Emil, thanks for the preliminary reading.
I tried to calm down. Even though there was never any stress in my previous life, I didn't have conflicts with anyone, but I'm not a piece of jelly! My granny taught me to be calm and strong and to be able to defend my rights. Of course, kidnapping, captivity, and this maniacal house, a constant convoy, all of these don't add anything to self-confidence, but it is too early to turn into a hysterical person.
Why am I so upset anyway?
Ah, got it. On the carpet lay a newspaper with a full-page headline, "Mortal Kombat in TGS: There can be only one."
The rag, judging by the headline, is yellower than a lemon, but even such publications don't write lies. They exaggerate, embellish, or understate, but they don't lie.
This means someone has already been killed here. The police didn't find evidence; this happens, but there was noise in the newspapers. Who was killed then? Could it have been my father?
Because of the lawyer's visit, I thought Albert Terrent had died two or three months ago, but nothing in the house suggests there had been a recent funeral. Even if Dave treated his son with indifference and was happy about his death, then death itself will continue to influence the existence of the house itself, and especially the enterprise, for a long time. Irma, Eleanor, or even Chris would definitely have blurted out about Albert's recent death. Or even more so, Chris, who had an affair with Albert.
It turns out that my father died a long time ago. And Dave hoped to make Eleanor's son an heir, but something went wrong, and I was needed.
This means that the father was killed. I don't want to know why; it doesn't matter; all that matters to me is the threat to my life. And it's more difficult to defend against her than against Diongus Tinoliadis.
"What?" I asked. Dave was saying something all this time, but I listened.
"The gift of a calligrapher-ligaturer can't leave the family!" Dave growled, rather furious.
"Oh, come on, it doesn't have any value!" I said it contemptuously. "A crowd of designers, historians, and specialists in dead languages graduates every year. Hire at least a dozen calligraphers. Or did you imagine that I, as a relative, would do the design for free? Eat shit!"
Dave looked at me very strangely: with an absolute amazement, which gave way to suspicion, and then he said accusingly:
"You don't believe in the power of folitvons?"
"Do you treat yourself with an elixir made from hare droppings?" I asked sarcastically. "That's noticeable."
Dave glared at me with hatred. I just grinned contemptuously. And Dave said,
"The Alnorrian Bible Church recognises the grace of folitvons."
"I amn't interested in the opinion of any religious institution, and in a civilised country, they can all express it only within the confines of their institutions."
"No one from the Terrent family can ignore the church!" Dave growled. "And all Terrents are only Biblians!"
"I'm Calvin. And you owe me."
To my surprise, Dave didn't argue or blackmail me. He suddenly smiled as sweetly as possible with his nefarious mug and said that we would discuss this topic later, and now he had an important online meeting.
I felt scared. What is this ghoul up to?
But strangely enough, until the ball itself—this is a week—nothing significant happened. Even in the interview Dave arranged the day after our conversation, nothing special happened. Five journalists came, obviously from TGS-friendly publications, and said that there would be a live broadcast on their television and online channels. I told the cameras that I wanted to take my father's property, pay off the debts for the candy shop, and, if my granny wanted to withdraw from business, find a tenant. Then I will go to the east of the country and create a fund for the development of Old-Alnorrian, joining those who are seeking recognition of it as the fourth state language.
The fact is that the meeting with journalists was in the afternoon, and in the morning Professor Gatti brought fresh newspapers and five modern books of different genres in Old-Alnorrian to choose from, so that I could do independent reading, as is done when studying any language. And also a DVD with one of the anime that I planned to watch before the kidnapping—now it's clear why he asked what films I had in my queue to watch: Gatti was looking for interesting training material for listening.
I was surprised and excited that in the east of the country, the real language of our island is so well developed. There, they took the revival of real Alnorria culture seriously. Enthusiasts of Old-Alnorrian banded together, did serious research into which of the three types of writing was best adapted to modern software and easier for children to learn, and adopted it as the main one—not forgetting the other two as a constantly used addition. Since there were programmers among the Old-Alnorrian fan groups, they created language packs for several of the most popular personal computer operating systems and negotiated with their owners to add these packs to their product—via online download, of course. Support groups of Old-Alnorrian made alnorrizations of popular video games and contacted the developers so that such an addition would become official and could be downloaded through the settings of the game purchased on all popular game sites. There were Alnorrian subtitles and amateur voice-overs for movies and television series.
But what outraged me even more was that this was not known in other parts of the tiny island. In the east, for some reason, they decided that the revival of the Alnorrian language was interesting only to the inhabitants of their region.
And then I realised what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. There must be his real language on the island! And not only in the east, but everywhere. This needs to start from the east, because there is a base there with which you can work: teacher training centres, people who can make online courses and self-instruction applications for phones, and all that stuff.
