- SPICY BEER!!! CREAMY BEER!!! SIGNATURE COCKTAILS!!! - shouted a beautiful girl in an eye-catching outfit.
My business was going well, and I made new types of beer from the endless mug, adding one thing after another and tracking sales statistics. I experimented with all the flavors and each time it turned out better and better. Moreover, a couple of times I even used my basement laboratory, where I distilled swill. True, it was much inferior in quality to the mug and was not competitive. However, Moscow was not built in a day either.
I myself was sitting in our portable shop, which had doubled in size. One half was occupied by Kara, who now accepted money and gave out beer. On the other side was the alcohol, which for now stood right there on the street and was guarded by my new friends. I was watching everything that was happening and calculating the estimate, analyzing statistics and preparing new letters for sending.
Camelot was a very large city and the demand for any kind of entertainment was colossal. Therefore, I offered my products to individual taverns, restaurants and bars at a low price, but with the requirement to determine the final price. Still, I understood that I would not be able to carry out fair competition. Although what kind of fair competition could there be when the mastodons of the alcohol business poured more money into advertising than I would earn in a year.
So my beer remained the cheapest in all establishments. In turn, small business owners still received more, because I paid all the costs of dumping from my own pocket. But I was not worried and was ready to play the long game.
"Your keg! Come back tomorrow!" Kara said, and then immediately began serving the next customer.
At this market, everyone already knew about us. People would arrive before it opened and drag themselves to the very end, to this godforsaken place where all the dirt from the highway would constantly settle on their hats. However, for such a price, even relatively wealthy people were ready to endure the queues in order to buy ten liters of beer at once for a month ahead. Or for a day.
- Mister Mordred, - one of my big guys came in through the back door. - There are some shady guys staring again. Should I talk to them?
— In suits?
- Yeah.
- Good for you for telling me. Watch, don't interfere with them. I'll decide everything myself now.
The big guy nodded and went back to guard the crates of alcohol. I was tallying up the statistics and crossing out some items that weren't in high demand and were rarely bought. Yeah, even with an endless mug it wasn't that easy. But I'll have to learn to cope without it, because I need much higher income and, consequently, production volumes.
It's probably worth trying to find real specialists and study their methods. It will probably be faster than trying to gnaw through tons of text in libraries from scratch, the meaning of which is still hard to understand. In any case, now it was necessary to resolve the issue with competitors, or rather with their observers.
"What is it, Mister Mordred?" Kara asked, who was torn between accepting money, recording it in the income book, and then issuing goods, all the while being distracted by me.
I suddenly turned my gaze to the soldiers standing in line. In uniform, but without weapons, they had come not for my soul, but for my beer. True, judging by their young faces, they were new recruits. Well, their presence made everything much easier.
"Do I really see the defenders of our kingdom?!" I exclaimed loudly, drawing attention to myself and gesturing to their group. "Serve?!"
- The King gave the order to form a new army! We were the first to show up as volunteers, - the young soldier proudly declared, to the good-natured laughter of his comrades who lived in the same village with him. - There will be a parade tomorrow. They say even Galahad will come, albeit without the Knight. He will give a speech to all the recruits. Without the pathos and the roar of tanks, but still a parade.
"Yeah, the second one in a month," his friend, who had an incomplete set of teeth, grinned.
"Well, what can I say…" I said, spreading my arms, and then took a bottle from the box under the counter. "Let's drink to the glorious defenders of the kingdom! Glory to the king! Everyone's drinks are on me!"
- Glory to the king! - the people immediately supported, which turned out to be not so difficult to buy.
The soldiers were immediately delighted, they were also served out of turn, given a present, and all in front of my clients. And the observers just silently watched my actions, making sour faces. They understood what kind of game I was starting. People's love is an interesting thing. After all, it seems like the people themselves didn't decide anything: however, it is only necessary to enlist their support...
Imagine that tomorrow my shop is burned down by evil competitors. And what will be the reaction of the people when they find out about it? Cheap beer will disappear from the market. And then, everyone will immediately remember how I helped the soldiers. It will only take a little push and the matter will quickly turn from a competitive struggle into a patriot's fight against vile boyars. The king can cover for his friends as much as he wants, but when the people are indignant, he will be obliged to resolve the situation. Descend from his throne and punish the villains with a magnanimous hand, so that the common people will continue to glorify him.
Everything was simple, and therefore, in addition to such patriotic actions, it was decided to engage in charity. Of course, there was little money: but the main thing was to create resonance and shout louder that all this was due to the competent rule of the king. Let at least someone try to spit in my direction. Then he will get tired of wiping his reputation from shit for an attack on the people's hero. Although I was still as far from a hero as from Terra on foot through the warp.
