The next day, Underman and his young ward flew to Zassadar, the capital of Vorsmiths’ county, situated far to the north from New Roma. The count had sent his private jet for his son, which amazed Kier. As he went down the gangplank, shivering from the cold northern wind, a huge black jeep raced to the landing strip. Siren howling, the aggressive car stopped right in front of Kier. A servant shot out of it and opened the back door for him. A small, red flag with a golden-brown beetle fluttered on the hood.
Looks like a heap of shit in a pool of blood, thought Kier, glancing at the flag as he obediently got into the car.
Sergeant Underman took the driver’s seat and soon had the jeep dashing forward at high speed. Escort cars raced along, behind, and in front of the jeep. The Vorsmiths’ antique mansion, situated to the south-west of Zassadar, was connected to the airport via a special highway. Far away, on the distant horizon, a cluster of huts flashed into view from the road, and then were promptly hidden behind the hills. There was no habitation allowed near the count’s residence.
It was quiet in the hermetically-sealed, armor-clad saloon; even the wail of the siren was not heard. Without slowing down, the cortege overshot three posts: the Mark Vorsmith PriSec Agency, the ImpSec, and then the count’s henchmen at the entrance to the mansion. Everywhere along the way, people in uniform sprang to attention and saluted, swallowing dust from the passing cars.
The ride took less than ten minutes. The jeep stopped at the front door of a massive two-storied mansion. A servant approached and opened the back door. Kier stepped from the dark interior into the blinding light of the ultraviolet flasher. A bit concussed from the still-howling siren, he resignedly went toward his doom.
Kier was disappointed as he took in the great home; the family nest looked completely alien. Once inside, he was led to a room on the second floor of the mansion that was allotted to him. The space seemed dimly familiar, yet Kier wasn’t sure. Did he remember the room, or was this only self-deceit? Brutari’s stories claimed he had lived here with his mother until he was four, but his conscious memories were only of New Roma. Kier also realized he hadn’t noticed any reminders of Lady Judith in the mansion.
The windows of Kier’s new room afforded a view of a small lawn covered with evenly cut swart-grass fenced in by a high wall of red brick. A tower with an armed-to-the-teeth henchman in a brown uniform could also be seen. Above the wall, barbed wire stretched and was most likely electrified.
For sure, there are also hidden cameras. Working within both normal and infrared ranges, the youth suggested. Well, I can’t flee from here … I don’t have anywhere to run.
“Are the windows bulletproof?” Kier curiously asked Sergeant Underman, who was still towering above his ward.
“Of course, my lord.” The husky henchman was as cool as a cucumber. “You can rest now. The count will be waiting for you at 15.00 for the official family dinner in the main dining hall. Your brothers, Lord Petr and Baron Mark, will be present. Now, take your bath and dress yourself accordingly. The count will make an important announcement.”
“What announcement?” inquired Kier, intrigued.
“The count will explain it himself. I will soon be back.” With that said, Underman left the room, leaving Kier alone.
* * *
Escorted by Underman, and dressed in the official brown coat, the uniform shirt, the formal trousers and the brown boots, Kier came through the narrow side door to the main dining hall of the Vorsmiths’ mansion. There was no one in the chamber. Kier stood near the door and looked around.
The rectangular room where the dinner was to be held occupied half of the mansion’s first floor. The ceiling, easily seven meters high, was painted with images of the lives of various gods and demons too vulgar for Kier’s taste. The giant oak table that stood centered along the length of the entire hall could have accommodated one hundred people with ease. At the head of the table, Kier noticed a low dais with a single empty armchair. The closed main doors to the room were directly behind the dais. Near the table were long, broad wooden benches with no backs. The table was covered with a dusty tablecloth made of an expensive material that was a blood red color, decorated with golden-brown stag-beetles.
The floor was dark brown oak parquet, while the walls were painted a bright, golden color that offended the eyes beyond all bearing. The entire space was stuffy, with a stale, unpleasant odor in the air.
