Artists

Chapter One

The Miller

"Not here, you idiot!" Diert shouted once again, furious. "How many times do I have to tell you that these bags are intended for export to Antwerp?" After a verbal reprimand, he stormed out, slamming the door obnoxiously. For twenty-nine years, Diert had owned the old mill, where, along with his disabled nephew, seven people worked. The "old man's" wings (as Diert called his workplace) were ripe for demolition or complete renovation, but the manager simply didn't have the money. The mill was located on one of the hills near Lowrpel, a village where Diert was also a resident. The miller headed for the home of his faithful friend, who was also his employee, but today he was ill and didn't show up for work. Diert walked along a dirt road that turned near a large poplar tree towards the road leading directly to Lowrpel.

The city of Kompativ was famous for being inhabited entirely by humans and elves. It was impossible to see a dwarf (only the face of a fat dwarf with a long beard was visible on a piece of paper, on which his softness scale was written; this paper had the lowest α, and therefore also the lowest cost). Such racial purity was ensured there by the Schmerzgruppe, which had been operating there for generations. They maintained "order" not only in Kompativ. They also expanded their activities to the surrounding villages and towns. They were preparing for another operation.

Diert passed the only inn in Lowrpel. A chair and a board with a large knot flew before Diert's eyes, lost in thought. A fight had just broken out between slightly tipsy peasants, arguing over who had drunk more. It quickly turned out to be the man in the torn leather jacket, because he could easily count the number of planks on the beer-soaked floor. "What a bunch of riffraff," Diert thought, "ready to rob or rape me." After watching the brief fight scenes, the miller buried his head in the collar of his black jacket and moved on. He had four gold crowns with him, a pipe, which he never left without, and an envelope sealed with his own seal, intended for his friend Martus. A tabby cat crossed his path, meaning he would be lucky today. "Oh, I guess not today," Diert muttered under his breath. The sun was slowly setting behind the trees of the nearby forest. The miller quickened his pace, wanting to reach his friend before sunset. He turned into a side street, at the end of which was the sick man's house. He was about three hundred steps away.

Martus had just crawled out of his warm bed like an earthworm and headed for the outhouse, also known as the rook by the villagers. He had to go there because his bladder was so full it was pressing against his stomach, making him want not only to piss but also to puke. Martus had six children – unbearable children. Three boys and three girls. They kept climbing on his father and asking him to make them a grinder. This involved Daddy grabbing them by the legs and spinning them around until the last beer came up his throat. Martus had a moment of peace in the rook. He had patented an incredibly tight oak door for it, allowing a moment of respite for the happy father's ears.

The Schmerzgruppe had just entered the village, which, according to the plan, was to house about a hundred dwarves. They were passing the first buildings when Lida showed off his observation skills. "Oh, look, someone's built a bunker in the garden." "It's not a bunker, you idiot, it's a toilet—a "rook" in Chad. Someone's probably taking a shit and farting in there right now," Zag explained in detail, then he and his companions continued on their way.

Diert saw a group of riders heading towards him. The miller, thinking they were merchants gathering for tomorrow's market, shuffled along the fence. When the riders were a dozen or so feet away, they dared to speak. "You know who we are, you stinking dwarf, and you're not afraid to pass by us...? Look, Bary, look," Zag said teasingly. "I don't know you gentlemen, but I know why you're here, and I have no reason to be afraid of you," Diert replied quite calmly. "Ha, that'll soon become clear!" "Schmerzgruppe members shouted in unison. By the way, I forgot to mention that Diert is a full-blooded dwarf, and in addition to his four golden crowns and pipe, he also has a long beard.

They dismounted – it went like clockwork. Lida's first blow was meant to hit Diert in the stomach, but he nimbly dodged backward, avoiding the blow. "Gentlemen, there's no need to be nervous, make no mistake," the dwarf said, perhaps not convincingly, because Bary had just pulled a knife from his boot and thrown it at the miller. He must have hit; he was standing only a few feet away. He missed. Diert bent his knees even more nimbly than before and leaned back as far as he could, so that the knife flew a few grains of sand past his left ear. Bary stared in disbelief. For the first time, he saw the dwarf's face, which expressed neither pain, suffering, nor pleas for mercy. Diert's face expressed nothing. The miller was incredibly calm, as if he were not present. Another Schmerzgruppe activist rushed toward the dwarf, brass knuckles in his hands. Diert didn't move a muscle. The attacker assumed a wasp-like stance and waved several times in front of the dwarf's face. The bandit looked deep into his eyes and froze in horror, then... fell limply to the ground. In the dwarf's brown eyes, he saw his left arm and ear being chopped off. He understood that this was his destiny. "Mother..." he moaned. There were four assassins in all. It was Zag's turn. He unsheathed his sword and lunged at Diert. The sword whistled through the air, catching on the cobblestones. Sparks flew upward, disorienting the seemingly determined Zag. The miller exploited this hesitation ruthlessly. With a swift kick, he struck the attacker's wrist. The attacker dropped the sword, which landed in Diert's hands while still in mid-flight. He slashed flat, ripping out Zag's insides. The attacker howled in pain and fell to the ground, covered in blood. A moment later, Diert heard a scream behind him. When he turned, he saw a supposed corpse, brass knuckles in his hands, running towards him. The dwarf struck with such force that he severed both the arm and the ear of the attacker, who, looking at the fountain of his blood, fell to his knees and then to his face. Bary was useless in a fight without his dagger. And so it was now. He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, as he hurriedly mounted his horse, he felt a terrible pain in his lower back. He fell backward onto the cobblestones. He felt strange, as his legs suddenly went numb, and then he couldn't move his head much. A gleaming bolt, covered in flour, lodged in his sternum, had been fired from a golden crossbow held by someone known only to Diert. His face resembled that of an unhappy child, perhaps retarded by several... years. It was the dwarf's nephew. The miller nodded slightly in his direction. He had vanished somewhere in the flour-thick fog. Bary saw his own face in the gleaming cave. He didn't recognize it. He saw a bony, hooded head. He quickly realized he had died a tragic death. Diert's calculations suggested there must have been another assassin.He looked around for a moment and saw him lying on the ground with his throat pierced and a mercordia in his hand. It was Lida.

