Chapter 14

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I took another disc off the shelf and examined it questioningly. There was a big man in a horny helmet swinging an axe on the cover, so it seemed to be the right one.

"Dear? Do you haven't seen this movie? I'm looking for historical series of recent years. Can you recommend something?"

The salesman was silent, looking at the wall behind me.

I had already put the disk back when the salesman suddenly decided to answer: "No, Mr. Baron."

He was still looking past me.

"You wouldn't happen to be from the Baltics, would you?"

The salesman frowned and lowered his head, now looking somewhere in the corner.

"All right, I'll look for it myself."

I had already paid for my purchases, having chosen a few discs at random by the covers, and was standing in the doorway when I heard a voice in the back: "No, I'm a local."

"Great. Good day to you!"

I think the next time I come here I'll be greeted with something like, "Goodbye, Mr. Baron."

"Got Dag, Your Grace!"

"Good." I turned away from the subject who greeted me with a slight bow and walked up the street leading to the castle. He'd probably think I was rude, but since this was about the bicentennial of good day's greetings in an hour's walk, the tone was appropriate. Now I understand why a typical feudal lord is a grim, haughty bastard - try to say hello to every subject! They're always trying to talk, aren't they? They live here leisurely and thoroughly, planning for decades ahead and remembering what happened to their ancestors, so they chat as sedately, discussing the weather and gossiping for an hour, and I have little time. In the department you could catch a careless employee and start giving him a job - when they heard the screams of the victim all the others try to bypass you by a circuitous route and move as quickly as possible to a safe distance, but here if you stopped to ask how things were, then you are considered to spend the day in the chatter.

It's creepy, all in all.

Most of my subjects perceived the repeal of the laws as a vacation by strange rules, and so they treated me quite favorably. Well, like animators at a resort, happily obeying the commands of the strangely acting type, obediently jumping and waving their arms in all the right places. Plus their natural law-abiding nature, plus their desire to finally show everyone around them that they, the Esks, also mean something on the world map... Gloom.

By the way, after learning the results of the "Holmgang-at-the church" the townspeople were offended - saying that the Baron took for himself the most interesting, and them, poor souls, neglected. I had to allow the fight. Among my townspeople, there were many wishing to swing their fists. So the fight was large-scale, but without casualties, for this was strictly monitored. It was customary for the victorious Esk to take the Viking to his home for a treat and for the victorious Viking to take his opponent to the nearest bar for a drink. In general, friendship won. And alkazeltzer with pepsin.

The Vikings - as it turned out, three historical reconstruction clubs from different cities - carried their jarl to the castle in their arms, singing warlike songs. Not everyone came. Most of them dispersed through the city in search of a decent eatery (how I sent servants with the news of "baronial discounts for Viking bandits" is another story!) but forty people, enthusiastically singing at the sight of the promised "beautiful maiden" questioningly stared at me, saying, where the promised beer and meat, the good master?

However, after getting drunk and full, the tourists in armor mingled with ordinary tourists, peacefully exploring the walls and the donjon, wondering aloud how to take them next year. After learning about our local war, they were very happy, interested in the details, and even tried to help, no matter who, but gradually all piled into town, where the fun flared up.

Then it turned out that not everyone had gone - three particularly adventurous guys decided to find and catch a real ghost. What they stumbled upon in the dungeons I could not find out, but when they were dragged out of the cell where they had locked themselves in fear, they told me so much about what they had imagined that four servants and two guards came to ask for a salary bump. After thinking about it, I gave them it, but I made them each report what had happened on the museum's website.

After watching the stories I posted, several more volunteers disappeared. I thought they chickened out and ran away, but no: they rushed to root out evil and got lost in the cellars, too! We had to nail down several passages.

However, what was happening in the city was just as troublesome.

At first, the Norwegians tried to present themselves as badass - with weapons, in their real armor and all that! But Sir Erraine, former champion of Central Vendia in classical wrestling, took two especially noisy ones by the scruff of the neck, without listening to the cries, dragged them to the port, and throw them back on the drakkars. He throws them in the air, about three meters each. The onlookers started to get indignant, but then Sir Ulfric, a two-time finalist in the Federation's student saber competition, showed everyone what he was capable of.

