Kors tried to remember everything he had done to Nik, and everything Nik himself had done to him:

“Nik said, ‘I don't like beating you.’ My ass! In his Limit, he beat me not weakly! He didn’t pity me, he beat me with pleasure. He avenged me in full, both for his interrogation in prison and for Arel. He broke my nose, I was black with bruises, and he fucked me, enjoying the sight of my body covered with purple bruises, admiring my disfigured swollen face. Everything was fine and he liked everything. “I don’t like beating you” – oh yeah! He nearly killed me recently. If Arel hadn’t saved me, hadn’t distracted the Demon, he would have killed me. And yesterday. I still feel that hit. I was beaten with all might. I must have a concussion. Maybe it was not he, of course, but the prince, but in any case, he probably ordered this to be done. Or, even if he didn’t order, and it was entirely Arel’s initiative, he didn’t stop him. Didn’t say anything. I never beat him like that! What was I doing with him? Well… I insulted him, humiliated, “beat with words”, as he says, okay, that’s the least of my worries, these are just words. I tied him up, chained him up and blindfolded him. Well, it started yesterday. He dragged me on chains and blinded me. Also… I was beating him, not hard, but I was beating him. And I will get it, this is also understandable, it also started yesterday. What else? I put a bag on his head, put a stick in his… “Oh-oh-oh! – Kors literally jumped up in his chair, – Well, I have to distract myself now from this… What else could it be? Maybe there is something worse? I gave him a good beating with a belt for a lesson not learned, no… a stick seems to be worse. Shit! – Kors grabbed his captain’s cigarettes again. – Even at the celebration of the victory in Ore Town, I hit him in front of everyone at the table and knocked out his tooth. But damn it, I’m not to blame! Nik anyway had all his lower teeth staggered! I didn’t hit him too hard, the tooth fell out by itself, Prince Arel was the first to loosen them. No, the stick is the worst! Definitely it is the worst! I hope he doesn’t do it now, on the road, then I just won’t be able to get on the horse. No, he won’t. But when we return to the Black City, nothing will hold him back. What to do?! I have to fight, it’s pointless to ask for mercy. Should I call Zaf? He offered it himself. He worries about me because he knows his White Lord. Should I make another deal with the Demon? But what can I offer him? Money, slaves? The demon is not interested in it. Myself? Ha! The demon has taken everything from me! Pride, honor, affections. And love. The Demon has also taken my body and soul from me. Nothing is left. I have nothing to offer him. So what kind of deal can we talk about if I gave everything away a long time ago? And Nick won’t remember how much good I did for him, how I took care of him, treated him, dressed and fed him, he won’t “reflect” this, it’s clear, it’s not interesting to reflect love and care! What to do? To address Leonardo in the city? After all, we really didn’t quarrel, and formally remain friends. Leo has his own Demons, let him deal with my silly one. Gods, what am I thinking about?! Well, what is left? I need support. It is very difficult to live without the support of influential friends, and when you are with support, and the one who needs puts a word here and there, everything is completely different. I need patrons. Well. Zaf himself offered help, that’s great! And he has already warned about a certain “critical situation”. It’s a serious matter, I need to get out. In this, Lis was a master, that’s who could now help, calm the Demon and give me sensible advice on how to behave better. Well, at least he would just defuse the situation and make me laugh with a rude saying of commoners. Yes, Lis, you know how to joke, red-haired beast! But how to contact him? Lis doesn’t hear a damn thing, and neither does my daughter. Shit! Salafael! Should I try to get through to him? He’s the connection of the Demon with Lis. But maybe Salafael only hears the Demon? Or the Demon won’t allow to communicate with him? And if he does, what should I say to Salafael? “Go to Lis and say…” Say what? Tell him all the details? What if Lis is there with his father busy with the affairs of the city? Well, it doesn’t matter, nothing terrible, he will get distracted. What if he’s just lying around drunk? It’s more likely. Surely now his father does everything for him, as I did everything before. Lis can only look for trouble, drink and pour sayings. Salafael has Shag! And Zaf certainly has a connection with his brother! That’s already something!”

Having outlined the circle of possible defenders, Kors calmed down a little. He will not be offended.

“But why is Nik such a fool? Why?” Composure turned out to be short-lived, Kors couldn’t pull himself together. Thoughts swirled in his head over and over again. He went through all the possible options for future events in the third circle, over and over again thinking about the situation in which he found himself and how to get out of it with the least losses. All kinds of versions wound up on each other, the assumptions became more and more fantastic. One by one, Kors smoked Parky’s cigarettes, feeling that he was losing his last strength in empty fabrications, and couldn’t stop.

“What could I be missing? What I didn’t pay attention to? What else can I think of? And how can Lis help? Lis bends himself. They rolled Lis themselves as they wanted before going to Ore Town. He got it great, and he obeyed. How will he help me? With a joke? In fact, I helped him. I acted as his patron, promised to persuade the Demon, change his anger to mercy, so that the Demon would finally allow Lis to wipe the shameful clown makeup from his face. However, I didn’t have time to do this, but Lis thought that I had asked for him, and said to me: “Thank you!” So Lis must now help me! Return a debt! What if I speak frankly with Leonardo in the city? The conversation is very difficult, and what will Leonardo say to this?

“Mission accomplished!”