The dwarf's breathing was steady. His blood pressure was also normal. Diert calmly brushed a drop of blood from his jacket. As it fell to the ground, it scattered into four smaller ones. These quickly sank into the cracks in the stone pavement. The miller finally went to Martus. As he passed through the wooden gate, he saw his friend emerging from the rook. Seeing the dwarf, Martus exclaimed, "I thought you wouldn't come, friend. Did something happen?" "Didn't you hear anything?" asked Diert, surprised. "What was I supposed to hear, after all, I was in the outhouse?" "Oh, right, your toilet," sighed the miller with a smile.

***

The next day, Diert, satisfied with his friend's health, set off briskly for work. When he entered the mill, workers greeted him by removing their flour-white berets. Diert went upstairs to his "office." He sat down in a comfortable armchair and looked at the previous month's accounts. He noticed that turnover had decreased slightly. Suddenly, the dwarf heard a scuffle downstairs and the raised voices of his subordinates. "What's going on there?" Diert yelled. "Sir, this hooligan barged in here as if it were his own place, and yet the door clearly says 'unauthorized persons are not allowed'!" "Not authorized persons, I guess," the stranger corrected. "See, you know, he can read, but he doesn't comply!" Warka yelled, red with anger. "Silence! What do you mean?" Diert asked. "Could we talk... I'm Marek..." The entire mill erupted in laughter. "Marek... that's a good name for a mother-in-law!" Kusy snorted. However, after a moment, everyone, looking at Diert, calmed down. He didn't even smile. "Come on, but hurry, I have a lot of work to do." Marek ran up the stairs straight to the dwarf's office. "Sit down and tell me what's going on." "So I come to you, Mr. Diert, with a proposition. I'd even say, an offer you can't refuse. Namely, it's about...

" Chapter Two

Artists

"The wind is howling in the desert, howling! I'll set off for the Viking in the morning, there's a party, a pile of hay... bang...

" "Shut up, dog! You're drunk as hell... Don't howl like that, because Prince Charles's soldiers are stationed here. They'll be ready to beat you up...

" "And I'll eat a lizard! Huzia! Huzia, where's Zuzia?

" The night was exceptionally dark, so the drunken Norman occasionally spotted a tree or a signpost...

"What did they write here? Dooo Kaarrczmmyy... Hey! Let's go?"

"Let me go, that's enough for one day..." replied Piwowarek, who wasn't exactly thrilled by another vision of a night spent on a counter in some dingy dive. "

Besides, apparently there's a lot of goblins roaming around in those woods at night..." he added.

"Goblins?! Give me the bastard! Let him come...

" "I'm telling you, they're prowling in those woods, not here. The wizard said that borek scares them away like the Mirror scares demons..."

"They're lucky then, because they'd have a chance to face me..."

Piwowarek really wanted to march in silence, but he couldn't because of his companion's excellent humor...

"Hey, forest fairies, do you have any honey to offer? Weary after a whole day of singing... My throat is getting dry...

"Stop!" rang out throughout the forest...

"Who are you and why are you bothering your prince Charles's noble guard?

" "By a Viking..." was all Norman managed to say before Piwowarek clamped his mouth shut.

"I am Rajmunt von Bere, also known as Piwowarek, and this is my friend from across the river, Sir Norman Mc Murphy

." Norman? "I didn't recognize you, you rake!

" "And who are you, calling me a rake, a bandit, and a whoremonger... You insulted my mother, you son of a dog..."

"It's me, Jason!" We were sitting together in the temple, learning from that... what's-his-name... Lancelot, oh!

"Jason! Impossible, he was shorter..." "

You forgot about the horse," Piwowarek remarked.

"Yes, that would be quite fitting," Norman corrected his mistake.

"Gentlemen, I invite you to join me in the camp! It's a long way to the village, but we have food and shelter. It's dangerous in the forest at night... They say a lot of goblins are performing spells nearby...

" "That's not right... and besides..." Rajmunt von Bere stopped arguing...

They headed towards the camp. They could already hear the sounds of revelry in the distance. Norman, excited, quickened his pace. Soon they entered a clearing full of drunken knights.

"Viking! You must have had a good smoke..." McMurphy remarked.

"There are still two bags of herbs left from the medic. Gentlemen, would you like to try some?"

"Very willingly!" they replied in chorus.

A wandering minstrel sang ribald songs... The knights were enjoying their last herb harvest of the year.

"Such a...! Truly a first-rate class, Master Jason," remarked the Brewer...

"Oh yes, the Medic knows his stuff... He seasoned it to perfection... So tell me, friends, where is the goddess Tehenna, Blessed Mother of Roads, leading you?

" "To the river..." We received a letter from above that Nermal, the leader of the spit-toned goblin tribe, has gone wild in the Hills. Downstream, an army awaits our support... I don't usually dabble in magic, but I know the tricks of that lousy race like no one else in this principality. Norman, on the other hand, is skilled in war magic... Then they won't move without us... Besides, we accidentally left the horses at the inn, and the journey is a hundred times longer because of it... "

You amaze me, von Bere! We're in a hurry for no one else but Nermal!"

"Then let's hope for the success of the mission!"

"Let's hope... And where is Norman? Has he had enough already?"

