Book II. Chapter 92 - The Congress (Part 2)

Chapter 92

After nearly half an hour (in summer, the trip from Government Square usually took only ten minutes, which explained why the officials and the aristocracy were so fond of the island), they finally crossed the Tsar’s Bridge and found themselves on Saint Vasiliy’s Island. After some more time passed, the little truck braked, and a brief knock sounded from the cab.

“Get out,” Ponskih commanded, putting his Beaver mask back on his face.

Ardi was once again the last in line. After he stepped out onto the smooth, tightly-fitted stones cleared of snow that served as the sidewalk on this island, Ardan very nearly cursed again.

They’d parked beside a building that… evoked some memories.

Before him stood a four-or-five-story structure covered in snow that was surrounded by a decorative wrought-iron fence.

It was decorative because it barely reached the waist of an average man, and the house appeared to have only four floors. The first and tallest gleamed with enormous windows that spilled soft, golden light onto the wet street. Above that rose three more floors, where, at each window, either a too-large sill or a too-small balcony perched. Elegant pilasters joined with intricate pediment patterns to create a wonderfully tasteful effect.

And to the left of the main entrance rose bay windows that had been fused into a single column, crowned by a glass dome that was stoically enduring its battle with the snow. It was precisely this dome that cast doubt upon the building’s floor count. Adjacent to it sat a thick roof that had the thin strips of window openings along its surface (they were a bit hard to discern).

Openings in which lights burned.

He wondered whether the maid named Tatiana still served in the Anorsky manor—that stern, kind-hearted, and very sincere woman who’d been a governess as well. She had made a considerable contribution to the upbringing of Grand Princess Anastasia—the first in line to the Imperial throne.

Anastasia... Ardi had never thought that he would miss a “pen pal,” especially when that pen pal was a little girl. At present, she was still fourteen years old.

Speaking of age…

In less than a month, Ardi would turn nineteen. And the princess, who’d also been born in winter, would turn fifteen. And then only one more year would pass before Anastasia entered the Imperial Magical University. There could be no doubt about her talent for Star Magic and her determination.

What would such a close proximity lead to? And he wasn’t just worried about whether the two of them would get along, but how Great Prince Iolai Agrov would act as well…

Thoughts for tomorrow...

“Brings back memories?”

Ardi flinched and turned toward the girl who had addressed him. The soft scent of walnut and something sweet lingered around her. Peaches, maybe? Ardan hadn’t tried one yet. He had only seen them on the menu at the “Pelican” restaurant when he and Arkar had gone there.

“Where did you learn this language?” The young man asked, studying her White Fox mask with great surprise.

He couldn’t see her mouth, as the slits were limited to just her eyes (which were bright orange!) and nostrils. Moreover, the unfamiliar mutant had spoken the language so fluently that it was as though she had communicated exclusively in the Fae tongue since birth.

“You can ask me three times if you wish, Snow Wolf, but then I might take something from you as payment,” the girl who was dressed as lightly as Ardi himself whispered and extended her hand toward his chest, but then, just as Allane’Eari had once done, she recoiled. “Oh... already taken. A pity. Though not surprising, I suppose. Your kind gets snatched up fast.”

And without another word, she departed after their group. She headed toward a building that looked almost identical to the Anorsky mansion and only lacked the glass dome and the observatory.

Ardan snapped out of his stupor and stared at the rapidly-retreating back of the young woman. A human mutant? Or... could it be... a Firstborn mutant? Was such a thing even possible?

“Don’t stand there like a post,” Captain Parela very nearly barked in his ear, her face hidden beneath her Arctic Fox mask. Then the Star Mage, leaning on her staff and grumbling something unintelligible, hurried after the rest.

“Don’t hold it against her, Ard,” Klementiy sighed, adjusting his Polecat mask, which had slipped slightly askew. It was clearly too large for him. “Parela tried to get assigned to the group protecting the Flame. That’s what they’re calling... well, you know.”

Ardan nodded. It wasn’t difficult to guess that “the Flame,” given the mythology behind the two-headed phoenix and the Empire’s crown, was referring to His Imperial Majesty.

