Epilogue

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There was plenty of time before my flight landed, and I had to occupy it somehow. It's the second day of autumn. Yesterday, in another referendum, independent Eskenland joined the Federation as land. To everyone's delight.

Since the coronation could not take place on the last day of summer, a referendum was held. The new Duke, after officially taking office, reinstated the old laws and deprived us, barons, of our sole rights to "determine the path of our lands". No one was particularly grieved, and I spent three weeks on the roof of the donjon, warming a pot of coffee on Sato's miniature roaster and pretending to be mortally wounded, just as if I were dying.

Although Esk was very persuasive I refused the honor of personally presenting him with the Chalice at the beginning of the ceremony and throwing a short cape over his shoulders at the end, which symbolized something very twisted. The boy whimpered and tried to threaten some unknown punishment or to offer some favorable options... without mentioning anything in particular. In response, I was grunting like an old man, pale from "attacks of unbearable pain", pressed my conscience, and indignantly shouted "Isn't that enough"I didn't want to shine at all in such a public, tedious, and essentially stupid undertaking. What was I doing there? I have a lot of work in the castle! So the "official" ceremony was once again presided over by Egilbert. From such an honor he did not walk the next day - he flew around the castle. Or rather hovering, slowly and majestically, without touching the ground. And his eyes sometimes glowed in the dark. Maybe they were the eyes of a Ghoul, though.

By the way, there was no pompousness in the result; everything was modest, businesslike, and reasonable. In fact, why gather a crowd when it was already clear to everyone? Wasting money is not in the spirit of the locals, so two hundred officials and elected delegates from each barony were present. And then there were a million or so for the live webcast.

By the time Elepar got me to the castle, I was almost unconscious, and here Marty finally had a reason to believe that her "securing the rear" was really necessary. The girl immediately sprang into action - she closed the gates, posted guards, loaded the remaining cannon, and generally defended the wounded hero as best she could! However, she also did not fully trust the doctors of the ambulance and did not allow to take me to the hospital. So that the next three days I spent lying on the diagonal of the Baron's bed. But on the morning of the fourth day, I was able to get up and even greet the tourists. The day was sunny, and I spent half of it hissing and rolling my eyes. The tourists winked understandingly.

The doctor, who was removing the bullet and stitching up the hole, asked "My Grace" hopefully to pay the bill in castle currency. On the one hand, he had repaired me skilfully, and to pay with one gravcoin was a miserable thing, though it cost about that much five hundred years ago. On the other hand, there was not much left to give a handful of silver in Boyar style. Two copies and a ceremonial address of thanks were given. Gravshtajn currency, you know, is valued in the world!

Ewald was in bed longer than me, his bullet did something bad to his rib, but he still showed up and personally ended the siege by signing an eternal peace and a treaty of cooperation.

The baroness, who can read lips so well and squeal at the right time, also turned up. She turned out to be an interesting lady, with a lot to discuss during the day and the ability to nurse a wounded hero at night. However, no one is interested in that.

Three days ago, the prisoners were ceremoniously released. True, I was almost tearfully asked to keep them for another week, but why should I go through all this trouble with the Federation? I released them.

It turned out that Schreiber had earned almost as much in two months of "terrible humiliation" as he had in a year in his main job. The main thing was that he had somehow heard that I had children and parents abroad, and I was sending them money to live on. He complained about the failure to provide information to the authorities and immediately calculated the deductions, negotiated something with someone, checked something, and it turned out that I just did not have to pay. On the contrary, they still owe something! Honestly, I immediately wanted to put him back in the cell and show him to people - a taxman giving away money, without torture!

The cannibal simply disappeared. They say he was seen with a very lush Danish woman who was dragging him somewhere, but that may be a lie.

We took the moneylender out of the cell by force, and then we washed him - he stank a bit. I summoned the knights and ordered them to take him out of the land.

I handed over the human rights activist in person to a frowning Conrad. I thought the doctor would stay for dinner, but alas, he had to fly somewhere in Africa to prevent another epidemic. Pity, a nice man, though he was in bad company.