Suddenly, McMurphy burst into the tent with a shout:

"

Su ...​​​​​​​​ "Sure, yes... On my signal, run, do you understand? " "Sure," von Bere replied... "Right away!" They broke into a mad dash. They sped through the dense forest like startled deer. They gradually moved away from the camp. However, they heard no sounds of pursuit, which sparked premature joy in them. "Stop!" Piwowarek suddenly shouted. "What's going on? " "A ditch, damn it... And it's as deep and wide as it needs to be... " "What do you advise ?" "There's a way to deal with an obstacle like that... We'll jump over it!" " Are you crazy?! That's the length of a horse! " "And what's that shape in the distance? It looks like a bridge... but in the fog, you never know... " "It's the only way out... Quickly, while the pursuit still remains..." They set off towards the supposed bridge. In the blink of an eye, they found themselves before a massive log thrown across the ditch. At that moment, they heard the shouts of an approaching, furious horde. "You've got your luck... Run! " "Viking!" Norman roared, running up the slippery log. He barely managed to avoid falling. He was now waiting on the other side for his companion, who was already halfway up the beam. A moment later, both were firmly on the ground. "Quick," said McMurphy, "we have to throw this shit into the ditch or they won't get through." And so they did. At that moment, six overgrown goblins with torches emerged from the dark forest. "You can jump me, you rat-spawn!" Norman shouted cheerfully. "You're faggots! You can only dream of coming here to me, I'd give you a beating anyway!" When the attackers were just before the ditch, they nimbly and easily jumped over it. *** "I knew they'd jump..." said McMurphy, picking his tooth with his dagger. "I'd rather not guess what would have happened to us if it hadn't been for the relief force..." Piwowarek remarked. "I already had a lot of sulfur in my hand. I could easily have sent a firebird their way." "I doubt it... especially since it wasn't sulfur, but parched rice..."

"No matter. Apparently, a certain tribe from the east performs such tricks with rice that more than one of our wizards would hide under the table if they saw something like that."

They were sitting in a castle chamber now, sipping wine from the prince's cellars. They were beside themselves with joy that they had finally been able to take a bath and change their clothes.

"Late summer is the most beautiful time of the year," Norman said. "It makes you want to revel and dance until dawn...

" "And you're talking about revelry again. Tonight we set off with an escort to goblin. The troops in Bzdury are already getting restless. The boys are eager for battle."

"Bzdury is a long way from here. We'll be on horseback for two days..."

"It's nothing," Rajmunt mused, having long since given up on fighting. He had planned to settle somewhere by the river, build a cottage, and look after his wife and children there. His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Please, please!"

A tall man with pearl-blond hair entered the lighted room. He wasn't an old man, though; quite the opposite, he radiated youthful charisma. He was dressed in dark robes, the kind once worn by Kompativ priests.

"Gentlemen," he said to Piwowarek and McMurphy, who were seated in armchairs

. "I have a proposition for you. Forgive me, I'm Marek.

" "Marek?" Norman asked, surprised. "Where did you get that name from? I'm Norman McMurphy, and this is my faithful companion, Rajmunt von Bere, also known as Piwowarek.

" "I know, I know," Marek replied. "I come to you with a proposition. I have a job for you, worth quite a bit of money.

" "I'd be happy to," Piwowarek replied. "But it so happens you're late, Mr. Marek, because we're already hired by the Prince." "

I've already settled that matter with Mr. Charles. There are fewer goblins than we thought." You probably won't be needed at the front. For me, your help may prove very necessary. So what's it going to be like?

"Tell me what's going on..."

Chapter Three:

Thief

The thief ran as fast as he could. He passed the densely packed stalls with catlike agility and uncanny precision. When he looked back, he noticed a large crowd already running after him, not only guards, but also ordinary merchants and villagers.

"Such a big deal about some fucking ring," the thief muttered under his breath. With a sharp turn, he turned right. A dead end.

"Well, that's great," the pursued man commented. At the end of the road stood a brick wall, several dozen feet high. The thief stopped just below it.

"We have you, you filthy thief. Take us straight to the town hall and banish us from the village once and for all!" shouted a fat woman with a pitchfork in her hands.

"Cut off his fingers so he'll never lend again for eternal devotion!" added the peasant in the straw hat. The thief was dressed in a black cloak, the hood of which obscured his face. The cloak reached down to his knees. Beneath it were red trousers and raven boots.

"Take him!" shouted the guard. At the same moment, the thief jumped and twirled in the air. In the blink of an eye, he was on top of the wall.

"Damn him!" cursed the merchant from Antwerp, suddenly dropping a thick stalk from his hands. When the thief was on the other side, he could still hear curses and insults being thrown at him behind him. "

Now that's a penis!" added the woman with the pitchfork. "What can people come up with?" the thug thought, and pulled his prize from his pocket. It was a gold ring, additionally set with colorful stones

. "Emeralds, I think." You could get a lot for it, but not here in this hole. Maybe in Kompativ? Suddenly, the thief felt a terrible headache and saw a bright light before his eyes, and then he simply lost consciousness...

***

...The thief awoke in the cold, urine-smelling city hall cell.

"My head," he stammered with a grimace as he felt a large lump under his hood. He put his hand in his pocket. The ring, of course, was gone. As the thief slowly recovered, he heard an argument in the corridor:

"But sir, you can't do that... how do you mean to take it... wait... wait! But first... you have to... right..." A clatter of coins echoed in the corridor.

"Third cell on the left." A certain man, previously unknown to him, appeared before the prisoner. He must have come from a distinguished family, as he was well dressed and well-groomed for the time. The guard opened the cell.

"You're free to go," the stranger said. They left the city hall together.

"Thank you," the thief said, removing his hood. The rescuer's face was etched with astonishment. Long, milky-white hair flowed over the former prisoner's shoulders. A beautiful, delicate, yet determined face appeared. Her azure eyes could drive many mad.

"You're a f---, I mean, you have a f---," the stranger managed to stammer.

"Yes, I'm a woman and I have everything in place... Blanka," the woman said, extending her hand.

"Marek," he introduced himself, still unable to believe who stood before him. "

I saw you in action with that ring. You were really good. How did you get it off his finger? There were a lot of people there. Oh... I see—whirl, war, wur, the ring is mine, yeah..." He chuckled.

"How I did it is a professional secret. But okay, Jarek, I mean, Marek. That's not what you want to talk to me about, is it? Tell me why you dragged me out of there, what's your problem?" Blanka asked. "

See, because I'm looking for someone just like you."

"I'm not interested in a permanent relationship yet, if that's what you mean," she replied with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

"No, no, that's not the point. I won't say... there's something about you that could make you lose your head, isn't it... But let's get to the heart of the matter... Mrs. Blanka... hey, Blanka!" Blanka felt another terrible pain in her temples and saw a bright light again...

Chapter Four:

Liliputia

"By a Viking!" Norman exclaimed, quite agitated. "You won't find Liliputia Street in shitty Kompativ.

" "Be quiet, maybe you'll find someone to ask," Piwowarek replied calmly.