“But even the Major isn’t in a leading role there, so they sent her here,” Klementiy finished and, after slapping Ardan’s back with a mitten-clad hand, headed inside the mansion.

There were probably not that many military mages who were more experienced than Major Mshisty in the Empire. After Lord Aversky’s death, they could likely be counted on the fingers of one hand. But when the question concerned the sheer number of Stars and rays within them, this figure turned into a number—even if one only counted the military ones—that probably approached three digits.

Military mages with six Stars constituted more than fifty percent of all those who possessed a Black Star.

After briefly stretching his stiff legs, Ardan easily caught up with the group and was soon standing in the reception hall of the residence of His Excellency Duke-General Oleg Zakrovsky, Prime Minister of the Empire. The Emperor’s own mentor and... his right hand. If the Colonel, who worked in the shadows, was considered the left hand of Pavel IV, then Duke Zakrovsky was his right. And he was no less dangerous than his colleague.

And so, Ardi had expected to see something... pompous. Imposing. Perhaps even staggering in its majesty. But instead, he found himself standing in wet boots upon a well-trodden carpet covering a rose design laid out in the multicolored parquet. These were the perfectly ordinary furnishings of a household that didn’t lack any funds. The walls were covered by dark green, monotone wallpaper. The picture frames were made of dark cherry wood. The thick settees looked especially inviting. The antique pendulum clocks rested beneath the central axis of a winged staircase whose understated elegance somehow dominated the room.

Despite the outward similarities of the two mansions, on the inside, they differed dramatically in layout. In the Anorsky manor, one might feel a certain heaviness pressing down upon their shoulders, but in here, on the contrary, one’s head could easily spin from the spaciousness and abundance of light.

“Follow Captain Aloaeiol,” Captain Ponskih ordered curtly, pointing at the girl in the White Fox mask. “Everyone except Corporal Egobar.”

One piece of the puzzle fell into place. The mutant’s name was typical of the elves who had once lived in the High Forest. So, the fact that she looked like a “young girl” might be deceptive. She could have already seen several centuries pass, or even more than that. She probably was older than that…

There were almost no elves of the High Forest left. Perhaps fewer than two dozen in the entire country. They’d refused to rally beneath the Dark Lord’s banners, and he had needed the Forest to shelter his armies, so... Aror and the Dark Lord had ensured that no one would stand in their way. They’d slaughtered nearly the entire—already sparse—population of the High Forest.

And, as experience had shown, every time Ardi encountered someone whose life had intersected with Aror’s path...

It’s just a superstition, and one you created yourself, the young man attempted to reassure himself.

Frankly, the attempt didn’t do much... because Captain Aloaeiol’s eyes, while of an inhuman color, also had a distinctly human structure. A half-blood?

Sleeping Spirits—this was absolutely none of his concern!

“Follow me, Corporal,” the Senior Magister gestured invitingly and, leaving his coat in the hands of a butler who’d just arrived, headed for the staircase.

“Thank you very much,” Ardi thanked the reserved middle-aged man who’d taken his jacket and followed Ponskih.

The second floor differed from the first only because the corridors were narrower and the rose-patterned parquet had no carpets covering it. This made it look even more deserted and forsaken. But, given the fact that not a single speck of dust could be seen on any of the side tables, settee armrests, or picture frames, the house most likely had plenty of servants. They simply kept out of sight, as was proper in their line of work.

Passing a cigar room and a billiard room, they approached the study. How did Ardan know what they were? He recognized the scent of paper, ink and cigarette smoke—which was far stronger here than in the room that had originally been designated for smoking.

“Since you’ll be spending both weeks in the Duke-General’s immediate company, he has requested a personal introduction,” the Senior Magister explained as he was raising his hand to knock.

Ardan couldn’t hold back:

“Then what’s the point of the ‘Loon’ code word? And why are the masks mandatory if we address each other by our names and ranks anyway?”