It looked, as they say, rather amusing: a Viking with a beard and a mustache, a head taller than his opponent, comes out, and while he swings with a huge historic iron, Sir Ulfric swiftly marks two or three touches and steps back. The next one comes out and repeats - and so on until all the opponents have been "conditionally killed," whereupon they rush out at once, lift the plucky sir in their arms and drag him to the nearest restaurant for a treat. They say Sir Erraine was offended that they didn't carry him, but that's for nothing. He should eat less. It's good for the mayor's solidity, though.

The Northerners knew how to drink, they loved to celebrate, and they had enough money to spend, so the town celebrated for three days, with tourists from all over the area pouring in for the second. Then the warriors had a disciplined hangover and, having taken a lot of goodbye photos, went to sea.

Now I believe that they put fear into all the neighboring countries - to booze for a few days, and the next morning to go to sea on sailing ships! Strong guys!

The squires also passed the "drink test," as I had promised. The only thing I didn't know was that Marty and Sato were both blushing desperately the next morning when they saw each other. It's strange. They're both adults. I don't think that's the reaction they got from casual sex. I didn't ask for details, though.

Eric and I became friends. When he regained consciousness, he sulked at first, which looked incredibly funny for the big kid. But then he recovered, and the attention of the tourists, who were admiringly looking at the slightly dyed but quite powerful Scandinavian, put him in a good mood. After discussing the fight, we concluded that everything had passed within the rules, and thus the result was not worth the offense, after which the Jarl announced that the ancient dispute had been resolved in a duel, and I finally sighed with relief.

When Esteinson boarded his drakkar to depart for his homeland, both of his arms were occupied. One, as it turned out, had been broken in our "glorious battle," and on the shoulder of the other hung the "beautiful maiden," given to the guest by the generous baron. She did not look unhappy. She generously distributed smiles and air kisses to the crowded audience, so it's still a question of who is whose prey is here. Actually, Eric wanted to kidnap my combat friend first. But he was beaten and kicked by the very thing he was trying to steal.

To think that. I, a grown man, could barely handle this two-meter swan-road romantic, and the redheaded brat took him down in two kicks! And I don't care if she kicked him where I wouldn't, it's the fact that counts! It's a scary thing, feminism, inhuman.

By the way, our whole great battle and the spontaneous festival that followed it were all local news. So and so, the gathering of the "Children of Odin" historical clubs took place on replica antique ships, on which the antique lovers arrived at the festival site, where the completely banal festivities took place. It seems that the feds decided that if they couldn't prevent it, they should just pretend that everything was okay. Well, they're not the only ones who suffer from it.

"Goddag, Herr von Gravstein!"

"Hi, Fitzy. Isn't it hot?"

"Not at all, Herr von Gravstein. As we warmed up during the morning assault, we can't seem to cool down."

"Tourists don't bother you?"

"If only a little bit."

"All right, keep watch."

"Yes, sir, Baron!"

I passed the Welleswarm guard, looked around, and after making sure the siege camp was in order, I moved on.

The siege was going on in earnest. For example, the nasty old bugger demanded that all the defenders eat only what was in the castle at the start of the siege! If we have a siege - no food delivery, he said. I'd kill the bastard. Seriously, I'm sick of eating in the city. All, of course, ate nothing in the castle. Unless I was set, along with the tourists, and so most of the servants gladly ran away an hour earlier from work and at the same time demanded compensation, they say restaurants are too expensive!

Now, on the sixth day of fighting, the procedure had finally been established. At ten o'clock in the morning, the Welleschwarms men lined up and went on the attack under the chanting of the battle hymns. It should be said that they did so in an organized manner and according to plan. The more so as the main striking force were, after all, the fire brigades, with their ladders and water cannons. There were forty men, no more and no less - if one of Ewald's troops had to leave, he was obliged to provide a replacement. Given the number of tourists who wanted to take part in the war, we had to introduce quotas - no more than ten places for "mercenaries," and to draw up waiting lists, or else in the camp of the attackers even a couple of times had to settle a scuffle for the right to sell a place in the fighting ranks.

