Two voices, hoarse with rage, had been sawing through the air for over an hour. And these were only the third set of arguers today.
"This land has been watered with the blood and sweat of my lineage since ancient times! I will not allow some scoundrel to defile it with his stinking presence!"
"You dog, have you lost all fear! This land is as much yours as the moon in the sky! Get out of my sight!"
Katarina gripped her temples, trying to focus on yet another dusty deed. A typical situation: a worthless patch of land with a drying stream until a gold vein was found underneath.
Now two "counts," who reeked of stale fish and burnt alcohol from a mile away, were tearing each other's throats out. She didn't care. The words merged into a cacophony; she increasingly wanted to shout, "Shut up!" and throw them into the dungeons for wasting her time.
Her thoughts swirled around him - Saigo. Had he woken up? She hadn't had time to visit him—the two days of his escape attempts had piled up so much work that even her iron will couldn't ignore it. She'd dealt with a mountain of papers, but the thought gnawed at her from within.
"How dare you, damned thief!" one howled, jabbing a finger.
"I dare indeed!" the other roared, turning purple.
"Enough!"
Katarina raised her hand, not sharply, but smoothly. Yet a magical pressure, cold and heavy as a lead slab, crashed down upon the hall. The arguers choked on their words mid-sentence, their faces whitening. Silence immediately struck their ears.
And at that moment a light rustle of silk. A secretary girl, pale from the importance of the news, slid to the throne, leaning close to her ear:
"He's awake, Your Majesty…"
Katarina didn't flinch, not a single muscle. But an explosion went off inside her. Joy, hot and wild, surged toward her throat. She clenched her teeth, swallowed it, turning it into an icy mask of power. She turned to the stunned arguers.
"I announce the verdict." Her voice steel, honed on stone. "Since neither party has presented convincing proof of ancestral ownership rights…" She threw a contemptuous glance at their deeds with suspicious seals. "…and considering the fact of the land's shared use in the past…" When it was worthless. "…I rule thus. The land is forcibly purchased by the Imperial Treasury. You will each receive five percent of the net yield after taxes. This session is closed."
Bang! The gavel struck the oak table with a dull thud, cutting off any objections.
The "counts"' mouths fell open. Not because of the decision—in disputed cases, this was often done. They were stunned by her the Empress.
Her face, that very surge of unbridled joy she hadn't been able to fully hide. The corners of her lips trembled; in her eyes a glint of elation, alien to this grim place.
Rising from her chair, she didn't walk she fluttered out of the courtroom. Swiftly and utterly un-Imperially. Like a girl skipping out of a boring lesson. The courtiers froze, exchanging shocked glances. Even the ancient crest on the ceiling hadn't seen such a thing.
Silence hung, thick and awkward. Then one "count" elbowed the other:
"I told you, we should've split the income in half and been done with it. And now… pah!"
The second scratched the back of his head, watching the departed Empress:
"And why is she so… happy?"
"Did you fall from the moon?" the first one snorted.
"I just arrived this morning… and came straight here?"
The smirking interlocutor grinned. "Oh, brother, you've missed a lot. A lot…"
…
Marcus trudged through the slums, diligently immersing himself in the role of urban scum. A crumpled shirt, reeking of sweat and cheap moonshine, a worn cloak covered in a layer of street grime, and a fresh hangover his cover was impeccable.
He looked like an ordinary bum spat out by life at the very bottom. The very sight of the streets narrow, flooded with filth almost to the roofs of low shacks, with ubiquitous piles of garbage should have been depressing, but Marcus didn't care.
Rest is good, but rest on the state's dime is even better. And it's all official, damn it.
"Hmm, so, I think this is the place…" He glanced around the nook familiar from the description: a perpetually pissed-on corner, a half-rotted horsehide nailed to the wall like a grim trophy, and, of course, a huge stinking pile right in the middle of the passage.
"Ugh, people… you're f…" He didn't get to finish the thought because there simply were no people. "Strange. Running late? Doesn't seem like assassins…" He shrugged, found a relatively dry patch of ground by the wall, leaned against it, and lit a smoke.
"Hey… Hmm…" A squeaky, nasty little voice, like the creak of an unoiled door, made him start. "Am I hearing things?"
"Hey! You! Yeah, you log!" The voice repeated, even more insistently, and was so annoying that its owner deserved to be swatted like a pesky mosquito.
"Hmm… Where are you?" Marcus looked around.
Plink! Something small and hard hit his worn-out boot.
Marcus tilted his head. At his feet, something was stirring… a creature. About fifteen centimeters tall, no more. A mini-gnome a tiny humanoid in a hat resembling a toadstool, with a beard down to its knees and beady eyes glowing in the semi-darkness.
"What a find…" Marcus smirked. "I thought you pests had all been eradicated long ago."