"You're done!" McMurphy snorted. "Probably game, because you won't see a living person at three in the morning!"

They headed to the opposite side of the market square, to a row of brownish tenement houses that probably dated back to the times of the Great Dynasty. The only thing they could hear was the clatter of horses' hooves on the dusty cobblestones. Their mounts seemed even more weary from their search than they were.

"Look over there! The Musty Blanket; the inn is a sure bet. Is it still open?"

"Leave me alone," Von Bere sighed. "You need to wear blinders, you can't see where you can fall."

They wandered from street to street for a good half hour. Piwowarek was already considering the option of going to the inn when they heard a call:

"Gentlemen!" A stocky dwarf was slowly walking toward them. "Gentlemen, do you know how I can get to Lilliputian Street?" the representative of the Inferior Race asked politely.

"Ha!" Norman replied. "So we've had the same problem."

"Gentlemen, we're also here for a meeting?

" "Of course!" We need to discuss this whole ridiculous escapade," McMurphy replied. "

Remember, Norman, when money is involved, nothing is funny," his companion corrected him. "I'm Rajmunt Von Bere, also known as the Brewer, and this is my friend Norman McMurphy, also known as Norman McMurphy." "

I'm Diert, the Miller.

" "So, hello, Mr. Miller," Norman said cheerfully. "I think we'll have to drink to the future of our new acquaintance soon.

" "Indeed we will," Rajmunt interjected. "But not 'in a hurry,' but when it's all over.

" "Let's go to the inn and ask for directions," Diert suggested. McMurphy muttered something under his breath about beer, and then they headed toward the sign "Under the Musty Blanket." The entrance door was massive and studded. It didn't even have a doorknob, just a brass knocker. This was the invention von Bere had used. For a long time, nothing moved inside, but before they could completely lose hope, they heard footsteps.

"Who the fuck is it?!" someone roared in a very deep voice.

"No, no... We're not going there," Norman replied, or rather shouted back. "We're just in a hurry to get to Liliputia.

" "Then you've made a real mistake!" the unpleasant individual laughed through the door.

"To err is human," Von Bere replied. "And so is the dwarven one..." he added after a moment's thought.

"Keep going south," Rajmunt's suggestion clearly worked. "When you get to the monastery, turn right towards 'Jan's Inn.' Liliputia is somewhere there.

" "You had to do it right away," Norman concluded.

They did as he told them. The journey was long and tedious, so McMurphy decided he should amuse the company:

"Do you know the joke about the fisherman?" he asked, hoping they'd say no.

"No," they replied. "

There's a fisherman sitting there, and this guy comes up to him and asks, 'Are they biting?'" and the fisherman replied, "They're taking..."; "Did you catch anything?"; "One," he replied; "What did you do with it?"; "I threw it into the water..."; "Was it big?"; "Just like you, and it pissed me off too..."

- "Buahaha!" Piwowarek laughed loudly. "That's good...

" - "A nail..." commented the smiling dwarf.

"Hey Norman! Tell me about the fairy!" Rajmunt suggested. "

It's happening... but what was it like? Hmm... She was lying in wait for a prince... or even a dragon... I don't think I remember," Norman said.

"It's a damn shame, because I don't remember either," Piwowarek added, then looked at the Miller. "And you, ladies? Do you know any anecdotes?"

- "Not really..." Diert replied, scratching his head.

"Mr. Diert, where do you come from?" Norman asked

. "I live in a village, not far from..." the dwarf said calmly.

"And you don't know where Liliputia is?! How is that possible?" Von Bere was surprised. "

I rarely venture beyond my homestead and the old mill," Diert replied. "You see, gentlemen, not everywhere our race lives well. Here in Kompativ, people don't really like it when someone looks different from themselves.

" "Ha!" Norman exclaimed. "Damned intellectuals! Here, sir, we don't have all that fashionable racism. In the Duchy, you can even meet a gnome... Hell! He'll even tell you he lives well.

" "I think I see 'Jan's Inn,'" Rajmunt interrupted. "Aha! And there it stands like a bull: 'Liliputia'!" Okay, Norman, now remember what number it was.

"I remember perfectly!" McMurphy said, outraged. "It was something about three... thirteen, I think... or even twenty-three...

" "That's true, congratulations on your memory," Piwowarek laughed.

"Don't be so smart," Norman replied. "I'll ask the hooded man on the stairs where this nondescript Mr. Marek lives." He dismounted and headed toward a red tenement building, on whose steps sat a figure dressed in a dark cloak. His head was completely covered by the hood.

"Hey, friend!" he said. "Do you know where Mr. Marek is..." He was speechless for a moment as a woman's face emerged from under his hood. A beautiful woman's face. "Well, in this situation, my friend, what was it I wanted to do?"

"To ask for directions," she replied calmly, in a voice so alluring that it sent shivers down Norman's spine.

"Exactly!" he said. "I'm looking for Mr. Marek.

" "This is his house," she replied. "Except Mr. Marek is a little late.

" "Something important probably detained him," said McMurphy, then nodded at his companions.

"Here it is!" he exclaimed. A few seconds later, everyone was sitting on the wide steps of the beautiful tenement house.

"Madam, allow me to introduce you," said Piwowarek. "This dwarf here is Diert-Młynarz, a man you've already met. He's Norman McMurphy, my companion and friend." I am Rajmunt, please don't confuse him with Rajmund, Von Bere, also known as Brewer.

"I'm Blanka, nice to meet you." She smiled broadly, showing off a row of snow-white teeth. "It seems our wait is over."

A fair-haired individual, mounted on a black horse, whose coat perfectly matched the color of his black priestly robes, was heading their way.

"I apologize for being late. I see the team is complete. I'll take the horses to the stables, and you're welcome to come in." With that, he handed them a key.

***

"We're leaving tomorrow at dawn," Marek announced. "We can't waste time. I learned today that we'll have competition. Mayor Ed Miller sent his men out last night. But let's be optimistic. I managed to arrange a boat to take us to the island. I'll need all your skills during the journey, so try to regain your strength. Any questions?"

