Chapter 10

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The possibilities of creatures unable to bear the touch of the sun's rays are severely limited, primarily by time. The older ones, of course, have it easier. As they grow older, the urgent need to fall into a dead sleep disappears, and all that remains is to guard against the stinging touch of the light, that is, simply not to ascend to the upper tiers of the dungeons that pervade Taleya.

Celesta valued her time more than anyone else, but she couldn't work all the time. There was, after all, a limit to her stamina. Sometimes she felt that if she didn't stop and allow herself a break, she would break and fall like a hunted horse. She preferred to spend her rare moments of rest in the company of her loved ones, rather than on visits to revelry or seeking adventure because she had enough extreme stuff in her life. Those whom she trusted and to whom she could show her true self.

Medea was most often her companion. She enjoyed every opportunity to light a fireplace, climb into a deep armchair, grab a glass of expensive wine, and, plunging into the comfort of the room, start a conversation on hundreds of topics at a time. On occasion, her gossip would yield unique information, though more often than not, it would have no meaningful meaning. Celesta, however, was not silent either. She preferred to discuss the subject to the end, sacrificing breadth in favor of depth once she had grasped it.

"Are you still feeding all kinds of riffraff?"

"Celesta!" Medea raised her hands to the ceiling in irritation, calling the invisible heavens to witness. "How many times do I have to tell you! They're not jerks, they're celebrities! Ce-leb-ri-ties!"

"Do you think there's a difference?" The frail little girl smiled slightly. She thought an angry Medea looked very funny, so she teased her sister a little from time to time. "Okay, okay, I won't. So, are you two communicating?"

"Of course. You're wrong to be dismissive of them; there are some very talented young people among them."

"Are there any good writers?"

"Ratillon from Seki. What do you need it for?" The beauty, the lioness of high society, the successful spy, and, as well, the caring patroness of the arts, became wary.

"If we have to go free," the leader of the Taleyan undead snickered, "we should take care of our reputations. A favorable public opinion makes life a lot easier, even for the undead."

"What are you implying?"

"Let your boy write a somewhat romantic book," Celesta instructed. "Something snotty about eternal love, death, and the Prince of Night. Like, he was a great warlord, but his enemies poisoned his wife. Or better yet, they sent her a fake message and she jumped off the tower herself. Then he renounced Illiar to serve the Dark One forever. Morvan turns the warlord into a vampire, he sits in his castle for a hundred years, until one day he receives a portrait of a girl who resembles his beloved like two peas in a pod. The sufferer gets off the diet of the local peasant women and goes to town, finds his wife reborn, she dies, then he meets the dawn on her grave. In short, everyone is dead. Can your Ratillon handle it?"

Medea mentally counted to ten, and then inquired: "But why?"

"Such, so to speak, literature is especially popular with teenage girls, dreaming of eternal love until the grave," a cold, cynical, and calculating mask looked unpleasant on a young face. "Then they grow up, get married, tell bedtime stories to their children. The next generation will no longer think of vampires as the original evil. It will be easier to work with them."

The beautiful girl nodded slightly. It was something she had expected to hear. However, her innate wickedness made her notice: "Considering the conspiracy that is woven in the palace now, are you in any hurry to make long-term plans? If all goes as we planned, soon one could lose one's head for praising the undead."

"That's not bad either. A mediocre writer becomes a classic after his death, and it's harder to criticize him. Yes, by the way, there is no conspiracy."

"How so?" Medea wondered. "Then why did the governors of the Southern provinces so amicably ignore the latest emergency tax decree? Such unanimity is suspicious."

"There's no conspiracy," Celesta repeated in a confident tone. "Think about it. The Secret Service consists of four divisions, each dealing with its own area. The First Division oversees internal affairs, noble intrigue, counterintelligence, and the fight against separatism, that is, the excessive autonomy of the nobility. There is not much left of it, the professionals are gone, but some of the old-timers are still working. The Second Division is occupied by various kinds of sects, and we often communicate with its employees, too. The Third Division is External Intelligence and Counterintelligence. As of today, Taleya has no political opponents comparable to her in power, but this situation can change at any minute. For example, the Lord Captain of Deep Harbor marries the daughter of the ruler of Lanaka, and the resulting alliance will be difficult to cope with. The Fourth Division serves as the Human Resources and Accounting Department, so its personnel is guarded much better than the others.

Officially four people are working at each Division, but they are only the leaders, the visible part of the iceberg. It's such ice blocks floating on the sea. The bulk of them is hidden by the water. I don't know the exact numbers, but I believe there are about a hundred regular officers in all in the Secret Service, perfectly trained and educated.