Captain Ponskih had apparently intended to answer him but didn’t have time to do so. The door opened and an elderly man who had once possessed a stately figure and, most likely, two eyes and a full set of limbs appeared. He was wearing a patch over his left eye, with a prosthetic replacing his left leg (the unnaturally-shaped trouser leg of his expensive suit gave it away), and he was the same height as Milar. However, he had a belly nearly rivaling the girth of Senior Magister an Manish’s own. He also had a thick, bushy mustache, a hopeless, horseshoe-shaped bald spot, and intelligent brown eyes.

If Ardan had encountered this man in his black, pinstripe three-piece suit on the street or in a café, he would’ve thought that he was looking at a retired staff officer who had found his calling in banking. Or something quite similar to that.

“A very good question, Corporal Egobar,” the Prime Minister remarked, taking a pipe that was shaped like the head and neck of... a loon… out of his mouth. He stepped aside. “Please, gentlemen officers, come inside and have a seat. Don’t stand on the threshold. Let’s not drive the extra heat away from the premises, lest I bankrupt the Treasury heating this voracious wretch.”

The Duke surveyed the room with his single eye, clearly indicating what exactly the “wretch” moniker was referring to.

Captain Ponskih hurried inside, and Ardi followed, while the Prime Minister, in a perfectly mundane fashion, closed the door behind them himself. He was acting as though he wasn’t the second most important person in the Empire, at least from the perspective of the table of ranks.

And indeed, the study, which was furnished in nearly the exact same manner as the Colonel’s own, was considerably warmer than the corridors and halls of the mansion. Admittedly, had it been up to him, Ardan would have preferred the cold. He felt more comfortable in it. Especially in winter.

Limping and swinging his leg a bit, the Prime Minister returned to his massive, broad desk made from a single piece of Alcade pine. This was a material that, in ancient times, had been used to create defensive fortifications that had been meant to endure... the first cannons. That was how strong the timber from Ardi’s homeland was.

“I can see that you recognize it,” the Duke-General smiled warmly, running his hand along the dark surface. “A faithful friend. I inherited it from my grandfather, may the Eternal Angels receive him. Though they received him... quite some time ago.”

Duke-General Zakrovsky, who had once served in the cavalry, had retired honorably after being wounded on the Armondian border. On the strength of his military record, education, and the loftiest of aristocratic titles, the late Emperor had hired him as a tutor for his middle son—Pavel Agrov. This was knowledge that was available to any citizen of the Empire.

“You may remove your masks, gentlemen officers,” the Prime Minister waved his pipe. “There’s no particular need for them when it’s just the three of us. And I’d rather not imagine how horribly one’s face must steam inside them indoors.”

Ardan remained motionless in his chair. He removed his... “donkey” only after the “beaver” had left Captain Ponskih’s face. The last thing Ardan wanted was to make some sort of error in etiquette or subordination and fall into disfavor with, by the Sleeping Spirits, the Prime Minister of the Empire!

“So, this is the man Reish’s daughter is marrying,” the Duke-General permitted himself a brief smile, lingering for a moment on Ardi’s face. “And yes, the resemblance to your father is hard to miss. He was a brave fighter. Sincere. Honorable. Knew how to inspire and lead. A real man. They don’t make them like that anymore. Unfortunately. Though up here”—the Prime Minister tapped his pipe against his own temple—“he was a touch short. Judging by your academic achievements and what Lord Aversky told me, may the Eternal Angels receive him, Corporal, in that regard, you take after your mother. I regret that I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance.”

Duke Zakrovsky had a peculiar manner of speaking—he occasionally expressed himself in somewhat clipped phrases, as though he were not conversing, but issuing hurried orders. Or conveying crucial information that had to be stated immediately.

As for his characterization of Hector, with whom the Prime Minister had apparently been personally acquainted, it sounded not exactly warm, but still rather… respectful. Therefore, Ardan answered with the same sort of respect:

“Thank you, Your Excellency.”

The Prime Minister immediately waved his pipe.

“No ‘Excellencies’ here. ‘General’ will suffice, if you will not deny a retired soldier his former distinction.”

“Of course, General,” Ardan inclined his head.

Life had taught him to be sparing with his words when dealing with his superiors and the powerful people of the world in general. This was the ideal tactic for both survival and the preservation of peace.

The Prime Minister smiled into his magnificent mustache and, drawing a folder from the desk, laid it on the table.