"Could you tell us, Mr. Marek," said Rajmunt, "what is so special about these parchments that our Prince Charles, Starosta Miller, and gods know who else want to get their hands on them at any cost?

" "You see, Lord Rajmunt..." he replied, "These are no ordinary parchments. They contain spells, very useful in economics, if you know what I mean..."

"Since we're on the subject of money," Norman interjected, "how much will it cost us per person exactly? "

"The Prince promised two hundred thousand crowns for each of us, provided the parchments are intact, of course.

" "Does he have that much money?" McMurphy asked, surprised.

"Wait," Miller interjected. "You said we'd only be rewarded if the parchments were intact, but what if they were already in tatters?"

"It's a risk we have to take," Marek replied. "Aristocrats don't usually pay for anything.

" "How long will it take us to get to the sea?" asked Blanka, who had been listening to the conversation.

"About three days on horseback, assuming there were no surprises." Marek didn't even realize he'd been staring at the Thief's face for a long time.

"Except I don't have a horse," Diert said.

"Don't worry, Miller, I've already arranged two wonderful mares for you and Blanka," he replied with a smile. "Any more doubts?"

"Where will we meet tomorrow?" Von Bere asked.

"Here, at sunrise," Marek replied, pulling his hood over his head. "I don't know if you know, but it's pouring rain outside. Maybe you want to spend the night here? I'll leave you the key.

" "I have to go, take care of some business at the mill," Diert said. "See you tomorrow, then.

" "I'm seen here." Norman looked around the room. "But I won't miss out on exploring this city. I still need to buy a few medicines."

"You're right, Norman," Piwowarek said, "we'll come back this evening, and you, Blanka?" He turned toward the empty chair where, moments ago, one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen had sat.

Chapter Five:

Under the Musty Blanket.

Rajmunt von Bere and Norman McMurphy, exhausted from shopping, comparable to that done on the Day of the Blessed Dawn, the Wonderfully Dressed, didn't hesitate to stop by the "Under the Musty Blanket" inn. They sat down at a table, unloading heavy luggage from their aching backs.

"For a Viking's sake, a donkey can carry less than us, and we have to get across the water with it," Norman managed to stammer. "

Because you're as stupid as a donkey! Why the hell do you have so much stuff?"

"Because since the day you ran out, there's no one to even keep an eye on you when you go shopping...

" "Who said to put that rake back and not force that barrel of gunpowder, because the seams will be all over the place and you'll have to set off on your journey with just one backpack? Who else but Rajmunt von Bere yelled when you reached for a jug of gray wine and demanded twenty feet of rope from the seller? Well, now you're in for a cake

, woman..." Piwowarek replied. "But a barrel of gunpowder, you won't say it like a hot knife through butter, ha, ha... And don't be so smart, von Bere, because you bought crap like that, your bones are creaking. Yes, yes... don't look so stupid now. Load your backpack with kindling... It's good there's no snow, or the water would be pouring down behind you like sand behind Krzyś, he, he..."

"Shut up, McMurphy, you're no better!" Brewer sneered at Norman. From that moment on, they sat silently for a good three-quarters of an hour, sharing a mug of beer and snacking on whole-wheat bread with lard. The inn slowly emptied, as the sun was already touching the horizon, and everyone was suddenly in a hurry to get home. Besides the two companions, only an elderly man remained in the inn, sipping a beer at a table near the door. The innkeeper was already cleaning up, exchanging occasional words with the same customer. Suddenly, three drunken thugs entered the inn, staggering slightly. They stood near the bar and called for beers. The innkeeper politely explained that it was closing soon and they unfortunately had to leave. Then one of them pulled out a knife and plunged it into the bar counter. The other approached the merchant by the door, shouting at the entire inn.

"Oh look, this one has beer!" He bluntly took his mug and drank the rest. The others continued calling for beer. One pulled a sword from his robes. Meanwhile, a gunpowder pistol appeared in the merchant's hand. One of the thugs noticed this and quickly knocked it out of his hands, then began to insult him. Another overturned a table. Then they noticed Norman and Rajmunt, their eyes wide and their mouths open like fish.

"By the Viking, and I thought we could get by without us," McMurphy sighed. One of the robbers approached them.

"I see you have beer too!" He took a mug from the table and drained it. He poured the contents of the second one on Piwowarek.

"Don't spill the beer," McMurphy replied. The thug spat in his face.

"Oh no, sir, that's enough!" Norman exclaimed, taking a rolling pin from his backpack. He struck with all his might, breaking the "weapon" in half and sending the brawler crashing to the floor. Hearing the bang behind them, the others stopped beating the merchant and rushed towards them.

"Do you have a plan, brave seeker of enchanted parchments?" Piwowarek asked with a hint of irony in his voice.

"Not yet, but I think I will soon," McMurphy replied, reaching for the pouch tied to his belt. He pulled out a handful of blue powder.

"You'd better know what you're doing," von Bere muttered. Norman whispered something under his breath and threw what he had in his hand at their feet. A puff of smoke engulfed them, which a moment later vanished... along with them. The robbers were stunned.

Meanwhile, Raymond and Norman had dragged the merchant outside the inn and together they hid beside the inn, just behind the empty beer barrels. They heard the thugs running out of the inn.

"He's some kind of sorcerer, or worse, the Son of the Devil himself. I didn't expose him right away. Damn it!" one of them shouted, running after the others towards the market square.

"Ha, ha... and I didn't say I was the best at my job... milking cows!" Norman shouted, full of joy and pride, emerging from behind the barrels. "Just let someone jump me, and I'll throw powder between my eyes and into a toad, or... I'll turn into von Bere's dung."

"Oh, you'd have a hard time with that... keep quiet, because they're ready to come here with a bigger crowd, and then even your rice won't save us," Piwowarek sneered at him.

"Rice, rice. You have to go back to that, that I didn't do well once... And just let them come, and I'll treat them to the truth... what else do I have here... and anyway, I've already turned more than one into a turd...

" "Yeah, I think I'm the one he, he... keep quiet, this is the second time I'm telling you.

" "My friend is giving good advice," replied the merchant, who had been silent until now. "Nobody knows what else might happen to them. Thank you, you saved my life. Especially you, sir...