Von Schnitze, with whom I had a spare moment to talk about ancient family names, hinted that it does not matter who is considered a descendant of whom. The main thing is that I am now the named brother of the reigning Duke of Eskenland and the owner of the lands that give the right to the title, so that's all right. He replied to me: "you, Egilbert, are a cheat and a rogue" that was no surprise with a baron like that. And anyway: "Rulers come and go. My homeland remains!"

Tourists, souvenirs, shops, festivals, and, as a result of the coup story, the museum's revenue increased dramatically. The manager simply didn't know where to put such MONEY; the unhurried renovation plan went awry, and he looked at me both pleadingly and threateningly. I didn't really have any claim to the money. There was the idea to make a profit on the election trade, but it didn't work out...

It's alright. I've managed to get a tax break for the castle and the city when it comes back to the Federation. Temporary, of course. And subsidies to rebuild the museum damaged during the siege. And there are a couple of companies quietly opened, some of the papers I signed - enough for the Baron's bread and butter, even enough for caviar on top. The main thing here is not to overdo it.

The locals who went after the traitor baron von Kusthiv, who had managed to escape, were dealt with strangely - they were expelled from all clubs and societies, and that was the end of it. In the opinion of all the Esks I interviewed, the punishment was very harsh, though well deserved.

It was the actions of the patriot du Shorey that made the men angry in earnest, and while there was an opportunity made an addition to Truth - "if a Frenchman is present at the coronation ceremony, he must come naked to show the absence of arms, and instead of kneeling, fall to his belly". They say one has already been lying down for the whole ceremony, so why not make it a tradition?

France was outraged. They were reasonably reminded that their citizen was actually trying to stage an armed coup. Even if with the help of certain irresponsible local citizens.

After a week of mutual insults, we agreed to remove this addition from the law in exchange for a 'copy of the 'Esks Chalice'. I don't know how the Spaniards and the French negotiated, but the Chalice was handed over to us officially and permanently. We solemnly displayed it in the chapel of Gravstein, giving away the "real one" for Esk's inauguration. Now the copy from the museum window was in my suitcase... and the other one was still in the chapel. If they stole it, I'd say the thieves had faked it again, and I'd had the real Chalice all along. Where the old man hid the original after the ceremony, I did not ask. That's his concern. Let him sort it out. My job is to return it. And you are welcome to keep it for yourself.

Who cares what's real, though, as long as everyone believes you're genuine? However, I had better not go to beautiful but vengeful France now. I must give the French their due - their delegation, dressed in the court fashion of Napoleon the First, looked much more imposing next to the Esks in round trousers. Nevertheless, everyone knew who had won once again. I mean, the Gauls were smart enough not to upset the small but proud people with objections.

Aside from my combat buddy, I only awarded a knighthood to Smartass. The others were given colorful Squire diplomas to the applause of the crowd, but I decided to dedicate Elil. The others just don't need it. It's just an adventure for them, but as for him... He's got potential. He just needs a nudge at the right time. Well, it's not hard for me.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I also gave the squire Izuki Sato a letter of introduction to the knight, able to teach him lessons of determination and help him sort himself out. To Lady Martisha Adams. I never figured out what's up with them, but why not create an excuse for the guys to look into the situation in depth? Besides, Marty is the one who needs to constantly prove something to the world, while the Japanese are more important to be needed.

Well, I wanted to do them both mischief, that's for sure.

Izya received a gorgeous set of false mustaches as a gift from Sato, ordered from Japan. Very grateful, he tried it on, walked around proudly twirling it... and then slipped away with the day's proceeds, some of the museum's possessions, and one of the copies of the Chalice, which I had tried to age most convincingly. He was a little old, but at least he hadn't sold the castle to anyone without my knowledge.

"The Pirate" who I had frankly forgotten about, worked safely at sea for a month, after which he was officially awarded the right to answer "Arrrh!" to any question from the Eskenland court. This had an unexpected result. The programmer was unanimously nominated as the Pirate Party's Volksraat candidate - you bet, the only real sea wolf among them! I hear he plans to write a book of memoirs.