“I’ve long since wanted to look into the eyes of the officer responsible for nearly a quarter of a million in damages, on account of which the Treasury has been impoverished by almost fifty thousand exes. You know, Corporal, if not for you, I might not be fretting quite so much about the heating in my own home.”

Naturally, the damages the Colonel had cited did not translate entirely into exes. Only a portion had been reimbursed directly, rather than indirectly.

Ardan said nothing. No question had been posed, so there was no point in answering.

“But we would’ve likely paid far more had it not been for the success that is now rightfully formalized as a decoration,” the Prime Minister continued and produced a small box from the desk. “Take it, Corporal Egobar. It’s yours.”

After their formal commendations in summer, he and Milar had never actually received their decorations. The long process of bureaucratic approval, followed by the actual forging, took anywhere from six months to a year. An Order was not a medal, which itself was hardly awarded immediately after the recommendation.

Together with the lacquered cherry wood box, a certificate bearing the personal signatures of the General of the Armies, Lord Mikhail Shonov; the Prime Minister; and His Imperial Majesty was pushed across the desk toward Ardi.

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“I am grateful,” Ardan replied politely and, rising from his seat, took the award in both hands.

Returning to his chair, he attempted to impersonate a stone statue as convincingly as possible. He would open the box later.

“The Emperor had considered presenting you with your father’s Order,” the Prime Minister took a pull on his pipe and exhaled a chocolate-scented cloud. “But I insisted that everyone should have their own story. Especially since Hec Abar bore no relation to the Egobars. Though now, after the statements of Her Imperial Highness-consort, I imagine that once all the bureaucratic procedures are complete, Major Hec Abar’s dress uniform might be returned to his heirs. What say you, Corporal Egobar?”

Ardi had spent enough time in the company of people like the Prime Minister to understand one thing.

He was being tested.

Why? And, most importantly, on what particular subject—Ardan had no idea. So, he decided to adhere to a dangerous but straightforward strategy. Namely—to be honest. Like Mart Borskov. First and foremost, he would be honest with himself.

“Forgive me, General, but I cannot decide such matters.”

“Oh?” The Duke clucked in a perfectly plain manner. “Might I inquire, then, as to who can?”

Ardan answered at once:

“My mother. It is for her to decide what to do with my father’s uniform.”

Silence settled over the study. It wasn’t heavy or oppressive, not awkward or uncomfortable, but... just silence.

“They do still make them after all...” The Prime Minister said calmly. “I am in the habit of rising at dawn, Corporal. Tomorrow morning, you and I have a trip to Parliament. Please get a good night’s sleep. The sight of a towering mage tripping over his own cloak is, of course, entertaining. But it also rather cheapens the overall picture. You are dismissed. Lukeniya will show you to your quarters.”

“I am grateful, General,” Ardan repeated. Holding the certificate and the box with the award in one hand, and his staff in the other, he rose to his feet and headed for the door.

At the door, he paused and cast a quick glance at Captain Ponskih. The captain smiled almost imperceptibly and nodded just as imperceptibly. Whatever this test had consisted of and whatever it had meant, Ard had passed it.

Sleeping Spirits.

He truly was in for a long two weeks.

* * *

“Thank… you...” Ardan said, pausing on the last syllable. Outside the Prime Minister’s study, he had been met by a middle-aged woman with a very stern gaze who’d been wearing an equally-stern woolen dress with a knitted cardigan and a kerchief over her silver-streaked hair.

And now, the moment he’d turned around, she had already vanished. The scent of her perfume was gradually disappearing into the air. The Prime Minister’s servants most likely earned more than sufficient wages to afford such things.

Ardan, after gathering his courage for a few moments, pulled the door open and... immediately shut it again. It wasn’t like he was particularly shocked by nudity—it was more the unexpectedness of it.

“Corporal...” The familiar, slightly mocking elvish voice came from inside the room. “Shall we request separate quarters for you?”

“Perhaps the Duke’s guest bedroom?” Added another, this time male, voice.

“Ard, this is standard practice on assignments of this kind,” Klementiy explained rather more calmly, without any laughter.