" "Norman Mc Murphy, and this is my companion Rajmunt von Bere, also called Piwowarek.

" "I'm Rudolf, also called Klimek. I see you're not from around here, because I know every face in this town, and I haven't deigned to see yours yet." Those rascals also came from outside, from a certain Ed Miller.

"Miller... we're in the same..." Rajmunt elbowed Norman in the stomach.

"We're just ordinary vendors, selling odds and ends at the market, rolling pins and other such trinkets, as you saw," von Bere replied.

"What are you, Rajmunt? You're in shock! I'll prepare you some herbs in a moment... inhale, exhale, Piwowarek, inhale, exhale. It'll be over soon. And getting back to the conversation, we were hired to find those parchments too, weren't we...

" "Yeah, the Enchanted Parchments of the People of the Seven Lakes. I know something about that. That Ed Miller guy wanted to hire me too. But I'm too old. I need a cane and money, not some thrills and promised pie in the sky. They hired me more than once in my heyday, and not the kind of fame Ed Miller had." What was I not supposed to get? They promised me high positions, but when it came down to it, they were buried underground, and the pay was sky-high.

"Wait, Klimek, wasn't one of those crooks called Marek?" Norman asked with interest and a racing heart.

"Marek... no, no one was called that," Klimek replied.

"It was a weight off our shoulders, wasn't it, Piwowarek?" he just shook his head, saying nothing.

"Too much excitement for one day. It'll probably pass tomorrow, don't worry. And where did you get such knowledge about those parchments, Mr. Rudolf?" Norman asked.

"Because I've been looking for them many times. I could tell you a long story. I can only wish you good luck, and that's all. One more thing I can tell you is a warning, though I doubt you'll find it useful." Piwowarek raised his bored eyes to Klimek.

"Legend says that these parchments contain spells whose power is hidden beneath a veil of secrecy. Apparently, their first words are hidden on the very first pages of the scroll. However, the language in which they are written is incomprehensible to us. It's like a code. Only after pronouncing the appropriate password does the order of all the letters change, making the parchments easily decipherable.

" "Okay, okay, Klimek, but who knows this password?" replied Rajmunt, listening with interest.

"Legend says that anyone can learn the password if they can only see the stars during the day. But that's impossible.

" "What nonsense. What are we even getting ourselves into? We're supposed to risk our lives for some pieces of paper that may never be read, and after all this, we'll be dismissed empty-handed...thanks a lot!" said Piwowarek, clearly upset. "

Yes, I understand you perfectly, gentlemen. Time is running out, and I have to get back to my place." Good luck, I hope you return safe and sound from your search, and of course, with parchments in your hands, heh heh... Thank you again for everything. Goodbye," said Rudolf, known as Klimek, shaking their hand. He headed toward the dark street opposite the inn.

"I don't know what's going on here, but I'm starting to dislike it. I have a bad feeling about this expedition," replied Rajmunt von Bere, as if frightened. "

Easy, Piwowarek, we're going to bed now, now. Just, you know, be sure to let me know if you ever see those stars, and try to remember anything you saw there, okay? Pack your backpack and let's go, because I see you're a bit out of touch today... but you have to admit, Norman Mc Murphy was first-rate today, huh?

" "Shut up! My head is pounding from your boasting," shouted von Bere.

"But you have to admit..." Norman replied.

"Shut up, Mc Murphy!"

Chapter Six:

Provisions and Something to Eat

The night was as black as tea from the Western Valley. Thick air poured into every corner of the seemingly sleeping city. In any normal novel, such an atmosphere heralds the arrival of a dark figure who (willy-nilly) will disrupt the plot and force us to concentrate. He appeared. The cloak with its enormous hood suggested that one should not approach its owner within the length of a drawn sword. The figure walked briskly toward a small hut on Lilliputian Street. It was the only illuminated spot on the horizon, though the word "illuminated" seems hyperbolic in this case, given that the light came from a small candle in the center of the table. The black-clad figure silently opened the hut's door and slipped inside. A shriek shattered the perfect silence.

"By the Viking!" Thief! - Mc Murphy jumped up so high that he had to wait a long time before he fell.

"Easy, it's me, Blanka," replied the supposed villain.

"Oh, damn..." Norman replied, calmly. "You scared me real good."

Suddenly, Piwowarek burst into the room with a cocked crossbow in his hand.

"Stand back, Norman, I'll put a bolt right through his temple!" he shouted. "

Put that down, von Bere, or you're ready to do something to yourself, considering you're holding the crossbow upside down. "

"Indeed," he commented. "I must be still asleep... Who is it?

" "It's me, Blanka," the Thief replied in her unique, sensual voice. "I didn't want to cause a fuss, so I decided not to wake you. By the way, you must have pretty good hearing, Norman. I don't recall anyone ever hearing me sneaking into the house.

" "Nothing like that. A barrel of gunpowder would barely wake me up. You stepped on my foot, miss, and I'm suffering from calluses."

"Luckily, because I was starting to think I'd have to find another profession," she replied with a smile.

"By the way, the young lady showed up late," Rajmunt observed. "Did something interrupt?

" "Why..." she replied calmly. "It's such a beautiful evening... You could take a walk.

" "Ha!" Norman interjected. "I don't think this area is suitable for nighttime strolls; apparently, you can get hit for any reason. For example, if a yokel wants a beer, he'll be ready to chop your head off..."

"Don't exaggerate, McMurphy..." Rajmunt began to make the bed for his newly arrived roommate.

"No need!" The thief's face showed obvious embarrassment. She couldn't remember if anyone had ever made her bed. "Go get some rest, tomorrow's a hard day. Sorry for the trouble..."

"Trouble is when something heavy falls on someone's head," Norman observed. "This was pure entertainment."

"Good night," said von Bere, closing the door to the room behind him.

"May you dream of stars during the day," replied McMurphy, then collapsed like a log onto his bed.

***

"Run, Normaaaaaaan!" shouted little Ferdinand, swinging his axe. "Run! They'll catch you!

