* * *

I had to go to the money in person, after all. I was a little surprised when the servants, with cardboard boxes of money crumbling to their chests, came running out of the back office, urged on by the boss's roar, and asked for a dozen spare hands to help them. When we were told we would be circling between the vault and the room for an hour, even Valentine was a little perplexed. Turns out he had no idea how much volume could be taken up by the notes being collected minute by minute from the human stream. Eventually, the boxes were carried back, and we, with Fedor (he knew what the jewelry looked like), followed - a technical corridor to a spacious cul-de-sac in front of a massive iron door.

"The others are not so secure," the servant was embarrassed for some reason, rattling his keychain.

The windowless room, illuminated by a long row of dim yellow lamps, had only recently been a three-cell prison, separated from the makeshift corridor by thick bars - there must have been enough troublemakers at the station. Somewhere they had to be held. Of course, there were no people inside, the doors were wide open, propped up by the familiar boxes. There were boxes all over the floor, though, except in the areas where the notes were simply piled up in a pile as high as my waist.

It smelled damp, wood, and confusion - mine, Fedor's, and Valik's.

"They will rot," I was the first to speak, looking reproachfully at the custodian.

He looked appropriate to the room. Not a storekeeper but a jailer. He was a bald, slightly slouching old man. He looked at me and Fyodor very suspiciously.

"Oh, no way! We're making an airing!" he resented.

"You have to rake it up. Believe me. I once kept about a million in small notes - otherwise, they would either rot or be chewed up by mice," I recalled my experience with the imps and ors.

"So it's... the paint is toxic," the man excused himself a little uncertainly.

"Mice not to eat them. It's damaging them," he disagreed, kicking the box lightly beside the suspiciously damp wall. "And there will be mold here."

"Yeah," Valentine said in a confused voice.

"We'll fix it at the moment!" looking faithfully at his boss, the servant promised.

"I'll take care of it myself," I reassured the keeper, causing a slight stupefaction.

"Sir?" he turned to Valik.

"He'll take whatever he wants. Don't get in the way and help," the lad played the boss again, stepping back from his slight amazement.

"But how!" The old man was indignant as if they were going to take away his own.

"And my colleague will take care of the jewelry," I pointed to Fyodor.

"But this is clan property!" The storekeeper shuddered.

"Gustav, I will hang you," Valentine threatened lazily.

"We'll do it right away," the servant rushed to the other extreme, hiding his gaze. " Where to load it?"

"Yeah, you can't carry that in your arms," I scratched the back of my head. " Fyodor, what do you think?"

"Sim-sim, open up!" still in prostration, the brother said softly.

"That's before the treasure, but what do they do after they find it?"

"They kill each other to get more for themselves," said Fyodor as he continued to stare at the riches.

"You're a dangerous guy," I patted his shoulder respectfully. "Except it's all going to take one to carry it later."

"That's right, and old Uncle Gustav will help!" The old man fawned over the boy.

And even Valentine looked at Fyodor oddly.

"And you can kill afterward," I summed up optimistically, gathering all eyes on me, "except children and women, of course," I corrected myself, a little embarrassed.

"And the old men?" The keeper spoke up timidly.

"Are you taking it or not?" Valentine was impatient. I don't think he likes our company.

"Of course. Fyodor, go through the boxes of jewelry, try to find Dad's things and your sisters' jewelry."

"Aha!" The brother headed enthusiastically to the nearest package and, with a little effort, tore open the fasteners, spilling a stream of gold and silver onto the concrete floor.

"Proud of you," I approved of the maneuver and reassessed the amount of work. "And I need a cart. Better yet, several and as many people."

"It will be done!" hastened the old man as he tried to leave the vault.

"By the way, you don't think the door will stop me, do you?" catching his gaze, I clarified.

"I didn't think anything of it," Gustav flinched, his pupils fluttering.

"So the old men will survive," I lost interest in him.

"Do you have a car?" Valik asked dryly.

"Yes!" said Fyodor loudly, stretching to his full height.

In his hands immediately appeared a key is taken from his pocket - with a keychain emblazoned with a three-beam star. Exactly the same as the badge on the snow-white car that had been left in town. In fact, I had planned to take the bus and stuff it under the roof with money... But I could not resist the bright fire of happiness and hope to shine in Fedor's eyes. And money is just colorful pieces of paper with which you certainly cannot buy joy for your perpetually sullen brother.

"We have a car. A big beautiful SUV, about five tonnes. It's about my shoulders high, the radiator grille is straight, and there's a badge with a circle and three rays from the center and there..."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Valentine waved his hands, "I don't need to know that."

"How that? Order a big trailer to go with it," I pretended to be surprised. "And get ready. We're going to get the car in town."

"I'll send men to bring it in," the lad tried to shrug off the involvement.

"Let's go. You can see what you've done while you're here," I ordered. "Fyodor, are you coming with us?"

"No, I'll be searching." After handing me the keys, Fyodor began to open the new box with gusto.