Ardan, who felt like his face was burning, opened the door once more. To general amusement (even Parela mustered a few stifled chuckles), he entered the spacious room. It was likely that, in an earlier era, back when horse hooves rather than tires had clattered along the streets, this had served as a private physician’s chamber. How else could one explain the elongated room with its six enormous windows that wasn’t suited for being a library, nor a salon, nor anything else associated with entertainment and relaxation after a day’s labors?

Ignoring the snickers of the Second Chancery operatives, the young man, his gaze lost amid the toes of his own crumpled boots, trudged between the beds until…

“And here I thought you were engaged, Corporal...”

Ardi froze in his tracks. The scent and the odd heartbeat told him that he had very nearly collided head-on with the orange-eyed Captain Aloaeiol. She had surely placed herself in his path deliberately, because yet another explosion of laughter soon followed.

“Surely it’s possible to set up some screens...” Ardan mused aloud.

“Sure it is, Corporal, but why?” The captain replied in a slightly-sibilant tone. “It’s an unnecessary hassle, and besides, everyone here’s accustomed to it. You’re the only one who has never been on assignments where, pardon my unpolished bluntness, there’s no time to duck around a corner to answer nature’s call. We simply work here, Corporal. But if you’re burdened by your hot, young blood and can’t keep your marital vows in your pants, then-”

Ardan felt a prickle of something—if not anger, then definitely irritation. For some reason, the elf’s insinuation about him potentially being unfaithful to Tess displeased him greatly. Before winter had come, this would not have happened...

Ardan raised his gaze sharply. Before him, wearing nothing but white undergarments with ruffles and a delicate lace pattern, stood the diminutive captain. Her head came up to a bit below Ardi’s chest. And besides the inhuman color of her eyes and her foreign name, nothing else about her betrayed her Firstborn heritage.

She had a perfectly ordinary waist that was far from the hourglass figure young ladies aspired to. She also had short legs with wide hips and narrow shoulders, and that, coupled with a long torso, completed an almost rectangular silhouette. She also had a short bob of chestnut hair and a forehead that was so high it seemed like there was room for another pair of eyes on it. She looked human. This was a girl who, with sufficient effort, if she concealed her heavy, ample bosom, could even pass for a rather handsome young man.

Ardan looked her in the eye. Her mind trembled somewhere at the periphery of his Will. She didn’t look away, as though challenging his art. And Ardi knew... he knew for certain that, were he to help the cold break through this barrier erected by mortal hands, the two of them would have the strength to shatter her defenses. They were so soft and so yielding. Nothing like those that guarded the shards of Names…

“Try it, Snow Wolf,” Aloaeiol offered with a smile that, in the tongue of the Fae, shifted from playful to steel. “If you can manage it before I demote you to the rank of eunuch.”

A cloud of black mist slipped from her lips and Ardi felt a blade pressing against his groin—a long, curved knife that the mutant had drawn practically from thin air. Only the brief shimmer of her hands and body suggested that she had moved faster than the eye could follow.

“Hey... Hey!” Klementiy cried out and, wearing nothing but an undershirt and wide underpants, snatched up his staff, darted from his bed, and planted himself beside Ardi and Aloaeiol. “Let’s stay professional, everyone. We had a little joke at the Corporal’s expense, and that’s enough.”

Ardan didn’t press the issue and was the first to look away. In that same instant, the blade withdrew from his groin, soon vanishing into its sheath. But, as luck would have it, Ardan immediately had to direct his gaze at the floor again. By the window stood Captain Parela, who, beneath her coat and loose, uncorseted dress, was concealing a figure that would not have been out of place... at Baliero fashion shows. However, an entire chronicle of scars from bullets, sabers, claws, fangs, and magic would have put off the patrons of cutting-edge fashion.

And, unlike Klementiy and Captain Aloaeiol, Parela wasn’t wearing any undergarments. She was as naked as the day she’d been born. And she was not the only one.

Beside her, at the neighboring beds and their accompanying nightstands, the last two members of the Prime Minister’s security detail were changing. These were two men who were roughly the same age as Lieutenant Kornosskiy, and they were also shockingly bare. Taller than the average Imperial man and adorned with an eloquent catalog of scars like Parela, they were sorting through the bundles of government-issue clothing laid out on the beds.