Kier thought that even a person with a good appetite would have difficulty eating in such conditions. But, as usual, nobody asked the youth’s opinion.
Soon the count’s servants, wearing white shirts and black dinner jackets, began pouring into the dining hall from the numerous side entrances. They swiftly placed golden and silver dishes at the head end of the table.
To Kier’s surprise, there was neither food nor beverages anywhere to be seen. Having finished with the dishes, the servants dumbly took their places along the walls of the hall.
Three of the count’s henchmen then appeared near the ceremonial dais. Kier recognized two of them as the henchmen who were with Ariel Vorsmith in New Roma when he murdered Brutari. The henchmen wore traditional dark brown uniforms and held shoulder launchers and machine guns with laser sights.
An invisible voice suddenly boomed from the wall loudspeakers: “Baron Mark Vorsmith!”
A monstrous gorilla in a black uniform bumped into the hall with a rocket launcher atilt—pointed right at Kier. The latter thought with horror that this had to be his own brother, but quickly realized he was mistaken. Kier’s relative turned out to be fat, plain, and short, and was lost behind his mighty bodyguard.
“Hi mob!” cheerfully announced Mark, casting a suspicious look at Kier before taking a seat on a bench near the dais. Clearly breaking with protocol, the second son of the count was wearing not a brown uniform, but a black leather jacket with silver buttons. The handles of golden pistols distinctly protruded from the pockets of his aristocratic wear. His ape-like bodyguard stood behind him, close to the count’s henchmen.
Kier hadn’t decided if it was best to come and greet his brother or to reserve from expressing family sentiments when the wall loudspeakers solemnly declared: “Lord Petr Vorsmith!”
Three armed men in the blue uniforms appeared through another side entrance to the hall. Kier’s eye caught official emblems of the ImpSec on their sleeves—Fiery Eye atop a black pyramid. The ImpSec agents were escorting a short, thin man in his thirties who also wore a blue uniform, but with an officer’s golden shoulder-straps. The elder son and heir of Count Vorsmith attentively inspected the hall and all those present. Then he silently sat down on a bench facing Mark.
The count’s henchmen, the ImpSec agents, and the horriloid-in-black crowded near the head of the table. They started to exchange menacing looks and toyed with their various weapons.
If they start firing, they’ll destroy the whole mansion! thought Kier, still shyly standing near the dining room wall. Finally, he sat down on a bench closer to the center of the infinite table, trying to stay away from his elder brothers. Underman maintained his position, standing behind Kier’s back, his machine-gun at-the-ready.
I should hide under the table, just in case. Then maybe I’ll survive, Kier decided.
The wall speakers loudly came to life again. “Count Vorsmith!” Then the Imperial anthem cranked up. Kier, Mark and Petr speedily shot up from their places. The central aureate doors of the dining hall opened with a flourish to reveal Ariel Vorsmith in an official brown uniform. The symbol of the count’s power, attached to a gold chain around his neck, prominently hung over his heart. It was the made of gold stag-beetle. Vorsmith-senior solemnly strode to the table and sat down on the wooden armchair that stood on the dais. The anthem had played out and now a strained silence fell. Behind the count stood Tsapis, the egg-headed top-manager with eyebrows that looked like small mustaches, and a senior henchman unknown to Kier.
Ariel Vorsmith sat for a minute, staring darkly at his standing sons.
Suddenly, he rose from his seat like a thundercloud and snapped, “In the emperor’s name!”
“Attention and obedience!” readily echoed all the others. Kier slid a glance at his elder brothers and noticed that they looked just as confused as he. None of the younger Vorsmiths understood what game their father was playing.
Meanwhile, the count began his announcement. “I, Count Ariel Vorsmith, a loyal vassal of the emperor—may he live forever!—being in sober mind and clear memory, declare that my new heir will be my son, Kier Vorsmith-junior, who is now present here. I wish and demand that my beloved sons, Petr and Mark, swear an oath of loyalty to Kier, as the official heir of the county. Everyone on their knees!”
