about to fight.

The policeman jumped out, waving his arms, and rushed toward us. He stopped, quickly searched his pockets, pulled out something, quickly waved a white piece of paper, and then rushed toward me.

"Mr. Baron! Sir Baron - an attack! Sir Ulfric sent me to warn you!"

I noted that it was no longer "Mr. Policeman," but a real "sir," and nodded at von Welleschwarm, standing behind a wary line of his men:

"I know they're attacking. We're having a battle, by the way."

"No, that's not what I mean, in our harbor..."

"Let me through!" The crazy baron pushed his way through some insignificant people who were standing in the way of the man of interest and saluted me with his bat:

"Greetings, Alexander! I have brought my men to help!"

"All of them?"

He didn't understand the irony, and he proudly affirmed: "All of them!"

I, von Welleschwarm, and Fisk all sighed at the same time, seemingly on the same subject.

"What's in the harbor?"

"Vikings, Your Grace."

I thought for a few seconds, then decided not to be surprised. Really, we have a feud between feudal feuds, and immediately the maritime robbers came. It's right out of the history books!

"And what do they want? Kill, burn, rape?"

"No, all four drakkars are still at the moorings. And their Jarl demands the tribute that was promised to his ancestor."

"Unbuckling the strap, I took off my helmet, scratched the back of my head with pleasure, then asked again:"

"A tribute?"

"Yes."

"To his ancestor?"

"Yes."

The policeman nodded happily. He liked that he could answer my questions so quickly and accurately.

"How many are they?"

"Three hundred warriors, that's what they said. But if they lied, it wasn't much, we did the math."

"What is that in your hand?"

He lowered his eyes, then carefully crumpled up a piece of white paper and shoved it into the package.

"I'm sorry, I thought I was supposed to wave something white. You fight, right?"

"So you started waving a disposable napkin?"

"It's white... Though, yes, it's a little small."

"The headrest on the seat of your car is much larger and also white"

"But this is city property!" He looked at me incomprehensibly.

"Good. Thank you for the timely delivery of the information."

"Happy to serve, Mr. Baron!"

I looked for my opponent and nodded to him:

"Ewald, how about a temporary truce? We got a problem here. A big one, like three hundred."

"It's your land. You defend it."

Turning to the messenger, I clarified: "Do they want tribute from me or?"

"From the whole of Eskenland."

"I agree to a truce!"

Sure.

"Well. Egelbert, a hot breakfast for our esteemed enemies. All castle servants except the sentries to their workplaces. Apologies to the tourists. There will be no battle today. At least not here, but I didn't elaborate on that. "Elepar, Ewald - please, get in the car. The bloodthirsty Northmen are waiting for us!"

I could actually walk. It wasn't far from here, especially since it was only when I got inside that I realized that armor and armor had not been considered in the design of the police car. Again I had to put the mace and shield in the trunk... No, I had to walk.

I repeated it like a spell for about five minutes, and then we arrived at the place.

I didn't like the ships in the port right away. I mean, if I were a tourist, I would have been dragged away until I touched everything with my own hands - four natural drakkars! They are standing neatly at the piers, following all the rules, with the Norwegian flags, everything is as it should be. But I didn't like them as a baron.

First, a few dozen people of varying ages, from yesterday's schoolchildren to the stern, bearded men who looked like members of a biker club, were clustered next to each of them. Most were in varying degrees of drunkenness. Some were warming up (it had been a particularly windy day, and they seemed to have been at sea since the morning), while others were probably insisting on historical accuracies, like what kind of brave Viking wouldn't start his morning with a mug or two of ale?

And all of them were wearing armor.

All three or more, according to first estimates, hundreds of people.

They stood by their ships for now, but most had weapons in their hands - axes, spears. A real raid!

All the more so because, secondly, each ship had a banner with a raven next to the state one.

Hurried footsteps were heard from behind.

"Sir Ulfric?"

"Your Grace! Glad you could come at last. What of the siege?"

"A temporary truce in the face of a shared threat. Report!"