Some of them we know, we have encountered in various situations, but I am willing to bet that the names of many are unknown to us. And each of them has its own agents, snitches, enthusiastic patriots, and other freelance sources of information. So we can assert that if the conspiracy had existed in reality, it would not have passed by this structure. The net woven by the "spiders" is very dense, and a small or very large organization is bound to get caught in it. Once the three nobles get together, the ears of the secret guards are sure to show up somewhere nearby. I would rather believe in the existence of a lone psychopath who miraculously cheated his way into the Guards and stabbed our dearest Chancellor to death during a night visit to another lady. And besides the "spiders," there is also the army intelligence, subordinate to the First Sword; the personal guards of the noble houses, the special office of the Guard, the department of international relations under the diplomatic corps... Not to mention us, the silent ones."

"No, Medea. If a conspiracy existed, we would know about it. At least on a yes-no level."

"Then I don't understand what's going on," the beauty admitted. In other companies, she would have pouted, but with Celesta, she could do without masks. "Before, the parties at court had never before been so openly and harshly intrigued."

"What's going on? Collapse. The economic and political mistakes of the government, the stupidity of the Son of the Sea, the greed of the relatives of the Chancellor and Queens, the dominance of the monks of Blue Ang... In this situation, many bet on Prince Kono. He has not voiced and is not going to declare his goals, he does not need to - the logic of events pushes him to make certain decisions. Which are essentially two - either a takeover or a split of the country. Well, he can also commit suicide. In a certain sense, the prince is not in control of his desires: he has many obligations to supporters who want to escalate the conflict. Some sincerely believe that Irrhan shouldn't be on the throne - I agree with them, by the way - some hope to get more material benefits in the form of land and money from the coming mess, while others have lost loved ones to repression and simply want revenge."

"Well, what should we do?"

"Watch. Waiting. Gather rumors. You know many feudal lords whose lands lie near the borders, don't you? Those who have the right to keep a retinue? Talk to them, much depends on their position now."

"With pleasure," the beautiful undead purred. "A little warm, friendly company wouldn't hurt after meeting His Highness. It's unlikely he'll want a closer acquaintance."

The meeting with Prince Kono was in the best traditions of the spy genre - the night, the secret passage, the figures in broad cloaks, the dim light of lanterns... Alas, the audience was short and ended with a puff. Medea had only had time to express her joy at seeing a kinsman of the Son of the Sea - may he rule forever - before she was interrupted in the middle of a tirade. She was informed that the current king disapproved of all things associated with the Darkness, and was only accepting Mistress Medea in memory of the many favors rendered by the undead to ancestors of the ruling family. The prince spoke briefly, hinting, but he said interesting things.

If you translate his words into ordinary language, it's like this: He'd like to help, but he doesn't know-how. The vampires and their network of informants were important to him. But to help them... at least to have some joint business means not only to spoil not the warmest relations with the priests but to get into the personal fiefdom of the head of state, carefully guarded against the eyes of others. Kono will not take such a risk, for it is possible to get a silk string to strangle himself for less. Period.

"By the way, shouldn't we invite Latham to the party? You have to agree, he'll make an impression on this crowd."

"Don't," Celesta declined the offer. "He's sending his son into exile, first of all, and secondly, I have other plans for his group."

Medea leaned forward, her eyes gleaming excitedly: "Does our unsociable knight have a son?! Oh, my goodness!"

"Didn't you know that?" Celesta was a little surprised. Normally high society gossip didn't get past her friend. "The current Baron Kaparu is Latham's child. A bastard, but he received some of his father's inheritance."

"He's about two hundred years old now," Medea recalled. "So Latham conceived him just before he died."

"No, it's more complicated than that. Officially, the Baron is considered the son of, um, his father. Don't smile, you know what I mean. It's just that the old baron has lost the ability to procreate and has asked a favor of his suzerain's heir. The line must not be interrupted. Little is known of this history, and thank the gods - otherwise, we would not have been given the order to eliminate Kaparu."

"Tulak has become completely insolent," said the beauty.

"The initiative does not come from him."

"However..."

A light knock on the door prevented Medea from making an accurate assessment of the identity of the respected curator. The undead looked equally disgruntled at the heavy oak barrier that separated their quiet quiet sanctuary from the greedy outside world, then Celesta set her glass on the table and resolved:

"Come in, Merck."

She wouldn't be disturbed over anything right now.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said, a slight wave of uncertainty and embarrassment coming from the undead who had entered, he was young and not yet able to hide his emotions. It was easy to detect them. "You ordered me to let you know at once if I could find Panari."

"Yes. Where is he?"