Of course, the languages of the occupiers will not disappear in the coming decades, or even completely, but Alnorrian should have equal status with them!
We need to clarify here. If a tiny island in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea has many fresh springs, then in an era when there were no desalination plants and refrigerators on ships, even a piece of this island will be tried to be conquered by everyone who has even heard about the Mediterranean Sea. In very ancient times, Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Phoenicians, Greeks, Persians, Romans, Vikings... Many others made their mark here. And in the not so distant years, the south of Alnorria was controlled more often and longer by the Venetians; in the north, England was more successful than other competitors; and in the west, the Teutonic Order first dug in, then the Margraviate of Brandenburg.
And almost every vicegerent left by the occupiers very quickly realised what a treasure he had and how he could influence the politics of two continents if he became independent. And in order to turn his masters away, he needs to conclude an alliance with the aborigines, giving them more rights and freedoms, and then, with their support, enter into a second alliance, this time with the rest of the vicegerents who want independence. The occupiers soon began a new seizure, and the vicegerents again declared independence... In short, until the beginning of the 17th century, it was fun on the island. Afterwards, the United Republic of Alnorria appeared, and things became calmer.
The east of the island was captured on a residual basis, the British and Venetians looked at it more as a satellite than a colony; the Germans didn't need the east of the island because there is not a single natural harbour there capable of accepting anything larger than a fishing boat.
Groundwater is also scarce, and artesian waters lie too deep to have been extracted in the pre-industrial era. Accordingly, only in the east was the true language of the island preserved in the form in which it was. Although it was not used very actively, Italian and English were needed for trade.
What adds piquancy is that the languages of the occupiers were influenced by Alnorrian, and therefore we do not have English, German and Italian, but our own dialects based on them. Although, of course, the differences are not as many as the founders of the Republic Of Alnorria claimed when they declared final independence in 1614.
But it's time to return to our days. Dave didn't argue with me during the interview; he just said that he hoped to persuade me to join the Terrent family and become the heir to the conglomerate during the time that I was visiting here. I replied that he had Eleanor and her son, who would be more suitable for this role.
The news of Eleanor's pregnancy became a much greater sensation than my appearance in the Terrent family. The journalists instantly latched on to Dave, and he immediately ended the interview.
I didn't find out what statement Eleanor herself made to the press; I had enough worries with letters from friends and with my studies.
Fatima found all the wills on the Terret property, and Niccolò—he is a law student—said that the situation is quite murky. The Terrents themselves tried to create a majorat by means of their wills. This is when possessions can't be inherited by a woman or transferred through a woman, but everything automatically goes to the closest male relative through the male line.
The heirs rarely argued with this, but there were still cases. The fact is that in Alnorria there was never formally an aristocracy; from the very beginning, a republic of trading shops and workshops was created, and therefore the freedom to individually dispose of property became the basis of the foundations. In addition, Alnorrian women have had the right to property since the very beginning of the state. They could not give a dowry to their husbands if they didn't want to; Alnorrian women were only obliged to pay an annual interest on the house and children. Likewise, the husband alone owned his property and paid interest to the family. If one of the spouses wanted, then at the local city hall, he or she drew up a power of attorney for his half to manage the property or gave it to him or her as a gift.
And there were many cases when men, busy with long-distance business trips or politics, transferred all management of their property to their wife or sister. And a married woman was free to bequeath her funds to anyone, even the first tramp she met, leaving nothing to her children or husband. There were many cases when a man bequeathed all his houses and lands not to his sons but passed them on to his daughter or niece, who showed more business qualities, and she was not necessarily the eldest.
At the same time, there was a law according to which it was impossible to leave children, the living half of the marriage union, and parents completely without funds; the testator was obliged to allocate at least something to them that could save them from starvation.
On the other hand, there is the same freedom to individually dispose of property and the inviolability of property.
It is easy to guess that in such conditions, lawyers and judges in inheritance cases have never suffered from unemployment. And the 20th century, with its demands for complete gender equality and the abolition of distinctions between children born of wedlock and extramarital, only added fire to the judicial furnace.
In relation to Dave, all of the above meant that he could simultaneously bequeath the conglomerate and estates to any outsider, and at the same time, he was firmly bound by the need to transfer the property to the closest male relative on any line, be it male or female.
Therefore, there are precedents for any court decision. Law in Alnorria is normative; that is, it is based only on a set of laws adopted by parliament and not precedent, but in any normative decision, the experience of past verdicts matters. That's why pure normative law, also known as continental law, doesn't exist anywhere. And the most interesting thing, Eleanor may even try to sue Dave for all his property on behalf of her son. The success of such a process is doubtful, but she will receive a considerable share of the conglomerate and estates. Niccolò had just started studying the differences between normative and case law at university, and the Terrents' situation became a good question in class.