The knight policeman, in his usual uniform and with his sword on his belt, looked at the barons standing by the car and reported back: "They landed less than an hour ago, chased away the port workers, and built fires in the inappropriate place. Claim they came for tribute!"

I saw the fires. All on neat sheets of iron and I bet the wood for them was brought in.

"Did they show aggression?"

"Of course they did! They called the patrolmen slaves, and on a remark, they started shouting and waving their irons! Mr. Baron, please give me the appropriate orders, we must resolutely..."

I didn't listen any further. Damn them all to hell! They have their fun, and I have to get out of it?! Make siege for them, make a raid for them, pay tribute, wipe their noses, and that's all, Baron!

Okay. Sighing, I closed my eyes, concentrated...

"Mr. Baron! A telephone call for you!"

... and cursed heartily. I took the cell phone from Eggie angrily, and then put it away from my ear as the familiar voice yelled cheerfully at the top of its lungs:

"Nikolaich! We're cheering for you here, the whole office! Don't let us down, because Olechka bet three months' salary on your victory!"

"Whose salaries did she bet up?"

"You don't know them. They're new. The main thing is that she will come to ask you for the loss!"

No, no, please, no! Well, now we have to win.

"How did you even know that?"

"What? The broadcast from your museum is on all our monitors! We've been waiting for your fight this morning, you wouldn't believe it - even the trainees were there at eight, so I ordered the big screens, the ones that are mounted on the site, to be put up in front of us. Three meters diagonal, with comfortable armchairs, all for watching your heroic deeds. And here's the real Vikings! People are fighting for the right to go on vacation with you."

"Send those who are not sorry. I'm waiting especially for the accounting department. I'll throw them all in the dungeons or send them to the mines."

"I can do it myself! You there, the main thing is not to lose the war! All right, Olga, she'll work it off, we even know how... Hey, what are you doing, white-haired girl? Ouch! Woman, I'm the boss here! That's what I mean, Nikolaich - don't lose! I'm with the guys to see how it ends!"

"It's always nice when people have faith in you... or weren't you betting on me?"

"It's an insult!"

He was still saying something out of habit, not letting me get on with my work, but that muttering acted like a call to the dog - I habitually focused and got on with my work.

"Sir Ulfric? Where is Sir Erraine?"

"Conducts activities to evacuate the civilian population." The policeman, too, quickly calmed down in the presence of his superiors.

"The population does not panic?"

"Come on, the order of action when attacked by the enemy is in our blood!"

Ah yes, a thousand years of constant conquests, surely they are masters of a quick getaway, grabbing their belongings.

"Well, there is one controversial issue - the twelfth-century document says that we must send out horsemen to all the surrounding lands. But what about horses? Should we take them from the farmers? Or are they obliged to provide them themselves? Then who pays for them?"

Listening to the phone (Mitrich was muttering something about international politics) muttering something in agreement., I suggested: "The modern rider is called a motorcyclist.Llet them ride on steel steeds. And by the way, arrange to bring the fighters from the castle here. Maybe we can use them."

"Of course, it is already being done, Mr. Baron. Shall I take my men's weapons? I mean, firearms?"

"Did you get too much sun?"

The knight looked up perplexedly at the gray shroud of the Eskenland sky.

"I mean, do you want to shoot tourists?"

"It's just that as your vassal I wanted to provide the most complete..."

"Sir Ulfric!"

"Yes!"

The short policeman clicked his heels and stretched. Eggy immediately shifted the camera from the ships to us.

"Secure the place where the peaceful folklore festival takes place!"

"Yes!"

"Well, he got his instructions and ran right away. I wish I had done that before!"

"Mitrich? Can you lend me a grand?"

"For a true feudal lord and landowner? Of course!"

"Then bet on me on my behalf! Everyone, hello to Olechka!"

I disconnected and handed the phone back to Eggie. The manager got out of the car and immediately inquired: "An important call, Alexander?"