No one was expecting the count to make such a proclamation. Kier felt sudden weakness in his legs and, with a sigh of relief, fell on his knees, obeying the count’s order. On the other hand, his elder brothers stiffened as if they’d changed to memorials of themselves. Petr Vorsmith, who had just lost his legacy, was standing with his hands shaking.
“Idiot!” whispered Underman, who suddenly bent to Kier’s ear. “You must rise and they all must be on their knees!”
Count Vorsmith was clearly enjoying the casted effect. At last, order was restored. Kier stood up, reeling a bit, and his elder brothers went on their knees. The count’s henchmen, servants, and the ImpSec agents also knelt. The most pitiful sight was the gorilla-like guardian. He knelt, hugging his rocket launcher, and mournfully looking at the count, Mark and Kier.
Petr and Mark, stumbling and red in the face, swore to their youngest brother, “Eternal allegiance and readiness to serve him as the future Count Vorsmith.”
Despite all the commotion, Kier noticed that, once again, no one had asked for his opinion on what had just happened. Then the count declared that all the necessary electronic documents and the video record of the formal ceremony would immediately be transferred through the comm-net to the office of the out-satrap of Northern Heartland.
After a brief pause, Ariel Vorsmith suddenly stomped his feet and cried, “And now, everyone, get the hell out of here!”
* * *
After the “family dinner” was over, Kier was escorted to his room, where he finally got to have a snack. A servant in a dinner jacket wheeled in a small table heaped with delicacies on silver dishes. Underman switched on a mini-scanner and checked all the food for toxins. Then the henchman asked, “What will you drink, my lord? I need to check the drink.”
Brought out of deep musing by the question, Kier realized that he had put a spoonful of black caviar, which he had never liked, into his mouth. He somehow managed to swallow the delicacy, and then the young vor mumbled, “Something strong. Is there any vodka?”
“Vodka?” asked the bodyguard, in a bewildered tone. “Have you drunk it before, my lord?”
“I’ve got to try it someday,” Kier answered with annoyance. “Right now is the right moment. And you just stop ‘my lording’ me. It sounds like mockery, especially after you called me an idiot back in the dining hall!”
Underman smirked a little, but remarked in an even tone. “You must have misheard, my lord! By the way, tomorrow morning you are going to have a medical examination. That’s why I propose you refrain from vodka and try a red wine out of the count’s collection.”
“Fine!” Kier gave up, seeing that arguing with Underman was useless. The guardian expertly opened the dusty bottle, scanned it, and poured the wine into a cut-glass goblet. Vorsmith-junior took several sips and suddenly choked.
“What did you just say? A medical examination! What for?”
“It is per the order of the count, your father. Tomorrow, you will go through the examination, and then we will go to the arctic base, Aurora Borealis. You are enlisted into the Special Corps as an ensign and will draw duty as a senior weatherman.
Kier had hardly cleared his throat from choking, “Me-e-e?” Kier began stuttering. “B-but, that’s im-im-pos-sible! Me? I haven’t graduated from the Military Academy and—”
“The count decided that the Military Academy in New Roma does not suit you, my lord.” Underman was now openly mocking Kier. “That’s why he paid for your distance education in the Military-Meteorological College at the correspondence department. Today, you have received an officer’s diploma and the rank of an ensign. You can check it on the comm-net. Congratulations, my lord!”
“But I graduated from school only yesterday,” Kier objected, controlling his stuttering. “Tell me this is a joke, Sarge. You’re just fooling with me …”
“I’m absolutely serious, my lord. The count told me about this back in New Roma. He decided to make a real officer and gentleman out of you. I didn’t expect you to be declared his heir, but now I realize that the military service is compulsory for a future Count Vorsmith. You should know better.”
“I know that I know nothing …” Kier finished his wine and got up. “I need some sleep; I feel completely broken.” With these words, the lord-heir stumbled to his bed.
* * *
Kier woke up late in the evening as the setting sun was shining upon his face. Rubbing his eyes, the youth kicked his legs over the edge of the bed, sat up, and realized that he had been sleeping in his official brown uniform. Underman was not in the room.