"Beggars spotted him in the catacombs under the North Market, so I took the liberty of bringing him here. He's in the waiting room. We had to use force, though - he tried to escape."

"All right, Merck," the mistress nodded. I'll be right there."

When the young vampire came out, the two eternally young girls looked at each other grimly. Neither of them wanted the party to end. There was silence in the room for a while, interrupted only by the crackling of embers in the fireplace, and then Celesta made a sour smile:

"I'm sorry, Medea."

"Merck is too dutiful," the gorgeous blonde said. "He could have waited a couple of hours. Nothing would have happened to your spy."

"When the crisis is over, we'll take a vacation," the mistress promised. "For at least two weeks."

A skeptical grimace answered her. Judging by her friend's silence, she was really upset, which meant that the zealous Merck might very well be in trouble soon. Small, but painful.

Celesta rested her chin on her clasped hands and stared at the man sitting on the floor. Most people, at the very least, would have been embarrassed by that unblinking stare, fidgeted, tried to talk. But the man, who looked like a middle-class merchant or the owner of a wealthy capital store, was confident. He shook himself off, inspected his torn jacket as thoroughly as possible, surreptitiously checked his pockets, and only then, standing up, did he bow gracefully.

"Messena Celesta. It's an honor to see you."

There was no great joy in his voice.

"Have a seat, Mr. Panari," she nodded at the massive chair. "Are you hungry? If so, my servants will go to the inn on the surface and order you something."

"Thank you," the mortal shook his head. "I don't have much of an appetite."

"Quite in vain, they say, the cook there is very good. Well, that's up to you. Then pour us both some wine from that jug over there and bring the fruit basket close to you, and let's talk."

After a little hesitation, Panari followed the advice. What could he do? He was a clever man - or should be said incredibly clever - and he understood the balance of power very well. Celesta could do anything she wanted to him. Turn him over to her enemies, kill him, glamour him, force him to serve herself... whatever the strongest undead in the land could think of.

"Why do you think I so insistently invited you to visit?"

"I've never seen you play cat-and-mouse with the victims before," the slightly wrinkled man responded after the 'invitation'. "If you're talking to me, you either intend to get information in exchange for freedom, or you want to offer me a job."

In her mind, Celesta admired her interlocutor. To assess the situation so quickly...

"Or maybe I'm just curious. You were considered the best officer in the Guard, your contacts numbered in the hundreds, and in all ranks. And suddenly, such an unprofessional thing to do!" She shook her head in mock surprise and went on to enumerate. "Your resignation, a heap of incriminating evidence falling on the palace through third hands, the Vice-Chancellor committing suicide, some dignitaries taking poison or trembling on their estates. You are forced to hide in the deepest dens of the capital, hoping to wait out the hard times. According to my information, you have tried three times to slip out of the net drawn by our colleagues and other aristocrats out for revenge, and all three times you have narrowly escaped capture. Why?"

"I'm tired of serving scoundrels," Panari twitched his shoulder. He thought for a while, and then confessed, "I also thought of the likely course of events, and realized that I knew too much about what they were up to. It was the combination of these two things that made me flee, though a little too late. They did not have time to remove me, but they did not manage to leave the capital either. And by the way, Messena Celesta, you flatter me. I couldn't hide from your servants."

"You really shouldn't hide from me in Taleya," the eternally young girl smiled without parting her lips. "Where were you going to run to?"

The man was obviously going to lie, but he changed his mind. He remembered who he was talking to.

"To Birat. Far enough from the kingdom that they don't actively try to find me there. Besides, a couple of my debtors live in Birat. That's enough for a start."

"That's what I thought for some reason," the undead smiled dryly. "A big bustling southern country, full of strangers and so easy to get lost in. "The spiders have hardly paid any attention to it lately, and you've got channels left from that black pearl story. Sure you don't want to eat?"

"I can't get a bite in my throat," the mortal admitted after a short silence.

"Then listen. I have absolutely no desire to help Laar, on this point we are similar. So I'm not going to sell you out in any case. You can get up now, walk out the door and go in any direction, on the surface you will be escorted. But first I would like to propose a deal: delivery to Birat or any other place of your choice in exchange for a list of your personal agents. I would also like some of the dirt you've been saving for better times." Celesta felt with satisfaction the slight confusion of her interlocutor. The existence of the papers she had deduced, Panari cherished them as the apple of his eye. "You don't need the papers, but I'll find a good use for them."

"No doubt about it..."

"Well, colleague, don't get upset! For you, it is only the past. Besides, my gratitude for the information I received will be tangibly embodied, and you will not have to think about your daily bread for the rest of your life. So? Do you need time or will you agree at once?"