"From the Homeland, Egelbert. An ancient chthonic monster backed by a relentless demoness. And a bunch of demons and witches howled in the background."

"So we will have mystical support?"

"Shame on you, old man! We are quite a Christian army. We have to deal with a bunch of pagans ourselves!"

The old man looked around the port and chewed his lips doubtfully. We were standing on a knoll near an old church on the border between the port and the town. The Vikings were gradually sprawling around, shouting something in Norwegian, a couple of them pointing their hands at us. Someone started waving a white flag with a bird embroidered on it, the symbol of robbery.

Slowly, the people began to move in. When they saw my "guard" get out of their cars, the Vikings began to form a sort of line along the docks. Some were already red-faced and now shouting inarticulate slogans, and some were taking pictures, now of us, now of their comrades. At last, ten men in particularly fine armor, with a tall, blond man in a bright cloak at the head, stepped out of the crowd. The banner with the raven was carried behind him.

I looked back. My baronial banner was held by Eggy, who kept filming everything: a bright scarlet square with a gravestone in the middle. The pennants of the Policeman and the Mayor, that is, Sir Ulfric and Sir Erryn, were waving in the fresh wind.

Sato had some kind of banner on a stick behind him, also red and with hieroglyphs. I've seen something like that in historical movies... By the way, the Japanese man, when he saw that I noticed it, instantly turned red, equal in color to his flag, but stubbornly looked in front of him. Marty held a spear in her hand, and at the tip of it was tied... hell. She's ruining the solemnity of the moment for me with that bra!

Did she make it up herself? I looked suspiciously around the squires, all demonstrating an extreme degree of seriousness. The martial friend herself can only see what she has on the spear when she puts the tip down in front of her, the helmet is uncomfortable, and she can not look up in it. She tilts the spear, she sees, and that's the end of the Viking.

Or us. It's whoever she gets first.

"I am Erik, son of Estein, a descendant of Jarl Tille the Black-Haired! I have come to claim what is rightfully mine!"

A tall guy in a cloak stopped ten paces away from me, put one hand on his sword, and stuck out his chin. I glanced at Egilbert, who whispered: "The tenth century."

"According to the treaty my ancestor made with the Esks, after he defeated their chief, you must pay thirty marks of silver every year!"

Now, a mark is a little over half a pound, so that's seven kilos. That's pretty decent.

"We haven't taken tribute from you for a long time, a lot of debts have accumulated!"

Mistake. This robber wants tribute for a thousand years. Seven tons of silver?! How much would that be... but I'd better not count it, or I'll have to count the interest. I'll sit in the castle and let him dig it out.

"But if the chiefs of the Esks do not pay, I have the right to take what is mine from the people of the country!"

What's the matter with you? Everywhere you go, it's trouble on the trouble!

"I have come to claim what is rightfully mine!"

He repeats.

Well, we'll have to get out of this! I stepped forward: "Eric Esteinson, we are not living in the glorious ancient days when a man's word was believed. Today, everything requires proof. Old cases, all the more so. How can you prove that there was such an agreement?"

Von Schnitze grumbled indignantly as to why he hadn't been asked, but I pointedly paid no attention.

The Viking leader nodded, and one of those standing behind him brought a casket forward and opened it; on a beautiful pad lay several old parchments.

"Egelbert, is this a real document?"

The old man quickly stepped forward, took a closer look, and with a sour face, he confirmed: "Unfortunately, yes, Alexander. I saw the original when I was working on the book. But this young man hardly has any proof that he is a descendant of Tille himself!"

"What difference does it make who your mom and dad are if you have four drakkars?"

I took a closer look at Jarl Erik. Young, in his early twenties, tall, athletic. A little taller than me but a little lighter, too. A face like a face - a regular guy from the north of Europe. Standing there, smiling. Bastard.

The tadpole Elepar was led by ancient duty, the old man von Welleschwarm - by the logic of the situation. This boy is driven by a thirst for adventure. It is understandable - for years to make ancient weapons, chain mail, and real drakkars, and suddenly find out that very near there is a place where all this can be used. He remembered his "ancestors", gathered the fans of the antiquity, offered them to collect the old debt, and rushed off. How did they get past the border guards of the Federation? Although who would think that four sailing and paddling historical boats are a campaign of conquest?