As if my thoughts were eavesdropping, the kiosk clerk placed a stack of newspapers on the counter. On the cover in the right-hand corner were a pale Schreiber and the caption: "I lived for two months in a castle with a Ghoul! Miraculously escaped death report!"

Here you are, taking care of them, working hard, and they thought you were a vampire the whole time. Because of one little joke! No, I understand it is customary to accuse bosses of all sorts of sins. I even gave them a reason, but there must be some limits?! They have no conscience. But they have a fantasy. Sick one!

And so did Egilbert - he told tourists all sorts of things on purpose! He knew everything and not a word to me! That's all right. I called him 'Igor' a couple of times in public, as if by accident. Now let him prove that was not his real name!

So, do I read the paper? There are another two hours of dreary waiting, and here's a little book... with a familiar name... Right. "Eskenland Tales" below, smaller, "old men's stories" by Egilbert von Schnitze.

Unsurprised, I dropped the note and hastily opened it, flicking through it. There was everything - the story of the Mămăligă, the "tale of the girl and the cross," and even a discussion of the Celtic influence in the native Eskeland myth of the city of Bodhuen. Well, I have long suspected the methods by which History is made. You said it yourself once - laws are what we believe in. I guess it's the same with history.

By the way, the grateful Gravsteins, remembering that the Mogila boyars were from Romania, dug into the internet for souvenirs that my "fellow countrymen" valued and carefully studied all the available information. I now have a three-kilogram gold-plated crucifix in my bag, which was solemnly presented to me. On a chain as thick as a finger. I had to accept and give thanks!

They also engraved on the side of one Gravestein cannon "Jolly Fool" beautifully in gold, as a reminder of my shouting at the storming of the Duke's castle. On the second, "Quiet Essie." Well yes, the loudspeaker car was shot with it. Still, the Essies are a very romantic people.

"Would you like some? A local treat, inexpensive and delicious!" There was a young lad standing nearby with a stall. "It's the last day of the old free-trade law, so I'm selling it for half price. Want one? If you take two at a time, you get a discount!"

On the napkin, there was some kind of lingering dough, and on top was an emerald strip of something like soft cheese. After chewing, I tossed a coin for the second portion and inquired:

"What did I eat?"

"Oh, it's the national dish of the Esks - Sagdimirl with Mămăligă!"

It was too late to grab my stomach. What was there to grab for, anyway? It was a spicy herbal paste with a flavor of fish, delicate, melting on the tongue, though it smelled a bit pungent. If you've eaten food from the student canteen, you can't be intimidated by the smell.

"Another batch? Sauce? Also national, garlicky!"

"Why does she look so strange? I've seen images... more traditional?"

"I thought it might be worth refining the look a bit. It's also easier to pack. I've also worked on the smell. Isn't it good?"

As I took the last bite, I listened to the feeling again. What was everyone so afraid of? Maybe they'd just forgotten what it was supposed to taste like. I took my business card out of my pocket and handed it to the guy:

"Gravstein Castle, manager von Schnitze. If you're thinking of getting into production seriously rather than from a stall, go to him and tell him Baron Mogila recommended you."

I spent the next fifteen minutes lazily sipping soda while leafing through a newspaper forgotten on a chair. Then, twinkling his earrings and chains and waving ribbons in his hair, a very familiar man sat down next to me and smiled at me happily.

"Alexandre! Going home too?"

"Where else? You too?"

"Yeah. I've missed enough classes already... It's okay. I'll talk my way out of it!"

Esk stretched infectiously, scratched his eyebrow, once again pierced by half a dozen rings, unceremoniously took the history book out of my pocket, sniffed, and handed it back.

"What, you don't like reading about history? Prefer to create it?"

"Or get into it!"

"Why are you wearing that combat outfit again? Are you going to tell me that you've fallen for the devious stylists again?"

"Nah... I just want to be recognized at school."

"I see."