"Suit yourself. Valentine, if there's anything happening with him..."

"I get it," the lad grimaced, stepped forward, and barked orders to the solid crowd of servants and soldiers who had amassed in the corridor.

"Why don't I send a servant with you? With a pass, they would let you in." Once again, Valentine wanted to sneak out, standing by the station door.

"You're better than any pass," I nudged him, releasing him into the midday heat.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

No guards were taken - I simply had none, and my escort spoke rather caustically about the talents of his entourage and their success in protecting him. Clumsy mutterings from the head of the guard about some "special occasion" Valentine chose not to hear.

It was much easier to walk in twos - the area was packed quite tightly, and a larger party would have had to scramble to move the tents aside.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" Valentine couldn't stand the silence. "Yes, it is difficult for the people, but the order is being maintained. Over there is the field kitchen and the water tanks. Nearby is the tent delivery point. In the end, which is out of sight, is the sanitary block. I control everything!"

"Through a dozen black and white monitors," I nodded without turning around.

"It's working fine," he muttered.

"It worked. The first two days," I corrected him. "They started collecting the money yesterday, didn't they?"

"Well..." said Valik cautiously.

"The queue has slowed down by a factor of ten because there are now papers to be signed. People are piling into the square faster than the buses are departing."

"There's still space here."

"Yes, but every four hours, you have to feed everyone again if you don't want a hunger riot. Also, take a sniff: can you smell it?"

"What?" asked Valentine glumly.

"Sweat, dirt, heat. Do you want an epidemic?" I looked back unkindly. "And yet not everyone leaves, having pawned themselves off or turned out their pockets. The proudest are going back, not wanting to live in misery, to wait until the quarantine is over."

"You're a saint, aren't you?" Valentine shouted. "How are you better than that? You come and take it all for yourself!"

"I'm not taking from them," he said patiently, not raising his voice. "I'm taking from you. Taking back someone else's is not the same as giving back your own. Feel that, and make a point of it."

"What do you know... I didn't care about the money! I had a plan!" the guy went wild.

"Oh, is that so?" I grinned, teasingly.

"Yes! All for the good of the clan!" The boy pressed his line stubbornly. "And not to the detriment of the people, but for the good! Do you think there's something good waiting for them outside the city?! Their Lord is dead! That's it, no protection! They'll be cheated by the first man they meet. And they'll pay nothing for it!"

"So you decided to do it first?"

"No! No! I took the priority of debt. Now the clan is the main creditor, and if anyone dares to cheat these people," he swept his hand around, "our clan will come to their defense under the guise of protecting an investment. No one dares touch ours! Nobody!"

"Sure," I smiled.

"You're insane," said Valentine, getting quieter. "Where did you come from..."

"What do you think - did I take everything out of your stomach, or did I leave something there?" I said thoughtfully in response.

"All right, all right. I'm sorry," the guy said.

"For the first time... So what do you need slaves for?"

"They are not slaves!" he shook his head. "We need specialists in the north. Good pay, accommodation, it's interesting there! But we don't need shift workers. It's complicated equipment. It is expensive to train outsiders. Our people don't want to go out in the cold... Here."

"The debtors, too, you're going to put under the coat of arms," I realized.

"Those who can't pay," the boss confirmed reluctantly. "And those who can cope are the smart ones; we'll work with them too, look around and offer contracts."

"After you kill them?"

"All those who fought are already dead," Valentin replied harshly. "And these don't want to pay their taxes. Coat of Arms will be alive for a generation, and these twenty-five years, they supposedly serve their lord without paying a penny to anyone."

"You don't have a high opinion of people."

"That's not the point. OK, they don't want us, they don't like us, that's understandable. They don't go to the other families because they are afraid of being on the lowest rung of the hierarchy, and rightly so. But why haven't they taken the emperor's coat of arms? Tell me! There is no loss of honor if the Lord Holder is dead, to go to the allies or the Emperor!" Valentine tried to get ahead of me so he could look me in the eye. "Because of taxes, Maxim!"

"I think the Coat of Arms is a family," I said after thinking, voicing my thoughts. "These people have an incomplete family now, but that doesn't mean they can't protect each other."

"Against an aristocrat?" snorted Valentine.

"Do you feel immortal?" I squinted at him.

"Well... no," the lad grumbled reluctantly. "Like you're immortal!"

"The whole point is that your aristocrat is mortal once. And the remnants of even this clan have thousands of lives. I wouldn't mess with that if I were an aristocrat."

"You think so?" Valentine chewed his lip thoughtfully and then went deeper into his own thoughts.

I almost missed it when a small figure emerged from the shadows of the tent and came right under my feet - I could barely keep Valentine from staggering over the unexpected obstacle.

"Uncles, do you have any water?" A thin voice squeaked out.

The owner of the voice was a very petite person, wearing a long T-shirt from someone else's shoulder - to her, it looked like a dress if it wasn't for the broad shoulders hanging down like sleeves.