" "Who's gonna catch me? By a Viking..." thought McMurphy, then jumped into the well. He already knew who was chasing him. It was them. The Makhikoriniaks. The worst memory of his childhood. Grandma used to tell him about them when he was naughty. She said they'd come for him and devour him like a doughnut. Yes, Grandma definitely had sophisticated parenting methods.

They were everywhere. They'd fall into the well and climb on little Norman. Makhikoriniak on Makhikoriniak. He knew he was dreaming, but he almost wet his bed from the paralyzing fear. These hairy creatures were entering every orifice of his body, having first enlarged them to the diameter of a ripe watermelon. When the terror reached its peak, he woke up

.

Von Bere burst into the room, in a style similar to that of a few hours earlier, but now he was wielding a sword, and as everyone knows, you can't wield such a weapon upside down.

"What the hell is going on?!" he exclaimed.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Norman sat on the bed, eyes bulging, screaming at the wall.

"Silence, you scoundrel!" Piwowarek reassured him. "You were dreaming."

McMurphy fell silent and looked at his companion's angry face. For a moment he wondered where he was, but when he realized it, he began to analyze the situation.

"That was terrible..." he stated, nodding. "Did I scream?

" "What do you think?" von Bere asked. "You were screaming at the top of your lungs that you were being eaten by little raspberries.

" "Makhikoriniaki," Norman corrected him. "

Whatever. Where's Blanka?"

They both looked around the room, but found no trace of the Thief.

"Oh, nice balls!" Piwowarek commented. "We're leaving in less than an hour, and she's gone again.

" "Don't worry," Norman slowly recovered. "Zara will surely show up.

" "She will or not, we have to get ready. Zara will come here, Marek, and you'll see what kind of verbal scolding she'll give us," Piwowarek replied, then began to stuff his backpack with food and various equipment, which was as heavy as it was useless.

The morning was filled with optimism. The lazy sun had crept over the horizon and licked the awakening city with its rays. A gentle wind blew the straw from the gutters. The first residents appeared on Lilliputian Street. They shouted and argued, probably for lack of anything else to do. Somewhere in the distance, the silhouette of a rider loomed. The more astute villager noticed that the man on horseback must be in a hurry, as he knocked over everything that could tip over (people, boards, posts, huts, etc.) along the way. However, no one was astute enough to notice that the man on horseback wasn't alone. He was accompanied by a stocky dwarf with rough features. They stopped in front of a small hut and, tying up the horse, disappeared behind a beech door.

*** "

I was afraid I wouldn't find her..." Marek sighed. "Well, it seems we'll have to do without her," he said, then began searching for something in his backpack.

"What good is that little thing..." Diert commented. "I don't like working with women, they're slow-witted.

" "You're right," McMurphy replied.

The room was completely silent. Not even the sounds of the city reached it. There was that "something" in the air that you feel before every journey. The anxiety seemed to permeate everyone present. Only Diert's face showed no expression. Piwowarek had been going through the equipment list for the sixth time, yet he couldn't shake the nagging thought that he'd surely forgotten something.

"We have no reason to wait," Marek's words seemed to hang in the air. "We have to get going. I plan to reach Studzienki today and spend the night with a friendly innkeeper. It will take us some time, but we should make it before midnight. A large part of the route leads through a forest shortcut, but that shouldn't be a problem, as the path is wide and even in the dark it's difficult to stray from it. I've decided that Diert will ride with me. My mount is a good-sized one, and a few extra pounds shouldn't cause him any problems.

" "There's nothing for us here," Norman stated, then took a long sip of his familiar drink, shook his head, and, strapping on his backpack, headed for the door. The others followed suit almost immediately. After half an hour of riding, they passed a large sign reading, "Kompativ bids farewell to his friends."

***

"Hey, comrades! Do you know that song?"

"Feel free, Norman," replied Piwowarek, fully aware that his answer was completely irrelevant, because McMurphy would sing anyway.

"Hey, an expedition is coming.

We'll get loot.

If I don't swallow my gray hair ,

it'll be shitty .

When Zara comes along,

a wretched traitor.

I'll hit him between the eyes with my sword

and rip his balls off.

Sing, brothers, sing lively.

While we still can.

If your wife cheats on you at home,

stab her."

"This isn't poetry of the highest order," remarked von Bere.

"How clever you are, peasant! Think of something better!" replied Norman.

The road leading to town was almost empty today. It was Thursday, and on this day, all the residents are busy cleaning up the town. This tradition dates back so long that no one remembers its origins.

The weather was favorable to the travelers, the air was crisp, and the sun gently warmed their backs and gave them energy. They had been driving for over two hours and still felt as if they had just gotten out of bed. A dense mixed forest grew on both sides of the road. Birds chirped happily, and McMurphy joined in. To Diert's surprise, Norman hadn't stopped chatting from the start, inventing new songs.

"You're an artistic soul, Mr. Norman," the dwarf observed.

"And there was drinking here and there..." McMurphy replied, not hiding his satisfaction. "You'll hear something somewhere, you'll listen somewhere else, and then you'll accumulate all these songs and stories."

As they rounded the bend, a detachment of city guards on a bridge came into view. Marek cursed loudly. When they were close enough, a loud and expected "

Stop! Who's coming?" asked one of the guards, taking up one of his guard positions.

-And who's asking? - Marek straightened proudly in the saddle.

"A guard of the city of Kompativ, by order of the mayor Edd Miller.

" "What's this, a war brewing? Are you lying in wait for spies?"

"We were told not to say anything," replied the shortest of those standing on the bridge.

"Will you let us through or not?" asked Marek, clearly enraged.

"I'm afraid you'll have to turn back, sir. We were told not to let riders cross in groups of more than three.

" "And how many of us do you see, you idiot?" asked Norman, suspecting that from this position they couldn't see the dwarf sitting just behind the tall Marek.

The guard slowly moved his finger from horse to horse, then said,

"You're lucky. You can pass. "

The guards slowly moved aside, creating a narrow passage.

"On three, gallop..." whispered Marek. Norman and Piwowarek nodded understandingly.

"One... two...

" "What's that muttering under his breath?" asked one of the bridge guards.

"Three!"