We were silent. Then I did ask:

"How's that?"

I didn't ask what I meant by that, but he understood:

"Not at all like the family archives." After a moment's silence, he added: "Simpler and scarier, but somehow real." He was silent for a minute, and then he poked me in the side with his fist. "What were you thinking, anyway - after mixing blood in public, everyone now thinks I'm the nestling of your vampire clan!"

"We didn't mix blood, mine was from a wound on my leg, and yours was from Ewald's."

"It's like someone seen from underneath!"

"You said it yourself. You're the right type. Innocent but tempted Evil. Suffer now."

"By the way, one of my last decrees gave you a personal coat of arms. Here, have a look! " He handed me an envelope. I pulled out the parchment and unfolded it. A Norman shield crossed in half. At the bottom, is an open grave with a gravestone on a scarlet background. The upper part - on an azure field a gauntlet holding a candelabrum. No vignettes or angels, simple and brutal. And a golden ribbon with the motto - "From darkness of ages!"

"Well, thank you. Now everyone will be asking who did I hold a candle to?"

"Na zdorov'e! I'm sure, Mr. Baron, you'll think of something to say to them!"

"Yeah, First of Esks."

"Don't remind me! By the way, I immediately instructed that the hand with the candle should be raised from the grave, but those hookworms did it their way anyway because "all the laws say so".

"All right, I'm not offended." And the Duke and I sighed as we shook our heads and stretched out, "Eskenlanders."

I waved at the vendor, and he eagerly brought more of the "local treat", and Esk was happy to munch on it, not caring about the provenance. There was something right about this snack in the middle of the waiting room. Perhaps more soulful than a feast in a castle full of random and unfamiliar people.

"Do you think that with you leaving the castle, its popularity will remain the same?"

"I have ordered to Eggie one door in the cellar to be closed crosswise with steel strips and inscribed in all known languages "Do not enter, keep silence!" - so for the romantics, Baron Mogila fell asleep in the cellars of his castle until Eskenland needed his help."

"How long is this door going to last? They're going to rip it off in a week!"

"Let them pick at it. There was no way through the door, just a wall, which confirms my cunning and magical ability to avert their eyes. Your plans, by the way, how? It's not exactly canonical."

"My plans are thrilled! I'm finally the first real Duke in the family in four hundred years, and according to "ancient traditions". By the way, beware - Dad is serious about getting to know his new "son", and Dad is persistent."

"I'll brush it off. Brother."

"Of course. Brother."

We both chuckled at the same time. Esk shook his dyed mane and held out his hand to say goodbye. He walked away without looking back, untangling his Walkman headphones as he went... Shit, my Walkman! Yeah, I've been told about the little brothers. It all fits. Small, cocky, and always in trouble.

I spent the next half an hour lazily leafing through the book, pausing at the most interesting parts and marveling at Egilbert's imagination. That's who should write books! He does, though.

The call came just in time as I was finishing up the last pages.

"I'm listening!" And then I had to take the receiver away from my ear, waiting out the shriek:

"You bastard! So you're the Baron?! And me, idiot, worrying about him, looking for a job for him, hinting to my daughters not to disturb their father, while the father, the bandit bastard, walks around Europe and spends the family money?! I don't think I'd ever..."

"Elka, enough already! It's not so simple."

"How? Will you tell me?" Ha, instantly, she lowered her tone! Familiar intonation. She was not a scandal calling, curiosity gnawing at her. I can just see her now sitting there with her eyes burning, legs tucked under her, and biting her lip. We all have our weaknesses...

And it would be a sin not to take advantage of it!

"Well, I have an hour before my flight, so we can talk." I leaned back in my chair and stretched out my leg. "This story began years ago..."

* * *

Looking for information on the dates of the second intake for the Squire course, the one in Gravstein. I heard it was quite something!

I've made inquiries, the Baron is away on some business, and the steward says nothing definite. Try contacting through the museum website, although there is little hope.

Got it, thanks! I'll send a request anyway, in case it comes back. I think it's worth it!

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