“Sleeping Spirits,” Ardan exhaled and turned away. If before, the heat had been confined to only his cheeks, now it had reached the very tips of his ears.

“Are you quite certain that you’re getting married in a few weeks, Corporal?” The mocking voice came from behind him again. “Or is this something everyone knows... except your own fiancée?”

Ardan ignored yet another verbal jab from the strangest elf (or half-blood... or human... the only certainty here was that she was a mutant) he had ever encountered and hurried to locate his bed. It turned out to be the last in the row by the windows. Six beds in total (the Senior Magister apparently had his own quarters) stood in two rows facing one another. Ardan’s spot was at the far end, beneath the window.

All things considered, this made sense. Beneath the windows, ice had formed on the sills, defying the heating. So, the ones sleeping here were the two male mutants and... Ardan, for which he was immeasurably grateful. Klementiy, Parela, and Aloaeiol’s beds were against the opposite wall.

Approaching his sleeping quarters for the next two weeks, Ardan propped his staff against the nightstand and sighed briefly once more. Guta had been right when he’d said that you cannot go into someone else’s berry bush with your own rules. Especially since heating six rooms instead of one, even a large one, was far more difficult and costly.

Winter, after all, made no distinction between a duke and an ordinary citizen of the Empire. It dictated its terms equally to all. Nobility, Firstborn, humans, the wealthy, the poor—it was all the same to her.

Tess will probably die of laughter, the young man thought, and, turning his back to his colleagues, he untied the strings on the paper bundle and began to undress. By the time he had removed his undergarments, revealing something that only a handful of people and beasts in all the world had seen until now, the snickers and exchanges of jokes behind him had somehow subsided of their own accord.

His Matabar hearing caught a remark:

“Interesting—did they take the military education reform to heart at the Grand, or what?”

And its echo:

“You could send him to storm the Fatian trenches right now.”

“Yeah... You wouldn’t guess it with his clothes on.”

The heat migrated from his ears to somewhere near his forehead. Apparently, the rules of decorum had been omitted from the Second Chancery’s regulations in order to save on ink and paper. Discussing someone else’s nakedness (and especially openly gawking at them) was categorically unacceptable for any self-respecting man or decent woman!

At that moment, the door to the room swung open, causing Ardi—who had only managed to get his hands into the sleeves of an undershirt—to turn and face... the Prime Minister and Captain Ponskih as they entered.

And Ardi was the only one facing them with all his, so to speak, natural endowments on display, since the remaining agents, including Parela and Captain Aloaeiol, still had their backs to the door.

Ardan didn’t know whether hair could blush, but judging by the sensations he was feeling, his was burning to its very tips.

“I don’t know whether to envy the Corporal’s bride or pity the poor girl...” Aloaeiol’s whisper, spoken in the absolute silence, was as loud as an explosion. “How do they even manage...”

Ardan wished for the earth to swallow him whole.

A long. Two. Weeks.

* * *

Ardan tugged at the collar of the black linen shirt. Despite the fact that the Black House supply department had clearly attempted to tailor all the measurements to his far-from-standard frame, due to the considerable volume of work, they hadn’t executed the tailoring to their usual standard.

The shirt was slightly small in the collar and in terms of sleeve length, the woolen vest was, conversely, too large, the jacket strained slightly at the back, and the sable-and-heavy-serge overcoat barely reached mid-calf. At least the gloves fit his fingers. Ardan had declined the hat, just as he had ultimately declined the undergarments.

He was using thoughts of clothing to stop his mind from recalling the previous day and that degree of awkwardness that he had probably not experienced since his time at the Anorsky manor.

An amusing bit of irony.

At last, the automobile halted before Parliament’s ceremonial entrance. Not everyone could use this particular approach road, and so the checkpoint guard merely glanced at their vehicle before snapping to attention. First of all, instead of license plates, this car had the Imperial coat of arms and the Zakrovsky crest; also, there was a Black Chancery car escorting the vehicle. This was where Klementiy and Aloaeiol were stationed, since today was their shift. It was also very likely that the soldiers saw this automobile and its chauffeur every single day.