No, he can't be confused like Von Windifrosch. He can't be talked down like Ewald. You can't do without a fight. And if you can't avoid it, why prolong it?

"Well, that's all right then, isn't it? Well, let's get started!"

Both Vikings and Eskenlanders stared at me.

"Let's begin, I say. Weapons are with us, worthy men who can be witnesses are also here, and there is enough space. Your ancestor got the tribute by winning, so are your descendants so shrunken that they want to take the silver by fighting with their tongues? To arms, Earl, to arms! Let's settle this with a duel! The leader of the sea raid against the owner of these lands - warrior against warrior!"

There was a cheerful murmur of approval. Police officers and townspeople were pouring in from the city, camera flashes flashing all the time.

The Jarl looked back at his retinue questioningly. He unbuttoned his cloak in a beautiful gesture, tossed it into the hands of a nearby warrior, and took his helmet from the squire's hands but did not put it on. He stepped forward, coughed demonstratively, and suddenly proclaimed:

"Strong men on oars, rage drives the drakkars! The battle will be easy. There are no heroes among the Esks!"

So, what was all that creativity? I guessed from the whispering behind me and the expectant face of the Earl that I'd just been insulted. I remember calling it "blasphemous nid," which is a poetic and magical insult. Yeah, that's right-any Viking is a skald, isn't he? He hits his skull with an axe and immediately starts writing poetry. Should have responded, the procedure involves an exchange of such ditties. Well, Germanic-Celtic literature, whether I didn't skip you, whether I didn't pay off the professor with cognac - help me out now! I may not be able to tell the difference between a vise and a drapa, but at least I'll look like one:

"Crows have come, wet feathers, flashing steel, demanding gold. The chief's clothes are taken off the woman, he raises his sword - and he should have a spinning wheel!"

Heh, and try to prove that it's not a verse form, there were more than a hundred of them, and all are remembered only by experts! Speak in tune and chant that's all the "poetry of the North".

The Jarl took offense and played with his dark, unlike hair, eyebrows for a second:

"The people at the sea sitting and moaning, Esks fortune - Trells profit!"

Hey, that was offensive! And in general, you should not insult the whole nation at once, or it will come from nowhere, you can't dodge it. I'm the one who barks, not offending anyone unnecessarily, and he should take an example from a clever man. Eskenland's been oppressed for a thousand years, and they still haven't got it down. Well, here's your answer:

"The raven swirls in the sky, the cross walks on the sea, Eric between the waves, dangling, not sinking!"

The Jarl realized what he was being compared to, and he squinted angrily. He looked back at the Vikings, who were making noises, and then he mouthed again:

"There's a stranger in a pile of rocks, don't show his face to the sun. The brave one will come for his own - we'll have to look for the stranger!"

Wrong. Especially since I'm not hiding! All right, let's call it a day:

"Heard from the skalds - a country beyond the sea! Spirit of the North, children of the Æsir: Erik the mighty, leads the warriors - forgot the old days, wears women's clothes! He dyes his hair - teases like a woman!"

There, the "unpronounceable words" have been said. I hope Bragi didn't hear what I was saying, or he'd take the hammer from Thor and hurl it at me! Philology is philology, but two half-attempted courses are not enough for a poetic duel.

The Vikings were making noise, discussing the said verse. Technically, I hadn't brought it up to direct accusation again, but the signs were there. Behind my back, too, they were making noise, explaining to those who didn't understand what was being said.

The Jarl Erik resolutely put on his helmet, drew his sword, picked up his squire's shield, and suddenly shouted something in Norwegian, raising his weapon to the sky. I don't know about the clouds, but the men picked up his cry, and my adversary smiled.

In fact, I understood him. He had a combat weapon in his hand, his brothers behind him, and no judges, no tournament restrictions. He's his own law, right? I remember that. I was young and stupid.