"I'm in no position to argue," the man pursed his lips grudgingly. "I can only hope that the gratitude in question is really that great."

"I should be offended, but I will consider your poor condition."

"Excuse me, Messena Celeste," the man cautiously rose from his chair and bowed with some apprehension. "I am somewhat confused..."

" ...And you don't know who to trust," the undead continued. "In that case, go to rest, and we'll continue this conversation tomorrow. After you've had a good night's sleep." She hesitated a little as to whether to make another suggestion to the best living spy at once or to wait, but she did say so. "I have a little suggestion for your main specialty."

"Which one?"

"A man of your breed can't sit idle, and I need contact with my kin from Birat," Celesta smiled. "It's dangerous, but it pays well. Off you go, Mr. Panari. We'll talk tomorrow."

The undead has many enemies. The priests of numerous temples were always ready to lead their parishioners in the fight against the "trampling of the divine plan". The feudal lords were unhappy with the appearance of a disturbing factor in their lands. Other undead, in fierce competition defending the right to the blood, flesh, and terror of victims. Mercenaries, common citizens, bandits, and cultists hungry for independence...

The worst, most dangerous enemy of the risen is himself. Laziness, greed, unwillingness or inability to wait, the desire to take a bigger bite, not taking into account the possibility of swallowing the prey. Paradoxically, only those servants of Darkness who do not themselves succumb to vice survive. Ascesis, self-restraint, precise calculation, sometimes disguised as carelessness, become a necessary condition of existence. Some consciously cultivate the necessary qualities in themselves, while others need the help of a mentor.

However, even the most experienced undead have their breakdowns, which are difficult to cope with alone, so supervision is necessary. A kind of friendly support, combined with unobtrusive control. Especially important when it comes to the closest assistants who can cause a lot of trouble if they want to. Celesta watched her inner circle with the utmost care. However, only Zervan was a constant headache for her, and the rest of her associates "flipped out" much less frequently. For example, Gardoman's affairs hardly needed checking, though they kept a constant eye on the old man. So that he would not relax and remember who was in charge.

At the moment Celesta was particularly interested in the new one that Latam had recently brought in. Vador was already in his second week of "apprenticeship" in the dungeons, running simple errands and slowly learning the basics of postmortem existence. The first three months are a diamond period. The body changes, the behavioral attitudes inherent in a new member of the vampire society are established, the psyche has not yet recovered from rising from the dead and can be adjusted in the right direction. Then the energy stabilizes, the changes become habitual, and it becomes much more difficult to change the character, instilling new values at the same time. More difficult, but not impossible, and that is why all young undead of the kingdoms spent their first ten years in the capital. Among the bearers of tradition.

Much depended on the teacher. Usually, the newcomers were paired with an older colleague and ordered to memorize the map of the dungeon within a month. It was an impossible task: the catacombs of Taleya stretched for tens of kilometers, if not hundreds. However, this activity was a good indicator of the young risen's ability, willingness to learn, industriousness, obedience, and talent, after all. At the same time, the elders taught the basics of survival in the afterlife, explained the rules of conduct in the hunt or among human partners, and taught how to hold a sword. After the short introductory period was over, the newcomer was taken seriously.

Vador was allowed to send a message to his family, but he would not be able to visit in the near future. There would be no time for visits. In addition to the well-known fact that in the first three months the risen better feed himself every night, the young man had to learn the hierarchy of the city forces, starting with the official authorities and ending with the names of the leaders of criminal gangs; get the first lessons in weapons; learn which demons are a particular threat to the undead and how to fight them. After a while, it will be time for him to learn the basics of psychology and management, to be introduced to economics through examples of the undead's sources of income.

Later, when the young risen proves his ability to control his instincts, he will be harnessed to more serious work. They will allow him to acquire a personal network of informers or begin to involve him in operations carried out on behalf of the "spiders". At first little by little, then permanently. As a rule, the first informants of the risen were his family, so Celesta tried to help them in money or other ways. It wasn't altruism; the vampiress was guided by a rational calculation. There aren't too many people who are loyal to the undead, and they should be multiplied in every way possible.

In addition, the Security Service did not doze off and also tried to keep an eye on scary "employees". The most accessible and convenient way to put pressure on a risen, especially a young one, is his kin. The same Vador, for example, will comply with any order, as soon as he sees a threat to the life and health of his mother. So he won't get any information about the combinations of Celesta and the other elders, which are dubious from the point of view of the "spiders", for a long time.