"Screw you! My always live!" the mini-gnome spat. These creatures were considered vermin, ranking just above rats in status, despite their developed intellect.
"Well, what should I do with you?" Marcus prodded the edge of the mushroom cap with his knife tip and lifted the tiny thing, examining it.
"No touch Mik!" it squealed. "Mik take you! Mik get many tasty bread! Aaah!"
Marcus's mouth fell open slightly. So this is my "guide"? By law, he was supposed to turn the pest over to magical control. But today was his day off. "Let it live."
"Alright… Lead the way."
Mik plopped to the ground and instantly darted into a tiny hole at the base of the wall.
"And how do I follow?" Marcus knocked his fist against the masonry. Thump! The sound was dull, hollow. "Right, hollow." He wedged his fingers into a crack and pulled sideways with effort. The wall gave way with an unpleasant screech, revealing a dark passage.
"You still there?" Marcus asked, peering into the crack.
"Yes!" a squeak came from below. "Mik lead!"
Marcus picked up the mini-gnome and perched it on his shoulder like a parrot. "Sit still and lead."
…
He lost track of time wandering through the labyrinth. The damp walls of the catacombs gave way to sewers teeming with filth, then to ancient drains smelling of mold and decay. Mik didn't shut up, chattering in his broken language about "tasty bread" and "big meat." The smells were unimaginable a mix of rot, dampness, and something sour.
"I think you're leading me in circles," Marcus said wearily, feeling his boots sink into something sticky.
"Mik know where go! Mik promise! We soon be in house of big woman! Big woman!"
"A brothel?" Marcus clarified, already not hoping for a coherent answer.
"Hmm… Mik not know! But big woman have big pieces of meat! Big!"
"Ugh… Clear as mud. Lead on."
They crawled through the dark corridor again. And suddenly - thump! A dead end. A damp, cold wall blocked the path.
"Mik, damn you!" Marcus exploded. "Are you completely lost?!"
"No! Big door! We here!" Mik jumped off his shoulder, scrambled up Marcus's arm, and disappeared into another microscopic crack in the wall. A faint grinding of gears was heard. A second later, a section of the wall slid silently aside.
…
Even before the passage fully opened, a wave hit Marcus's nose a thick, cloyingly sweet cocktail of expensive incense, perfume, and something floral. He winced from the intensity. The smell was physically tangible, like fog.
Inside awaited not an underground tunnel, but a luxurious hall. Velvet cushions in piles. Sofas upholstered in silk the color of ripe berries. And girls. Many girls.
They lounged, reclined, sat in carelessly seductive poses. Each more beautiful than the last from fragile, porcelain dolls to sultry, voluptuous beauties. The light was muted, warm, pouring from somewhere above, creating an atmosphere of intimate semi-darkness.
"Umm…" Marcus muttered. "If I didn't know where I was going, I'd think succubi had multiplied under the city…"
He took a step inside. And then a new wave of smells of heavy, aged wine and exotic flowers engulfed him. His head spun. The alcoholic mist hanging in the air mixed with the aromas, creating an intoxicating blend. His "bushwhacker," a faithful indicator, stiffly aimed for "two o'clock." His brain began to fog.
A brunette in a provocatively open kimono (the word finally surfaced in Marcus's memory), studded with pins and hairpins, detached herself from a group. Her movements were smooth, like a snake's.
"Welcome, sir. Your reward awaits," her voice was low, honeyed. She took his hand with a strength unexpected for her fragility and pulled him through the chambers. The air here was even thicker, shrouded in hookah smoke or fog so dense that silhouettes only became clear a step away. Even through this veil, Marcus caught appraising glances, felt promises, floated in a cloud of feminine scents and arousal. His eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.
They stopped at a tall lilac door. On it was carved an intricate, explicit bas-relief hundreds of bodies entwined in ecstasy.
"In here," the guide whispered, her hot breath touching his ear. She pressed her chest against his arm. "If you have any strength left… find me in the third porcelain hall." Her lips burned his cheek with a kiss. And before he could gather his wits, she dissolved into the smoky veil.
Marcus stood as if stunned. His brain refused to function. Only instincts and a body tense to the limit. "Okay…" he thought dully. "Just can't think straight…"
The doors slid apart silently. Inside semi-darkness, lit by a dim crimson light somewhere in the depths. In the middle of the room a huge bed, draped in flowing, semi-transparent veils. Behind it a vague but incredibly alluring figure.
As if enchanted, Marcus moved forward. Without a thought. His hands parted the light fabric themselves…
"Wow!!!"
What sat on the bed could only be described as a goddess. Perfect body lines, skin that seemed to glow from within, eyes bottomless, promising paradise and perdition simultaneously. She slowly licked her scarlet, moist lips. Her voice sounded like warm velvet, enveloping every cell:
"Hello, sweetie… Well, shall we have some fun?"