My faithful servants looked at this outrage with sadness but held on, knowing that the Vellershwarmers had nothing more to gain from it - we had the whole castle at our fingertips, so we could seat tourists in good seats, make souvenirs for sale or anything else we could think of. So, when the siege was over by dinner, everyone went about their business. You know war is a war, but there's always enough to do in a big household.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

That's how we live for three days after the departure of the sea robbers. In the morning breakfast with the tourists. Then the war. Then lunch and household chores. In the evening obligatory fight, and then it's time to sleep.

The fight was invented by the squires, whom I apparently don't load enough. These bastards, after watching my fighting deeds and losing their minds out of jealousy, began to challenge the Welleswarmers. Now every night, there are five fights, and not necessarily fighting - yesterday, for example, Dan competed in singing yodeling. He lost it, the bastard.

If we won, a new batch of supplies was taken to the castle. If we lost, one soldier was removed from the walls the next morning, which was a lot with our already small forces.

By the way, reputation is a great thing. I personally had to engage only once and seeing the slowly approaching armored baron, waving his faithful mace, the attackers, who had almost taken off a section of the wall, very quickly rushed back to the stairs, to the war cries of emboldened Gravsteins. Only one American mercenary remained, and it was enough of a blow from his shield to fly off the wall and into the safety net.

I, however, personally did not rush to fight, and let the young people have fun. Maybe, if they like fighting so much, we could hold a knight's tournament. To show ourselves and to make people laugh! We'll set aside a separate field for extreme athletes, with real horses. And what about the playground - why don't the Welleschwarms do something like a training lane for those who want to become mercenaries? So that they could put on real armor, slash at a scarecrow with a real sword, and generally test the strength?

Well, I'll give them some land, for a modest share, again, a couple of souvenir tents...

"Mr. Baron?"

"What, Egilbert?"

"And you... What's this for?" The manager pointed to the stack of disks in my hands.

"Well, I realized that I was completely out of touch with the trends of modern culture. I guess I need to adjust my outdated notions with the current views. I think historical series is the best way to do that."

"Don't you watch TV, Alexander?"

"There is no time. And no desire. For the last fifteen years."

"You should. There are a lot of good TV shows now."

"I recently turned on the TV and realized that most actors need to break a couple of fingers before filming. Then they would have at least something believable in their eyes."

"Oh, maybe it's just at your place. Although..."

One box slipped out, and I tried unsuccessfully to catch it, knocking it right under the feet of Norman, who was standing nearby. He suddenly froze, then quickly bent down and grabbed the disc, and hid it behind his back:

"Uh, Mr. Baron, you have plenty more. Can I watch this for now? With friends? I've wanted to watch it for a very, very long time! This particular series!"

"Take it, of course, but..."

"Thank you! I'll go, that's the show I've always wanted to watch! We'll be in our room if anything!"

I looked at the fleeing squire and turned around. I immediately ran into von Schnitze, staring puzzledly at the back of the usually restrained fellow.

"It's strange, Alexander. Usually, young people prefer sci-fi or comedies. What series did he find so interesting?"

"There's something in there based on some Martin books. I can't remember the name. I took a bunch. I think it was about games. Let them watch. It's not a problem. Kids, they always want more games!"

The manager nodded in agreement.

"By the way, Egilbert, why are all the stores in town only open until 6 p.m.?"

"That's the law."

"Why wasn't it canceled?"

"This is our law."

"Lazybones!"

"Not at all, Alexander. We just like to spend time with our families, not in search of a place to spend money."

I couldn't say anything against it. I wish everyone were like that...

"Baron, I must warn you about the guest." Von Schnitze suddenly became very officious, leaned toward me, and lowered his voice: "You know I am not inclined to make idle accusations, but this man can cause a lot of trouble! I'd be very, very careful if I were you!"

It was an intriguing start. I called out to a running servant and handed him a stack of disks. I turned to the steward and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"One of the twelve barons, the third oldest, paid a visit to the castle."

"Egilbert's tone was very cold."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He is... Just be careful, Alexander! He's a very bad man!"