In any case, Ardan found that riding in a government vehicle was definitely unusual. Perhaps it wasn’t as comfortable as the extravagant automobiles of the Anorskys and an Manish, but it had a body roughly two and a half times longer than normal, which was sufficient for the Prime Minister, Captain Ponskih, and Ardan to sit comfortably inside, with the Prime Minister facing them. There weren’t two rows of plush seats, but three, with the last two facing each other, and the walls and roof looked thick enough to stop a bullet. The same could be said of the glass, which lacked any handles one could move it with.

First to emerge from the car, staff held before him, was Captain Ponskih, then, per the protocol Ardi had been briefed on the previous evening, Ardan exited the vehicle. And only after they’d formed a box around the doors with Klementiy and Aloaeiol did the Prime Minister himself step into the light.

“I must confess that, at the moment, this all looks rather absurd rather than in any way justified,” the Duke-General summarized, exhaling a cloud of steam and surveying the deserted Government Square.

For the duration of the Congress, and somewhat beyond that, access was not permitted without an endorsed pass.

“We are obligated to rehearse the procedure before the Congress convenes, General,” Captain Ponskih reminded him—apparently, he wasn’t doing so for the first time—in his capacity as head of the man’s security.

“Of course, my dear Senior Magister,” the Prime Minister smiled into his bushy mustache as he often did, and, leaning on his cane, headed for the steps. “Of course...”

The Second Chancery operatives, Ard included, took up positions in a square formation with themselves at the corners. At the doors, they formed a line: Duke Zakrovsky in the center, the rest in pairs in front of and behind him.

Ardan held his breath for a moment in sheer astonishment. In less than two years, he had been inside all the most important buildings in the country: the Palace of the Kings of the Past, the Imperial Magical University, and now Parliament. Only one building on the list was sort of unclear—the temple the Emperor was building, where a little over a year ago, they had held an almost private conversation. Did that count as him visiting it already, or would he need to visit it when it was finished?

Parliament itself looked like the most ordinary, unremarkable building on the inside, and seemed just as likely to be housing an office full of regular clerks or accountants. There was an atrium with a twin staircase split in two, plenty of benches, settees, and endless processions of carpet runners along which gentlemen of the most varied... political and bureaucratic caliber bustled about.

The Prime Minister calmly left his coat at the cloakroom, where his clothing was received by... people in animal and bird masks. More of them stood at the entrance—one with a rifle, the other with a staff. All right, perhaps the building did differ from its more mundane brethren after all, if not in appearance, then in spirit...

“I don’t recall there being this much fuss even before His Imperial Majesty’s coronation,” the Prime Minister spoke, as always, with a touch of pensiveness, a hint of mockery, and great warmth.

As far as their brief acquaintance had allowed Ardi to judge such things, Duke-General Oleg Zakrovsky was the type of person who resembled bears in their behavior.

Among Guta’s kin, it wasn’t customary to express dissatisfaction or aggression in any manner other than physical violence. They never threatened, never raised their voices, and never stooped to insults. Therefore, they could be perceived as harmless or good-natured. Such a mistake could lead to a back torn to shreds, broken bones, or even death.

The Prime Minister conducted himself in precisely the same manner. One could never be certain that they had correctly understood the true mood concealed behind the intonation and words of a man who held power over so many lives.

Along the way, in the corridors and on the staircases, people greeted the Prime Minister politely, occasionally exchanged handshakes and smiles with him, but not once did someone thrust a folder or document into his hands.

“I cannot abide hallway deals,” the Prime Minister commented as though he’d sensed Ard’s thoughts. “My working day in Parliament begins from the moment I cross the threshold of my office. If their matter is not serious and urgent enough to warrant a personal visit to my home, then it can wait a few more minutes until I reach my desk. Remember, Corporal: never allow anyone to control your time except yourself.”

Ardan blinked several times and answered:

“Thank you, General.”

“Anytime, Corporal,” Duke Zakrovsky added with an icy gaze and a warm smile.