Kors jumped sharply in surprise. The insane flow of his thoughts was interrupted by Parky. He had entered the tent, unceremoniously jerking Kors back to reality, and now stood in front of him, awaiting further orders.

“Commander, everything is ready,” the unclean one reported again, seeing that Kors was just sitting, staring blankly at him, and was silent.

“Ah… And… horse. Have you put my horse under a canopy?” Kors finally spoke up.

“Yes, sir!” Parky saluted.

“All right.” Kors had nothing to complain about. Parky’s tent was clean and free of luxuries, which Kors felt were not due to his subordinate. Ascetic, modest, nothing more than necessary. Kors’ tent was quickly set up by the unclean ones. The horse was being looked after. Kors got up, proudly straightened his back, and, making a stone expression on his face, headed for the exit. And noticing that he had left dirty footprints in Parky’s tent, he tried to make his face even more haughty.

Entering his room, Kors saw Tyutya. She sat on her knees, her head bowed low, covered with a black cape, and next to her stood a basin of water. Kors understood everything, and immediately sat down on a chair. “If the water is cold, I will make you regret it!” he thought angrily, still wanting to vent his annoyance on someone. But the water in the basin was warm, pleasantly warming her cold feet. Tyutya very carefully and delicately began to wash off the dirt from his feet with a washcloth lathered with soap. Her hands were open, and Kors saw that a thin gold ring with a blue stone gleamed on the slave’s finger. “Oh, Parky, stupid wolf! What are you doing? Why do you give a useless cunning fox precious gifts? How does she do it? How does this red bitch manage to shake it out of him? After all, she has nothing! No tongue, no breasts, a dry cut hole. There is nothing, but, nevertheless, she has an influence on my captain, some kind of secret power, which she shamelessly uses for her own purposes and for her own good. She has hidden leverage, thought Kors, and I have no way to influence Nik! And why don’t I still have such an invisible power as Prince Arel has! That’s the only reason I can’t give them a fitting rebuff. Of course! Arel will quickly crush me with his strength, and Nik even more so possesses it to perfection. But not me! And they are not equal! Why do I hear useless thoughts, but I can’t squeeze anyone? Squeeze anyone’s throat!”

Kors tried to imagine how he squeezes Tyutya’s throat. Parky followed Kors’ orders and covered the slave with a cape, but not the one she wore in the city. This cape was lighter and looser, made of thin silky fabric, falling down in beautiful folds, it didn’t restrict movement so much. On the head, over a long flowing shawl, was tied a wide forehead bandage, tightened with a knot at the back of the head. Little space was left for the eyes. The forehead bandage and the fabric covering the face were connected together over the bridge of the nose with a thin black ribbon. The slave’s eyes were lowered and almost invisible, but Kors, sitting in a chair and looking down at the girl, saw her chestnut fluffy eyelashes tremble when she blinked. He saw that her upper eyelids were beautifully accentuated with black paint. He himself didn’t understand why this irritated him so much, and therefore angrily continued to imagine how he was squeezing her neck with both hands, but Tyutya didn’t raise her eyes and calmly continued to rub his feet with a washcloth. Nothing worked with her!

“Well, if I can’t touch such weak rubbish, then what can I say about others! They’ll kill me now if they want to! On distance!” In desperation, Kors again tried to squeeze Tyutya, and again nothing happened. He stepped back. Tyutya began to rinse his clean feet with water from a jug.

“Tyutya… Tyutya… does this bitch even have a name? Maybe knowing her real name, I can influence her?” And as soon as Kors thought about it, a set of numbers and letters appeared before his eyes. Kors saw it very clearly – “ms13590vg”. He always memorized numerical combinations easily, often marking his documents with numbers. He said to his secretary: “Bring me a folder number such and such from the archive …” I knew by heart all the numbers of the articles of the code. No, it seemed that Tyuti never had a name as such, but she had an inventory number!

Night. A low gray barrack with rows of wicker mats on the floor. Many girls, a couple of dozen, or even more, lie on mats and sleep. Here is Tyutya. She doesn’t sleep, clings to the girl lying next to her, they hug, cling to each other. Tyutya is eight or nine years old, but girls can be older, Kors is already used to the fact that the children in his visions always look not at their real age, because of difficult life circumstances they are thin and small. And Tyutya still has a tongue, and her breast has not yet been touched, it simply doesn’t exist, because it has not grown yet. A whole kaleidoscope of very bright, warm and pleasant moments swirls past his gaze, always associated with this other girl, whose inventory number is “ms137100of”. She and Tyutya are best friends, always together, laughing, hugging, kissing each other. He sees some classes in which slaves are taught to work. Girls also learn to wear a cape, Tyutya and all other learners have no face. They are constantly washing, scrubbing, rubbing and cleaning. They don’t really like it, but there is nowhere to go, and they dutifully perform tasks: they sweep and wash the floors, wash dirty dishes to a shine, weed some beds, pick ripe dark red berries from tall bushes. Daily work from early morning to late evening. On a certain day they are beaten, not for any faults, but just for order, they are beaten quite noticeably. Kors quickly flips through the story of the life of a slave, like the pages of a book that is not interesting to him. He doesn’t want to look at the memories, consisting of endless work, beatings and violence. But he sees that every night Tyutya and “ms137100of” cling to each other on their miserable mats and love each other. Oddly enough, their teachers don’t pay much attention to this. Adult women, covered with capes and faceless, they are not interested in the life of their wards.