Near his bed on the parquet floor stood the huge regulation boots that Kier now refrained from putting on. Barefoot, the young aristocrat went to the bathroom, the door to which was right in the room. Kier still felt tired after a long day’s sleep, but the burden of the chronic lack of sleep seemed to disappear. Having washed up and somehow smoothed down his dark, tousled hair, he looked at his own reflection in the posh mirror. A young and unsightly man with an exhausted pale face, too big a nose, and sad yellow-gray eyes was looking at Kier. The battered brown uniform hung on his thin, short body as if on a hanger.
Lord Vorsmith. Dwarf-jester, thought Kier, pursing his lips. Girls don’t fall in love with such guys … and nobody, in general, loves me. Why is all that?
He wanted to smash the mirror to pieces, but restrained himself.
After returning to his room, the youth shook off the odious brown uniform. Discovering the abundant remains of the gourmet dinner on the moving table, Kier ate without much appetite. After finishing his late dinner, the young lord fell back onto his bed wearing only his T-shirt and underpants. In his favorite horizontal state, he relaxed a little and, once again, was able to do what he did best … think.
Why did the count proclaim me as his heir? Kier wondered, laying on his back and moving his hairy toes. Not out of immense love for his little junior, that’s for sure. But there ought to be some reason—and a serious one. How is this connected with the murder of Brutari? And why is he sending me to the army? Weatherman! What crap!
As Kier knew, the World Empire consisted of two thousand counties, with the average population of each of the counties at five million, although the population of some of the big city-counties, such as New Roma, exceeded ten million. The counties were grouped into twenty countries-satrapies, with a population of over five hundred million. The out-satraps appointed the counts, in the name of the emperor, to their territory and gave them a part of their power. Legally, anyone could be the count—but the reality was that the counts were only male vors who ruled for life, and then passed down their power by inheritance. The precedents for outs removing vor-counts were extremely rare. Each count, upon assuming office, was to select an heir in a month’s time, usually from his sons or other relatives. After the death of the previous count, his heir was approved by an out-satrap almost automatically. If a count’s heir was under the age of eighteen, the out-satrap appointed a temporary regent that was, as a rule, one of the elder representatives of the same family.
Up to this day, the heir of Count Vorsmith was the elder son, Petr. But Petr had established too good a career in the ImpSec—captain, at thirty! And so he became dangerous to his father. Ariel Vorsmith had safely lived into his sixties; obviously, he was going to hang on for another ten years, or may be even more. It was quite possible that this would be too long a wait for ambitious Petr and he might decide to speed up his father’s departure. Of course, according to the Imperial laws, a murderer could not succeed to his victim’s station, and the death of a ruling count or his successor was always investigated by an out-satrap. However, this would have hardly stopped Petr.
Kier remembered that Brutari often said to him, “Never trust the ImpSec rats! They could do anything and make it look like everything.”
The investigation of the count’s death was usually carried out by the local branch of the ImpSec, where Petr was the chief deputy. Such possibilities for a small insider operation! And the out-satrap of Northern Heartland, whoever he was, would most probably be on Petr’s side. The Empire doesn’t need an old count who’s halfway to his grave when there is a young and prospective heir. Petr could just show some wit, multiplied by sneakiness, and he would be the new Count Vorsmith. There were dozens of such precedents in the history of the Empire. The main sign of power was always the ability to break the laws without being punished. And the greater the power, the greater the opportunities.
But old Ariel Vorsmith was no fool! He still wanted to live his life; and so took preventive measures. In the beginning, he seems to have made a bet on his second son. The Mark Vorsmith PriSec agency appears, generously sponsored by the count. But either Baron Mark was too weak a counterweight against Captain Petr or he too became a threat to Vorsmith-senior.
Judging by today’s scene in the dining hall, the count’s relationships with my elder brothers got to a critical state, Kier concluded. He can’t control them.