"At the end of the square, the white tent," Valentine answered absently, adjusting his shirt, which I had wrinkled.

"It's expensive," the girl said sadly.

"It's free!" he frowned.

"I've drunk what's free," sighed the little one. "YouI don't have any, do you?" She looked at us again and, with a disappointed chuckle, went back into the shade.

"It's all free!" Valentine snarled irritably, but the girl didn't even turn around at his voice. "In any quantity!"

"If the boss can do it, why can't the servants?" I patted him on the shoulder and walked around to the side as I continued on my way.

"I hang them..." he gritted his teeth, looking to the edge of the square where the snow-white domes of the tents with his clan's coat of arms stood. "I need to get there now."

"You'll make it. First my business, then hang all the servants."

"You don't understand, I must intervene immediately!"

"You're already late," I shrugged, not about to let him go.

The people are certainly a pity, but if I let Valentine go from me, they would surely try to kill me and Fyodor. The traditions of the hostages are respected and even studied among the highborn, Uncle Kolya told me, trying to pass on what little he knew about aristocratic life.

"But people..." the lad froze in place, clearly intending to leave to clean up the mess.

"You looked at them all day and didn't notice anything," I sighed a little tiredly, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my hand. "And you're here because I got you out. It's my credit that you can still make things right before your father gets here. You owe me, Valentine. And you're not going anywhere until I let you go."

Valentine tried to say something for a while, but eventually, he hunched over and staggered beside me.

"You'd better think about what would happen if babies like that girl got sunstroke. An ambulance won't get through."

"I'll fix it," Valentine replied dryly and was silent for a long time.

We crossed the border of the square, passing through the security perimeter, and, with a noticeable acceleration thanks to the good road, we walked to where I first met my new family.

The car was exactly where it had been left - there was no point in stealing it. The headlights blinked softly to welcome the press of the alarm, the door latches clicked softly, and the engine hummed softly as the key was inserted into the keyhole.

"Turn right, away from the square. There's a separate vehicle entrance on the other side, so we can get through," Valentine voiced, leaning back in his seat.

The deserted roads were a pleasure to drive on, with the air conditioner blowing - in short, it took us three minutes to get to the station platform, a dozen times quicker than walking.

They were already waiting for us on the platform - in a good way. Under Fyodor's watchful eye, cradled on a large sack, servants and soldiers were cramming a substantial pile of thick film into a beige trailer with a grey awning.

"They work well," I praised as I climbed out of the car.

Valentine gave a sour look and didn't say a word, watching the money being packed away without much satisfaction.

"No more room, sir!" The curator emerged from the ground, bowing prostrate to Valentine and managing to glare at me as he bowed.

"Put it in the car," I ordered, flicking the fob button again to open the back door. "You can put them in the back too. On the back seats."

And, having lost interest in the lively servants, I approached Fyodor.

"Did you find it?" I replied with a smile at the immensely happy - at the sight of me and the car - expression on his face.

"Yeah," he patted the bag underneath him.

"Are you sure it's all Dad's?" I raised an eyebrow skeptically, trying to work out how two earrings and a chain and ring could take up so much space.

"Exactly!" Fyodor confidently unfolded the bag and showed the back of the snatched necklace. "Here's his branding!"

"Erm... Branding?" My eyebrows went up.

"Aha! Daddy's a Jeweler! And it's all Daddy's! He made it," Fyodor told me adamantly, putting the necklace back and sitting down economically on top of it so it wouldn't be stolen.

"You heard what he said," I glanced at Valentine. "It's ours. And, Fyodor, get off the stuff and let the men put it in the car," I waved at the two soldiers, pointing to the cargo.

"And I ordered him to be found," said the local boss, regretfully, and pressed his lips together, clearly seeing the sign stamped in the metal, "A good craftsman. So you are Samoilov's eldest son, then? But... there are only three children in the file and only one boy!" he jumped up.

"And now they are in my family."

"Ah... I see. You took all the best for yourself," muttered Valik, looking longingly at Fyodor, busily controlling the loading - and not just anywhere, and on the backseat, and that the strap is fastened.

"At least you got wise advice," I encouraged him with a pat on the back.

"Oh, yeah." Valentine sulked.

"So you don't need another one?" I stopped outside the driver's door, waiting for the trailer to be attached to the car.

Fyodor had already taken a seat in the front seat and was looking at me impatiently.

"Speak up..." sighed the local boss.

"Even two." The trailer lock finally clicked, and I took the driver's seat. "Warn the post about us, and it stays intact."

"What about the other one?" A lad came to the window.

"Prepare a soft and wide belt."

"What for?" Valentine frowned.

"When your father arrives, it won't hurt so much."

He seemed to answer something, but all sounds were drowned out by Fyodor's heartfelt shriek of joy - we were on our way home, wherever that home was now.

* * *

Chapter 25

Treasure and Hero