Considering that TGS is on the verge of bankruptcy, snatching at least something and bringing it under the hammer means ensuring a more than comfortable and carefree future for yourself.
However, all this is a matter of the future. And I need to solve current problems.
Now I'm at that same ball at City Hall. My dress and shoes are what I wanted. But the event itself is very boring. There are no normal dances, no stand-up comedians. There is no one to even chat with since there is only the society of "old money" and those who seek their favor. I am an outcast for both. Even my convoyers stepped aside so as not to get dirty from my unworthiness.
So I can finally escape.
No matter what granny says about the danger from Diongus Tinoliadis, Dave is even more dangerous. Therefore, I need to get out of the city hall, catch a taxi, and go to Fatima. I'll think of something there. And Fatima's mother will probably lend me money for the first time. Who, if not her, can understand my trouble?
And Carlita is a genius at searching the Internet for any secret information and knows how to use the darknet. She had already started looking for Diongus. He couldn't help but leave traces on the network. So we'll hand him over to the cops before they can find him.
Eleanor, by the way, didn't come to the ball. And, judging by the snippets of conversations that I heard, this is the main gossip of the evening. The gloating of the local ladies was off the charts; Eleanor, it seemed, really was an unattainable star among them. And now everyone is happily trampling the former champion into the dirt.
That's what this fool needs. If she had immediately agreed to help me, one would not have gotten into a scandal. Eleanor for sure had a plan to make the local sanctimonious patriarchal bunch of vipers consider the birth of an illegitimate child a matter of honour, but such transformations take time, and this is exactly what Eleanor lost thanks to her stupid stubbornness and snobbery.
A small thing, but nice. And now I need to start escaping.
I followed where the waiters went and slipped through the service door. Now I need to find some kind of jacket, a chef's or a waitress's one, so that the staff won't kick me out into the ball hall.
I looked for the utility room. And she found a grey janitor's robe there. Just what I need. The uniform will be noticed earlier than the fact that the ammunition sticking out from under it is by no means for work. And as you know, people in uniform always become invisible, even to other people in uniform.
I walked through the room where the servers were pouring champagne and water into glasses and placing canapés and tiny cakes on trays. (Cakes are lousy, it should be noted. Even our far-from-elite candy shop makes better cakes! Although, if there are two types of champagne here, for gentlemen and for rabble, then there are better cakes than the ones they served me.)
But that's not my problem.
I found the service door and walked out into the backyard of City Hall. The wicket and gate were locked, but I climbed over the fence. I chose the right dress—not the best clothes for parkour; however, escape is still possible.
Behind the city hall there is a small park, and behind it there is Ascension Square, which, if Niccolò understood the guidebooks correctly, is always full of taxis. Even if this park was a risky place for a lonely girl at night, it was safer to walk through it than to be seen on the street, which was probably full of the press and video bloggers.
Before I had walked a hundred metres, the park, the city hall, and Aesa lived up to their bad reputation: a fight broke out in the park. And not just like that, but with the use of flash grenades, which for some reason exploded in the hands of the fighters and did it silently.
But this is bullshit. The main thing is that now there will be a crowd of journalists and bloggers.
And I ran as fast as I could towards the square. It's good that the shoes have a small heel; although it's difficult to run, it's possible.
Something huge collapsed right in front of me; I barely had time to jump to the side.
The dragon.
A real dragon, like from a fantasy movie. With the size of a bus, plus a long neck, tail, and wings.
I covered my mouth with my hands to keep from screaming. All I need to make a complete screw up is to get the attention of bloggers, police, and kids, journalists, and other extremely undesirable audiences.
But where do I get glitches from? I didn't even drink champagne at the ball. There couldn't be a drug in a crappy brownie, could there?
I don't give a damn about it. Only taxis matter. And I rushed through the hallucination.
The dragon turned out to be prickly and hard.
Can glitches be so realistic? Or do dragons exist? Then why didn't anyone see them?
Doesn't matter. I need to go to the square. I'll think about everything else in the taxi.
I stepped off the path into the bushes to walk around the dragon on the lawn. But a wave ran through his body, and the huge carcass turned into a man. An unremarkable man of about thirty, average height, fair hair, wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt.
I took off running, but I was tightly entangled, from head to toe, by a net that came from nowhere. And a few moments later, some thick cable or flexible manipulator threw me onto something that looked like a hard sofa, and this sofa rose into the air and flew somewhere.
I was kidnapped by a dragon?!