Ardi didn’t let himself wonder why the Prime Minister had chosen to share a piece of wisdom with him. In the end—where was he, and where was the Emperor’s right hand? The worries that sometimes made Ardan, in moments of great weakness, really feel his own helplessness, were most likely nothing more than paper on a desk to the Prime Minister. He was in charge of the fate of one-fifth of the entire planet’s population. And one-sixth of all its landmass. An inconceivable burden.

Ardan did not even want to imagine how much strength such a task demanded of His Imperial Majesty, the Prime Minister, the Colonel, and everyone else involved with things at that level. Strength, sacrifice, and perhaps something more.

At last, they reached the top floor and, passing through the Prime Minister’s secretariat, where roughly a dozen people worked, they entered his office. To Ardi’s surprise, it turned out to be an exact replica of the study in the Duke-General’s private estate. Even the curtains were the same color.

Only the desk was a copy made from a simpler material than Alcade pine.

“Klementiy, Aloaeiol, you’re in the guard room,” the Senior Magister directed.

The mutant and the mage nodded and, clearly knowing the drill, went over to a bookcase. Like in one of Tess’ novels, the mutant pulled the spine of a book on Imperial history, and one section of the bookcase came alive. Silently, it drew back, then sideways, revealing a passage into a small room with sofas, a samovar, and several more doors.

Klementiy and Aloaeiol disappeared inside, and the concealed door closed behind them.

“Corporal,” the Prime Minister, who’d seated himself at his desk, held out some papers that Ardan recognized at once.

These were security clearances. However, Ardi had only ever seen a classified copy before, and now the declassified version lay alongside it.

“By this special directive, clearance is granted to: TOP SECRET, employee number: TOP SECRET, for information regarding: TOP SECRET, for a period of: TOP SECRET.

“Directive effective since: TOP SECRET; date of termination of special authorities: TOP SECRET.

“Signatures: TOP SECRET.”

On the second form, which Ardi signed, it was simply stated that, for the duration of the Congress, he had top secret clearance. And if he tried to disseminate the information or exploit his clearance outside the scope of his current assignment—death. Simple, laconic, and quite terrifying.

“I probably needn’t remind you, Corporal, that everything you hear or see over these two weeks, you will carry with you to the grave,” the Prime Minister said, taking the signed forms and filing them matter-of-factly in a desk drawer.

Ardi felt a prickling sensation—not in his fingertips, but across his entire body. Should anyone attempt to break into that desk, they would surely meet the Eternal Angels before their hand ever touched the handle. It was difficult to even imagine what sort of protections guarded its contents.

“Captain Ponskih, I once again apologize for the fact that you must take on the role of my assistant for these two weeks,” the Prime Minister said, and he seemed sincere. “I would imagine that this is not why you sacrificed the best years of your life at the altar of Star Magic. Your Senior Magister’s medallion is proof of that.”

“For the glory of the Empire,” Captain Ponskih saluted and, in a more relaxed manner, added: “It is an honor, General.”

The Senior Magister’s heart did not skip a beat. He was being absolutely honest.

“The honor is mutual. It is always a joy to stand alongside worthy sons of the Empire.” And the Prime Minister’s heart likewise did not miss a step. “Now then, Captain Ponskih, let us begin our routine. Since today is a day for personal appointments, be so kind as to bring in the first person in line.”

“Yes, sir,” Captain Ponskih saluted once more in a military fashion and stepped through the door.

Ardi and the Prime Minister were left alone. A slightly heavy silence settled over the study.

“I believe, Corporal, that you will find this meeting to your liking,” the Prime Minister’s smile abruptly shifted from warm to something very nearly resembling the grin with which Shali greeted prey that had strayed into her territory.

Walking ahead of Captain Ponskih, agitated, flushed, and with a slightly wild look in his eyes, none other than... Top Hat strode into the room. Only this time, he wasn’t wearing his old-fashioned headwear.

Lord-General Foma Krinitsky now stood just a few meters away from Ardan. This was the very same man who, a year ago, after the explosion at the central branch of the Imperial Bank, had tried to imprison Ard and his entire family in the dungeons of the Black House.