And so the count decided to introduce his half-forgotten, youngest son into the game, settling an old score with Brutari, as well. When Kier reaches full age, the count makes him his new heir. And now, between the count’s power on one side, and Petr and Mark on the other, another person appears to be eliminated.
But why is the count sending me to this hole? the young aristocrat asked himself again. Could he really be thinking that Petr or Mark will destroy the Vorsmiths’ mansion if I stay here? All in all, this is an effective move. The count and the heir are eliminated together! But there is a limit to everything … the out-satrap won’t miss something like that. Or maybe father is afraid that if I’m left here, or somewhere in Zassadar, I will start scheming against him? The heir of an oil-rich county—that’s no joke. Perhaps Tsapis or somebody else wants to cover their bases?
On the other hand, Aurora Borealis Base is most likely to be an enclosed military camp, Kier continued. It won’t be that easy to hunt me there, and Sergeant Underman seems to be a professional. I will be guarded like a golden duck. This will allow the count to gain some time, while Petr and Mark will be looking for ways of dealing with me. Even if I get killed—at least there will be an attempt—the count can initiate an investigation on the level of the out-satrap. Some dirt will be found and this will get my brothers to cool their temper. But it doesn’t make things any easier for me! Whatever shall I do?
Kier kicked the back of the enormous bed with his bare heel out of helplessness and anger. The tree mechanically returned the kick and the young lord hissed with pain. Well, at least I’m still alive, healthy and supposedly the official heir of the county! decided Kier, after settling down a bit. I must bide time and wait for my chance. Maybe I will outlive them all!
He stood up abruptly and turned on the stationary comm. After logging in, he first checked his bank account. Having put his right hand on the scanner, Kier instantaneously got the complete information on his financial state. Apart from the red change, he had one thousand yellows and another thousand greens that hadn’t been there before. Vorsmith-junior considered this. The count, or somebody else—maybe Tsapis—had estimated it right. The sum was enough to live for some time on the territory of the military base, but it was too small to start his own game. He couldn’t bribe Underman or even some filthy hound for one thousand dariks.
Besides this information, Kier also learned that he had indeed miraculously graduated from the Military-Meteorological College and was now enrolled into the Special Corps. There was even an appointment of the newly-baked ensign to the base, Aurora Borealis, as a senior weatherman, signed by some commanding general, Ice Morosev.
After realizing that Underman was not joking, Kier went to the door and cautiously looked out into the corridor. His room was not locked and his bodyguard-warden was nowhere to be seen.
Blatant negligence and disrespect of the call of duty! the youth gloated.
But it was too soon to be glad. There were probably hidden cameras in the corridor and in the room. Kier didn’t doubt that some henchman was constantly watching him. But even if the young aristocrat managed to get out of the mansion, by some miracle, he wouldn’t be allowed to go far. Anyway, it was quite problematic to hide in a world where you had to scan your palm to buy food.
Outside, night fell. The clock showed midnight, but Kier didn’t want to sleep. If they send me to the army tomorrow, now I have the last possibility to roam around the mansion, the young lord thought. Maybe I’ll get to know something interesting. He quickly got up and left his room, hurrying before his assumed wardens had any time to think.
“Luckily, it’s pretty warm in here,” he remarked, stepping on the soft carpet barefoot. For camouflage, the young lord had taken the unfinished bottle of red wine. “If anything crops up, I’m looking for some company to drink.”
Kier walked along the corridor. He expected the guards or the servants to turn up, or at the least for the alarm to buzz, yet nothing happened. The wide corridor of the Vorsmiths’ mansion was bizarrely quiet and deserted. The young man noticed several closed doors, but out of prudence decided not to check what was behind them. Suddenly, a big black cat leapt out right in front of Kier, blocking his way. Looking at him with evil, bright green eyes, it meowed with annoyance and disappeared back into the shadows.
How strange! Kier thought.
After passing some forks with several secondary corridors, the young vor reached a massive white marble staircase. Each stair was covered with a rug of the Vorsmith family colors and led down to the first floor and the main entrance. Everything in sight glistened in the bright electric light. However, the place was still deserted and graveyard quiet. Kier felt a little spooked.