He's young, too. He's faster, lighter, and probably learned how to fight with this iron. But it's unlikely he's ever had the chance to cut a living man to pieces with an iron. I'm not going to lie, neither am I, but... he wants a fight. And I'm here to win.

Sir Ulfric and the tall, bearded Norwegian quickly cleared a spot at the foot of the hill on which the church stands. It was a good spot - flat asphalt underfoot, wide ground. Erik struck his sword on his shield, and yelled something particularly fierce, and lunged at me.

For the next minute, we were hammering at each other's shields like two mills. He did it out of sheer excitement, and I did it in an effort to dry his arm. Both reached their goal, his shield gradually lowered, and splinters began to fly from mine. Tough guy. He swings like a wind-up!

Bouncing back, I went around in a circle, covering myself with my wreckage. So, I need a win, because I don't have that kind of money, and I could use the castle myself. He's an athlete. He's clearly some kind of hand-to-hand fighter, and in his Viking pastime, he's used to taking care not to hit his opponent, or he'd have gotten to me by now. I'm a shield hitter, too, but I've got a mace...

The Jarl yelled and jumped toward me, timing it well. We exchanged a few blows, and after thanking Eggy for his good choice of armor, I shoved the Norwegian away with my shield.

Athlete. Young, fast, taller than me, longer arms and legs. Only lighter, but what's that got to do with... Nna, you bastard! Nna again...! What's that got to do with swordfighting? On the contrary, it's another bonus. What are you doing in the legs, nna in the shoulder with a mace!

The Jarl, crouching on his knee, dodged, but his helmet was knocked off him.

Quickly kicking the trophy out of the circle, I twirled the mace and went around again. You jump, you jump. I'm heavier, so I hit half as often, and you'll be exhausted. We had the right to change shields twice, and Viking shouted and replaced his. I slipped my hand back without looking, and Smartass pulled the wreckage off, brought the new shield up, and even clapped it on my shoulder, like a second in the ring.

Let's go!

Now I led the fight. I didn't want to hurt the guy with my club, but I got him in the shoulder, constantly aiming for the left, punching above the shield. I didn't have a particularly cunning plan, but the Jarl's dancing reminded me a lot of the left-handed man I knew, who liked to surprise his opponent with an unexpected punch to the jaw.

The Jarl became more defensive, looking over his shield with the same excitement, only calmer now. Not good... I raised my weapon after breaking the distance and held out my still almost intact shield. The Norwegian, deciding not to lose time, also changed and as renewed, rushed forward.

Now it was me on the defensive again. It must have looked bad from the outside - I clutched myself, trying to cover myself with my shield, while my young, fierce opponent jumped in time and time again, cutting at full blast. His hair curled (the ones that weren't stuck to his face from sweat), he yelled something, and his sword flashed - well, that was the end of the Baron. I waited, not responding, and only took the blows on the exposed shield. I didn't want to hit the kid in the head, and he hid the rest.

It was chance that settled the matter. After a particularly fierce blow, my hand twitched. I finally swung away, and my opponent swore and jumped away - leaving the sword stuck in the loose boards of my shield!

The Eskenlanders behind me shouted joyfully, and I threw the shield out of the circle after a second thought.

"Do you give up?"

After a short but vehement statement about me and my supposed kin, the Viking drew his dagger and covered himself with his shield.

No, my friend, we don't want that. A knife is not a toy for children!

Slowly, feebly, I removed the strap of my mace from my wrist and put it outside the circle. The Norwegian watching listened to the shouts of his own and nodded.

"Fair."

"Fair!"

The mace and knife simultaneously fell outside the circle and were immediately picked up and carried away.

"Now you're done!" Eric was grinning happily again. Oh, yeah - he was definitely doing some sort of face-punching. Right there in the stance, dancing!

"Let's see. The sun is high, it's time to call it a day."

The Jarl's eyes glittered, and he jumped toward me and tried to punch me in the side, then bounced back and shook his hand. And what did you think? That's what wristbands are for. They're good for protection!