However, one way or another, the situation in this world was heating up. Whatever the king was up to, the creation of a new army was in full swing, and Galahad personally took the oath of future warriors. If the enemy did not exist, then why was it necessary to strengthen the military power? To leave the cities without these young guys who could toil in the fields and factories? Apparently, there was a threat, and they were preparing for it. Well, or the king was simply very cunning and outplayed someone else's outplay.
In any case, I decided to follow a simple and well-known proverb. If you want peace, prepare for war. Therefore, it was necessary to increase income, restore strength and form a guard, like other clans. Even if the war does not start, all this will be useful in the future anyway. A private army has never harmed anyone.
But where could I find people for my own guard? Take these big guys? It was a good option, but the peak of their capabilities was working in collection agencies or as security guards in clubs. They were not good for anything else: they could not shoot, nor fight. And in the event of an attempt on my life, they would be saving their own asses.
Other aristocrats usually recruited in the armed forces, where they themselves served as officers. But of course no one would let me in there. Just like in the army, to go from private to officer, I was not going to go. I have nothing else to do, and in general it is unlikely that I have anything to gain there except potential death and wasted time. Officers here were more often born than made. And with my reputation... at best I will rise to the equivalent of a warrant officer and will remain at this level forever.
And the solution to this problem was not found for a long time. However, one day, when I was once again doing charity work, a brilliant or not so brilliant idea came to me.
"God, what a hole…" I said, getting out of the car and immediately stepping into a puddle with my polished boots.
"Speak more quietly, Mister Mordred," advised me the same leader of the punks, whose name, as it turned out, was Boris. "For some, this is a home. A dirty, stinking one, but still a home. And many will never have another one."
During the time of cooperation with me, Boris began to change, and it seems for the better. Thanks to my money, he paid off his debts, began to wash, take care of his appearance, and in general, he was aiming for a higher income. He even found a potential wife, twenty years younger than him. But for her sake, he is ready to bust his ass, to distinguish himself once again.
Ambition even made him quit drinking. Having tasted a better life, Boris, like Lex, was most afraid of returning back to that urine-stinking alley. But unlike Lex, Boris also chose to fight, not take the easy way out. After all, he believed that everything would be even better ahead.
So gradually he became my right hand and monitored everything related to the security of my business. Warehouses, three basement breweries, five more not entirely legal production points, striving to get out of the gray zone into the white one. Due to the growth in volume, the quality dropped, but the low cost compensated for everything, as things went uphill. I studied, my specialists gained experience, the workers got used to it, and each time the end product became better. The capital accumulated through the endless mug helped to stay afloat.
And with all this, I did not allow myself to forget who I was working with. Boris was, after all, a scumbag. It was quite possible that he was already thinking about how to sell me to competitors. For his own well-being, and now also for the sake of his future wife, he would personally cut me into pieces and put me in boxes. And who in his place would have acted differently, putting the interests of some honor and service to me above the interests of himself and his family? It was stupid to ask for such loyalty, and it would have been even stupider to expect it.
Anyway, we went beyond Camelot to the wretched peasant farms. The landowners here were openly exploitative: there was debt slavery. But the majority were serfs, who were even bred like cattle, settling young boys and girls in new villages, who then formed couples themselves and gave birth to the basis of future prosperity.
However, the system often failed. And if in Camelot you could still find orphanages, then in such a remote place only temples of mercy saved the outcasts from certain death. I helped them, working for my reputation, which would later become my shield. I brought food, warm clothes, toys for the children. Everyone greeted me joyfully: people remembered everything. And the children themselves forgot about me after a day or two, because that sadness in their hearts could not be healed by any toy or sweet. Older outcasts, whether abandoned old people or simply cripples, had long since resigned themselves, dreaming of the day when everything would end. It was impossible to plant hope in their hearts even for one minute.
"Why can't we make prosthetics for them?" I asked Boris while the other assistants were carrying the boxes with help.
— There is no money. It is easier to replace a person. Cheaper prostheses are poor and often hinder more than help. It is better to ride in a wheelchair or get used to doing everything with one hand.
— And there is no work for such people?
- Yeah, the life of a commoner is hard, especially if you're unlucky with your relatives, - Boris said with a grimace. Then he took out his cigarette case and lit up. - Why are you interested, Mr. Mordred?