Have they all died? he wondered.
Having thought that, the young lord became even more scared. Stepping onto the stairs and craning his thin neck every which way, he cautiously looked down. He saw the massive front doors of the mansion closed, and nearby a small guardian booth encased with bulletproof glass. There should have been a henchman on duty there, stationed in front of the working comm-terminal, but there wasn’t.
Kier still felt he was being watched.
The young man didn’t have time to react to this feeling.
The closed mansion doors burst open and Ariel Vorsmith stumbled inside, hugging the egg-headed Tsapis. The count had all his war paint on, just as during the official ceremony for the newly-appointed heir. Only the gold stag-beetle was absent. In its place hung a massive Order, Hero of the Empire, stuck to a black-and-orange ribbon.
That is the highest state decoration! Kier managed to think, and then, with a speed he didn’t know he had, soundlessly hid in a small niche where the stairs connected with the corridor of the second floor.
Meanwhile, the master of the mansion started going up the stairs, closing in on his hidden son.
Vorsmith-senior was drunk, swaying from side to side, but with the help of Tsapis he managed to make it up several steps. In his right hand, the count held an almost empty bottle of whiskey sporting a brightly-colored label. Having supped another portion of the drink, he stumbled and threw the bottle upwards. Then the count flicked a pistol out of his uniform pocket, and shot at his improvised target. The bullet found its mark and the unfinished bottle burst into shards right in mid-air.
Despite Kier wearing only a T-shirt and underpants, he momentarily broke into a clammy sweat. The niche where the youth was hiding was too poor a cover. Tsapis, who was just as frightened, fell onto the stairs right under the feet of his master.
Ariel Vorsmith didn’t pay any attention.
Then, standing on the stairs, the count turned to face the main entrance. He dropped his uniform pants and pissed down on the red-brown rug. Having finished this important business, Vorsmith-senior tried to adjust his uniform, but again stumbled and fell. After tumbling down the stairs, the count, his hands and legs spread in a grotesque manner, stopped dead at the bottom of the stairs.
Your neck should be broken! Kier wished from the bottom of his heart. It seemed that the same thought occurred to Tsapis. The top-manager, who had been lying still, swiftly sprang to his feet and rushed to his master.
If father is dead, everything here is mine! the heir-lord thought. His hand convulsively gripped the neck of the wine bottle he was still holding. But his joy was premature. The count sobbed, jerked, and said suddenly in a steely voice, “You won’t see it, bitches!”
When Tsapis, whose eyebrows were moving with the effort, had adjusted Vorsmith-senior to a more or less respectable position, the count was already snoring like boar.
At this moment, lots of people appeared from everywhere, as if by magic. Two servants and Tsapis cautiously took the count’s stoned body to his apartments upstairs. Several other servants started cleaning the stairs, and a henchman appeared in the guardian booth in a most mystical way.
Kier stood breathless from such a quick change of scene. It seemed like there was nothing new to all the other men. Tsapis passed by Kier, who was still hunkered under the stair niche, and noticed the young lord. With a swift movement, he put his forefinger to his lips. The face of the top-manager then bloomed into a cunning smile, which disappeared just as quickly. If any of the others noticed Kier, they didn’t show it.
Deciding that he’d had enough adventures for the day, Vorsmith-junior shuffled off to his room.
I’ve got to be more careful with the booze, he thought.
However, after he returned to his splendid prison, Kier felt too anxious to sleep. Despite his thoughts on the detrimental effect of alcoholism, he took the almost full bottle of wine and drank it down. The young lord knew that alcohol usually made him doze off, but the long awaited sleep didn’t come.
What are those who monitor me thinking right now? Kier asked himself. I must be amusing them.
He felt a surge of helpless wrath and threw the empty bottle of wine at the window. It was bulletproof and the beautifully-shaped bottle broke into glistening shards. Exhausted, Kier collapsed on the bed and fell asleep.