"Well, if you say so, old man."

A guest was discovered in my office. An older, gaunt man in his fifties rose easily from his chair and held out his hand with a smile:

"I am happy to introduce myself. My name is Olivier du Chaurey. I am Baron von Hunedip, and as it is easy to guess, I am French. Just don't tell that to your steward old patriot hates everything to do with my belle homeland."

"Well, we're pretty tolerant here. For example, your countryman is in charge of the guards. A Gascon."

"Yes?"

"Well, that's what he says."

"Is that so? But von Schnitze has not one but two reasons to dislike me. First, as has already been said, I am a son of my beautiful country. And secondly, I am a professional historian, unlike the outstanding but still amateur, which is your steward. That's right. He doesn't have a college degree, didn't you know?"

"Well, as far as I remember, he writes only about his homeland and knows the subject from the inside. Which, I suppose, makes up for some lack of classical education?"

"Alas, it is not enough, not enough."

"What brings you to my house, colleague?"

"Curiosity and a desire to warn. Out of feudal baronial solidarity, so to speak."

I raised an eyebrow encouragingly, and du Chaurey immediately explained:

"You see, my friend, a curious mishap has occurred. Several conditions have come together that puts you, and us as well, in a curious position. According to the code of the thirteenth century, the ruler of the Esks must own a castle. And the only castle belonging to a private person who does not belong to the ducal family is..."

"Yes, I've already been pleased."

"That's right. Then, you are the oldest baron in the land. Well, more importantly, there is such a thing as your claim to the throne."

"My what?!"

"A statement that you speak on behalf of the Esk people. Remember that young romantic Estenson brought the documents of his outlaw ancestor, didn't he? And it clearly says that the fate of tribute is decided in a duel between a Viking leader and an Esks leader!"

"There's no duke in Eskenland, so someone had to..." I waved my hand. "Represent the interests of the locals, in the absence, so to speak?"

"Exactly!" That seemed to be du Shorey's favorite exclamation. "Exactly! And the first to make a claim to this significant status is you, the sole owner of the castle among the barons of Eskenland."

"I just didn't want to give up seven tons of silver."

"It doesn't matter! The main thing is that you must be more careful, my friend. I have some connections, so I managed to find out that an international commission will soon come to your castle."

"The Federats promised to be the guarantor of the inviolability of Eskenland."

The Frenchman sighed: "And they will do everything they promised, that is, they will not let any state interfere. But public organizations are not limited to anything."

I rubbed my chin. Well, yes, actually, if some Greenpeace guy comes here and starts claiming that I have goats being abused here, then... I don't know.

"Thank you, I will take it into account. You, Mr. von Hunedip..."

"Just Olivier, please, without ceremony!"

"Okay. So, do you intend to take part in the vote?"

"Oh yes! The last one took place in the fifteenth century, I just can't miss..."

"Not in the fifteenth, Herr von Hunedip, but in the sixteenth!"

"Egilbert, haughtily erect, stood in the doorway."

"Oh no, Mr. Schnitze, it was in the fifteenth. Because it was only in the election of Egon the Navigator that the..."

"It doesn't matter! The council met three more times!"

The two historians suddenly found themselves next to each other and, without any preparation, began to exchange arguments, gradually raising their voices. For the first two minutes, I could understand what they were talking about, but then the two of them switched first to Latin, and from the fourth minute on they shouted only in a language I did not know, accompanied by strange gestures. I'm not sure, but I heard something similar when I took my daughters to the movies to watch Star Wars.

"Ahem. Ahem!" The historians, just beginning to grab each other, looked at me displeased, but realizing that the ignorant foreigner seriously intends to interfere with the highly intellectual conversation, nevertheless dispersed. "So, Olivier, thank you for the warning. I see you decided to study the historical process from the inside, right?"

The Frenchman, fixing his tie, which had been knocked down in the heat of the short discussion, nodded in agreement:

"I am very interested in events of this nature! No wonder, for once, it was the French who brought the great revolutionary slogan to the world!" He glanced at von Schnitze, who was frozen haughtily against the wall, and the latter instantly retorted:

"Yes, yes. As I remember it now - "labor, family, fatherland". Du Shorey twitched. I looked at Egilbert, but he pretended not to say anything.