— You know… when I was a child, I spent a lot of time with my grandfather. He was a handy man, it seemed he could fix anything. Once I broke a vase, so he glued it back together. He didn't live as long as I would have liked, but as far as I can remember, he never threw anything away. If something broke, he would fix it until he was victorious. And if he couldn't fix it, he would find other uses for the thing.
- Well... your grandfather treated things better than some people treat each other. And you think you'll fix them too?
"I'm not God, Boris, and I'm not a sorcerer," I shook my head, lying without a twinge of conscience. "It's unlikely that they can be healed, but it's quite possible to find another use for them. I'm always short of hands at the brewery. What do you need to do there? Sometimes you need to carry raw materials, sometimes you need to pour one thing, sometimes you need to stir another, sometimes you need to stir another… we'll make separate prostheses for each task. They'll be able to work."
"Yes, you are a real nobleman," Boris chuckled, after which contempt could be heard in his voice. "Squeeze every last drop out of them, yes?"
- As you already said, it was easier to replace them, which is what they did, leaving them here. And if you try to be rude to me again, you will lose your teeth, and maybe your life. Don't forget your place, - I said calmly, without any emotion. After which I went to talk to the inhabitants of the house of mercy.
Of course, I was no saint and I did it for my own benefit, among other things. After all, people are extremely complex creatures and their every action is full of both good and not so good intentions. I felt sorry for them, that's true. I understood that I would pay them much less than full-time employees. That's also true.
As well as the fact that thanks to work they will be able not only to provide for themselves, but also to regain at least some pride and self-respect. After all, it is not so terrible to lose an arm, but how hard it is to live with the understanding of one's own worthlessness and uselessness. Recognition and self-realization are one of the most important human needs, like hunger, thirst, communication.
In addition, the plan to employ the poor should also increase my reputation. In addition, I will try to enlist the support of other aristocrats who, for whatever reason, will need to improve their reputation among the common people. The plan is reliable as a Swiss watch.
"You're doing everything right," a voice suddenly rang out, and a chill ran through my entire body.
"I haven't heard from you for a long time," I said to myself. "What are you up to?"
- You don't need to know this, but if you continue in the same spirit, everything will end well for you. And you won't die.
- Do you think I believe that death here could be my last? Even if that's the case, then in principle... I'm probably even okay with it.
- Don't you want to live?
- I have already lived longer than necessary. Besides, I am not so stupid as to rejoice in eternal life.
- I know, and that's why I'm telling you honestly, you'll be able to curry favor, and I'll reward you with death. By that time, you'll want it yourself.
- What else can you expect from the dark God.
- But I didn't lie to you. This really could be your last life. Or... something much worse than death or the Inquisitor's torture could happen. Your soul could split, and you would become a vegetable: a clot of eternal pain, a broken instrument that could not be repaired.
- I don't believe you.
- I know, and I know that you will listen to my words. Time is short, you need to hurry. You are moving in the right direction, but you need to speed up. You are weak, both physically and mentally. In addition, you need to improve your reputation, gain support. Become stronger in all aspects in a short time.
- So there will be a war?
"There will be something far more terrible and greater. Prepare yourself," the voice said, and it seemed to me that there was a little bit of worry in it, or so it seemed to me. "And yes, Mordred… you need a guard, don't you? You see these children? They have no families, they are abandoned and no one wants them. Give them a family, give them a warrior brotherhood and instill in them the right guidelines. It will be much better than any other possible future for them.
And Tzeentch fell silent again, and the chill passed. I didn't believe him at all, but there was logic in his words. I really needed to become stronger. This concerned both my reputation and the psi-skills that needed practice. As I understood, these abilities depended on my soul, a reflection in the immaterium. This meant that these skills would be transferred after each reincarnation. Of course, there were nuances: after all, something was lost in the process. However, in general, it was high time to learn to control my abilities.
As for the children... Tzeentch was right here too. I don't know why they weren't accepted into the cadet corps or why a separate institute for training orphans in the military craft hasn't been created yet. Probably because it's easier to take normal children who grew up with the right examples and were initially better suited for training. These children were unpredictable. Many of them already had bad habits or simply couldn't even write their own names at thirteen.
"Hello," I said, approaching one boy who was keeping his distance from all the other children and seemed to be the odd one out. "My name is Mordred."
"Me too," the boy answered, looking at me curiously. Unlike me, Mordred was his only name: after all, his parents abandoned him immediately after birth because of the six fingers on both hands. And he was lucky: usually such people were killed. "Did they abandon you too?"
- Not exactly... I rather deserved this nickname. I did a lot of bad things.
"And now you want to improve?" the boy suggested, which made me smile.
- In a sense, yes. Tell me, do you have a dream?
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