But he recovered quickly, and without waiting for his bruised fingers to heal, he kicked up his long legs. I had a hard time armor didn't withhold his kicks, and I wished I had a shield to hold him back.

Erik swung with all his might, seeing the possibility of victory, and after some clever blow my helmet came off, then he hit me again in the cheekbone, and then again - I went into a blind defense, putting on my wrist and blessing the half-cuirass that saved my ribs, rarely, rarely answering, more pushing away, and waiting for the moment. Come on, come on, you can see I've given up, come on, finish it!

And the boy bought it.

He spat on caution and dashed forward, working his fists like a wind-up. Here a blow came to my jaw - I could barely put it out in time, here a bouncing knee to the side, I just heckled, covering myself, here he was, wheezing with excitement, making another step, I took the blow on my forearms, and...

The throw!

Jarl was still trying to catch on, but the classic over-the-shoulder, my first, favorite, crowning move, the one I'd been lured to learn in the section, didn't let me down. I only helped the boy to hit his thigh harder, and I was already falling, pulling him into a grip, wriggling, trying not to let him straighten his legs for support.

The Norwegian tried to poke me in the face with his fingers, then with one hand he clutched at mine, trying to ease the pressure, and with the other he picked up the helmet lying next to me and hit me without looking behind my back, right in the face, managing to split my skin with the first blow. Then again, and again, and again - I held on, squeezing, he got carried away, pounding instead of standing up and throwing me off, finally, another blow came out blurry, the next didn't hit at all, then the Jarl's hand froze, went somewhere sideways, he was no longer in control of his body. I held on, almost unable to see with my right eye, switching, as it were, only to the sensations of my body - here he was still seeing and feeling, here he twitched, but aimlessly, just by inertia, here he collapsed... I endured a little more, making sure, and then, gathering the rest of my strength, I did not push - I pushed the heavy Norwegian aside and sat down next to him, breathing heavily.

I touched it with my tongue - a couple of teeth were loose. He was an asshole, he must have all his own teeth, not a single cavity, and I had every single one of them! I was standing up with difficulty (not my age to fight twenty-year-olds!) I straightened up, glanced around at the gloomy Vikings watching their leader's defeat, then coughed, raised my hand, and yelled out in a slightly chorused voice, frantically pulling old beautiful turns out of my memory:

"Men of Jarl Eric, son of Estein, you glorious hirdmans! Your leader fought skillfully and fiercely. It was a glorious battle of real warriors! Now that this part is over and the winner is revealed, I invite you to the city - no longer as conquerors, but as friends and our distant relatives! Your brave leader will occupy the best chambers in my castle, and the most beautiful maidens will treat his wounds! On my behalf, for all three days of revelry, I, Baron Alexander Nicolae Mogila von Gravstein, will pay half the beer drunk by everyone who put on ancient armor for the glory of their ancestors and half the cost of the meat eaten by the brave Northerners! Let the feast begin!"

The crowd roared!

"Von Schnitze, take charge. Have Jarl taken to the guest room and put that pretty volunteer, Hannah, I think, take care of him."

"Your generosity will cost us dearly. Alexander. Four hundred people, three days! They'll drink and eat a lot!"

I wiped away the blood running down my cheek and grunted: "Egelbert, think outside the box! Paying tribute for a thousand years would have cost more anyway. Eggy, the clip should be online in ten minutes!"

"Already on it, Mr. Baron!"

"Well done."

The Norwegians are tough guys and they will party hard. In the meantime, tourists and onlookers will come... and I'll try to make sure they leave all their money at our party.

By Odin, I swear it's going to be a good profit!

* * *

Did everyone notice how he strikes with his mace? It's not a sporty grip, it's a real, battle-tested one!

What makes you think he's really that thing?

A friend of mine has a friend at the castle. She said that the baron had no account on any social network and that he hadn't sent a single voice message.

Then I believe it. Indeed, an ancient monster!