"I mean the ideals of freedom, equality, fraternity!"

"Phh!"

"And I'm interested in seeing history in person. I even want to be a part of it myself. I'll be in the annals!" Du Shorey decided to ignore the snide manager.

Well, that would depend on who would perform the ceremony!" I could tell by the old esk's voice that some minor details were likely to disappear from the records. I didn't let a new argument break out, so I intervened:

"Well, thank you for the warning and the visit, I will try to prepare better." A few more minutes of polite farewell to the baron I endured, but when the steward, looking suspiciously at the back of the departing guest, came out to escort him, I fell into a chair and groaned.

God, what was all that for? It should be rest. Am I hired here to solve all the problems that have accumulated over a thousand years? It's not enough for me to be a baronet. Now I'm a pretender to the throne! They can't help it. They'll rant about the "historical precedent", and I'll have to take the rap.

When von Schnitze returned, I sat motionless and stared sadly at the ceiling.

"Well, well, Alexander, don't get so excited. It's just a commission! But don't relax either. The French are very cunning. You can't trust them!"

"Why? There, you and Isabel have a normal relationship!"

"And what does this have to do with Mr. Katsmant?"

"He's a Gascon, isn't he? Gascony is part of France."

"Egilbert took his phone out of his pocket, did a quick search on the map, and was surprised to find out:"

"Indeed. Who would have thought - such a decent man! It's probably because his homeland was conquered by the French in one of their unrighteous wars. The Gascons are almost Spaniards, surely they suffer under the heel of the invader!"

Hmm... I pictured Izzy dressed as a Spanish caballero and, for some reason, with a knife in his teeth. It would have suited him!

"Come on. I've been to France. It's not such a nest of world evil. Ordinary people. They know how to joke. True, they don't know anything about drinking, and they are stingy, but that's the trouble with all Europeans. The outskirts of the civilized world, what can you do, a whole day by train from Bucharest!"

The old man looked at me doubtfully, then, deciding not to react to another strange joke, took some papers out of his perpetual folder and put them on the table. I, with wistful anticipation, poked my finger at them.

"Egilbert, what is this?"

"You ordered a list of things that are out of federal control."

"No, no, no! And again, no! I'm on vacation!"

"You, Alexander, in the performance of your sacred duty! I have already arranged for an inspection. You should familiarize yourself with it."

I wistfully picked up the top sheet and looked through it. Objects, warehouses, workshops; living spaces, not so living spaces, technical undead - is this what I was leaving the cozy office for? And after the annexation, do I have to account for all this?

But when I raised my head to make a strong protest, the wise steward wasn't there. Gone, you senile bastard!

I went through the papers and flipped through the plan for the castle's restoration, drawn up twenty years ago. Apparently, when the old man was convinced that I wasn't coming here. The plan had been forty-three years in the making, and it was supposed to be completed by Eggie. Imagining for a moment how I would have presented such calculations to Mitrich, I couldn't hold back a smirk. In fact, should I try it sometime? Or shouldn't I? You could give it to a comedian, not even change it, just translate it and read it out loud from the stage, and everybody would understand it, and a full house would be guaranteed to laugh until they cried. The difference in mentalities... Forty-three years of plans! I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow.

TV Series. The Sea. Coffee on top of the donjon. Yeah, sure.

Once again, I shuffled the papers into roughly two equal piles - "before dinner" and "after dinner". It was clear that there would also be "instead of dinner," but what could I do? Preparations for the committee can wait; I have plenty to do without them. I've got a report coming in... this. On the degree of wear and tear fence coating in the area with the unpronounceable name - do I have to go myself to check the paint on the fences? Wow, I'm pissed!

After cursing to myself once more, I resolutely turned on the lamp and pulled out the first document.

* * *

I met Baron von Windifrosch (a very nice man, he studied at the same university as me!) and asked him about his neighbor. The Baron confirmed that von Gravstein was a real monster and that only someone who did not care about his head could come into his clutches.

From the tourist's blog.