And the undead broke the restraints imposed on them quite often. They could help the merchants under their control remove a rival, make artifacts for sale, perform some rituals related to the service of Morvan. Occasionally they took orders for assassinations if they needed to provoke the necessary reaction in the community, or if the community had some complaints about the purpose of the order. In the past, when money was needed, they could kill someone in a not too high position for a fee. Very often they helped smugglers - in fact, all the city gangs that operated in the port and bypassed customs paid Celesta a bribe in one way or another. For passage through her territory, for information, or in some other way, but she got the money.

Naturally, part of the proceeds had to be shared with the same security guards. The government was willing to turn a blind eye to the antics of its servants when it had its share of them. But, alas, the spider leaders did not want to let the vampire business go completely unchecked.

"Well, that's just rudeness," the mistress reread the report once again, as if not trusting her own eyes. "They have completely lost the ability to work."

Latham, who was sitting in the chair, only shrugged his shoulders slightly, reacting in no other way to the sentence. He didn't know what was in the papers he'd brought from the guards, but he and his mistress shared the same opinion of the declining level of professionalism of the agents. In the old days, vampires wouldn't have been able to bribe scribes, and certainly, no one would have allowed secret documents to leave the building.

"Has the kid been told yet?"

"As far as I know, he has not yet communicated with his family, Messena."

"Yes, it's too soon for him to see his family," the risen girl tossed the sheet to the table in a slightly dismissive manner. "Tell Egard to talk with his ward."

The bodyguard thought for a moment, then suggested: "Perhaps we should accelerate things? Give the newcomer a couple of tasks on the surface? He'll probably get an offer he can't refuse."

Celesta smiled at the edge of her lips. Latam loved the expression she had once uttered and he liked to use it.

"You want to evaluate Vador's reaction to blackmailing loved ones? It's a good thing, but right now he's not ready."

Relations with mortal kin were a sore point for most of the risen. On rare occasions, the family would accept recently deceased kin with joy, only slightly sprinkled with fright, and often it took a period of time for the father and mother to realize the new status of the son or daughter. It also happened so that they rejected a living dead man, refused to talk to him, and even called in hunters for the undead. It happened all kinds of things.

Every decision, every action has its pluses and minuses, good and bad consequences. Mortal relatives brought a lot of problems to the posthumous life. It was necessary to meet with them, to help with money or favors, to listen to unnecessary and empty news... Through the family, it was very easy to put pressure, to put them on a hook, to make them spy against their relatives. Which, in fact, the "spiders" took advantage of. The Secret Service had information on all the undead in Taleya's territory, and it was easy to get young to work for them.

However, over time, if one managed to get past the difficulties of the first stage of becoming a new member of the undead society, it was the living relatives who became the most loyal supporters in the world of the living. Often more loyal to the young vampire than the fanatic Morvanites. The example of Hastin, who, thanks to the descendants of his father and brothers, had ample opportunities in the merchant and military environment, though he rarely left the Academy, was especially telling here. In short, Celeste found it advantageous in the long run to maintain ties with relatives, despite the difficulties involved, and tried to help her subjects establish relationships with their families.

Vador's parents, as already mentioned, were informed of their son's fate. The news did not make the ordinary peasants, illiterate and superstitious, happy, but the small amount of money and the promise of a gift reduced the degree of religious fervor. In addition, the messenger was an ordinary man and not bad in practical psychology, so you can say - when the prodigal child appears at home, they will not try to kill him at once. However, then a representative of the local branch of the Guard rushed to the small village, accompanied by a dozen armed riders. He whipped Vador's father, stole his money, trashed the already windswept house, and demanded that all occurrences of the "vile brat of darkness" be reported to him, a worthy man. Otherwise, he threatens with punishment. In the end, whipping the village chief and blacksmith for preventive purposes, and taking a slaughtered pig for dinner, the band of valiant warriors departed, leaving behind them a nest of rumors and gossip.

Mistress thought about the situation and decided that it should be decided on the spot.

"Send Ama the Weasel there. Let him decide what's easier to do - move Vador's family to another place, slip a dozen coins to the headman, or buy up the whole village. The people there are poor."

"An extra spot relatively close to the capital?"

"Exactly..."

"It will be done, Messena," Latham bowed his head. "What are your instructions about the local representative of the Guard?"

"None," Celeste curved her lips, expressing mild contempt for the person in question. "Get his name, get some dirt for the future, and leave him alone. Such enemies must be nurtured and cherished, you might say!"

The knight nodded understandingly, sharing the mistress' point of view. He inquired: "Is there anything else you need from me, Messena?"

"No, mind your own business. I think I'll pay Hustin a visit-he said he had some curious information. And I have things to consult with him... Good day."

"Have a good day, Messena."

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