Von Bere was the first to burst onto the bridge, trying to throw as many guards into the water as possible. He managed to knock down two. McMurphy followed and threw the remaining three into the water. When Marek and Diert reached the other side, the dwarf sneered and waved at the cursing guards, most of whom, it soon turned out, couldn't swim.

Chapter Seven

The Road Stretched On and On

. The road stretched on and on. The sun glared like noon, though it had been setting for quite some time. Rajmunt von Bere had apparently fallen asleep in the saddle, as his head rested limply on his mount's mane. The same was true for the rest of the party, except Marek. Though he, too, felt weary, as he kept rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"Okay. Wake up, boys! That clearing on the right is our resting place." We'll rest here until sunrise. Is that okay?

"A Viking, Marek, is that okay? I've been dreaming of nothing else for the past few hours...just to lie down like a dog on the dry grass and lie, lie...," replied Norman, falling asleep.

After a while, everyone found themselves in a clearing. The horses were grazing on green weeds near a small pond. Diert, along with Marek and Piwowarek, delved into the dense, dark forest in search of wood. Norman, naturally, put his plans into action as soon as he felt ground beneath his feet. Stars slowly appeared in the sky. A full moon pierced the sparse clouds. The air smelled of spruce and pine cones. In the distance, the unmistakable call of an owl setting out on a hunt could be heard. However, this sound was muffled by von Bere's snoring, who had only woken briefly to eat and drink something hot, as the chilly wind chilled his heels. Only the dwarf and Rajmunt von Bere were sitting by the fire. Marek, needing help, went towards the pond.

"Yes...a beautiful night, isn't it, Piwowarek? Hey...my friend!

" "Oh...I got a little lost in thought, sorry. The night...yes, yes, beautiful.

" "No need to apologize. And what are you thinking about, eh? You've been absent for a while now, haven't you?

" "Oh, yes, about everything. About what was, what is, and what will be...if it ever happens. About my Norman, about this whole journey that leads who knows where...damn it!

" "And why are you having such reflections now, my dear Rajmunt?

" "Because I feel like I won't last until the end of this expedition, that I'll screw something up again and all..." Piwowarek replied with tears in his eyes.

"Hey, my friend, what are you talking about? This isn't the kind of novel for me to cry about and think about unreal things." Please lighten up, now, because Mr. Marek is coming and, seeing the wet eyes, will think to himself, who knows what.

"Gentlemen, does something stink here?" Marek, summoned out of the blue, replied.

"It's McMurphy who's been blowing wind ever since he ate something. He always does," Piwowarek explained.

"No, no, it's not that. I have a strange feeling about this place. I noticed the remains of a rather large game by the pond. Something is prowling here, devouring everything it can. Maybe it's a dragon or some other creature from another world. Tomorrow at dawn we'll set off, no matter how sleepy Norman is. I've decided so!" Marek said in a rather decisive voice. "And why are you sitting there as if you've just been through the war, eh? Is something bothering you, Diert, Rajmunt?

" "Everything's alright. We're looking at the stars, which are as beautiful as ever today," the dwarf replied, looking up.

"And you know, you're right!" Wait, wait... there it is! The Kordian Cross. How clear. Oh! And there's the woman with the pitchfork! Perfect, unbelievable. It should still be here somewhere... aha! The Wolf of Sipiory Dolne. Unheard of... see? Marek asked excitedly.

"We see, but how!" von Bere replied with a hint of delight.

"Uh... not me! Where's that Sipiory Cross... I can't see a damn thing!"

"Open your eyes... heh! They're like torches. Yes or no, Mr. Rajmunt?

" "Like torches..." he managed to choke out.

The three of them sat like that for a good few hours. The moon still shone with a hellishly bright light. Only Diert remained by the fire. His gaze was directed towards the blazing fire and the sparks flying high above the tree branches. He felt no fatigue. A short nap behind Marek during the ride had clearly done him good. Rajmunt and Marek joined the sleeping Norman. Strangely enough, they didn't dream of anything. The dwarf decided to put out the fire so it wouldn't hurt his companions' eyes. He also wanted to lie down on the cold grass to stretch his legs. As he was about to do so, he heard the snapping of a branch nearby. Diert froze. He slowly turned his head in that direction. He saw nothing. The dwarf decided not to extinguish the fire.

"It's probably a boar or a squirrel. Whatever it was, it'll stay away from the fire," he muttered to himself. Suddenly, the horses tied to the trees jumped to their feet and reared. They stamped their hooves on the ground as if in a burning stable. Marek rolled over.

"What's wrong?" the dwarf said, reaching for his double-edged axe. He directed his steps toward the restless animal. Approaching to within a few feet, he spotted a hedgehog in the berry thicket.

He patted the horses' mane. Nodding and tucking the axe into his belt, Diert returned to his friends. As he sat down opposite Piwowarek, he noticed two dots glowing like lamps behind a dead pine tree.

"Oh fuck...guys, get up, we have company!" the dwarf shouted, running to the fire.

"Diert, Marek promised peace until dawn, and you're bringing who knows who. Turn off the lights and let us sleep... aaaah," McMurphy finally yawned, unfazed.

"Norman better listen to what he's saying," said Piwowarek, sword in hand.

"What, is it that bad?

" "Yeah. They've surrounded us.

" "Who's a Viking?!

"So-called wolves.

" "And the wolves... what! Wolves?! Wow! I don't want to, Piwowarek, tell them to go away. Tell me!

" "I'm afraid it won't do any good. But you can try... get the hell out!" shouted a trembling Rajmunt. After a moment, everyone was standing together around the campfire. The wolf pack was slowly forming a circle. The wolves were howling as if before a feast. The companions took up burning torches.

"Just stay calm. We have to think of something. So... on three, everyone throws their fiery stick at one wolf, understood?" We won't give up without a fight," Marek said, goosebumps rising on his back. "One, two..." Norman's pole whistled through the air and hit one of the enemies squarely in the eye. The wolf retreated at once with a squeal and a sickening groan. Everyone looked at McMurphy. He merely made a stupid face, though he was still proud of himself.

"Three!" Marek finally shouted. Each torch hit its target. The effect was greater than expected. The flames of the fiery stalks spread beyond those targeted. Seven wolves remained of the entire pack.

"It could have been worse. Now it's time for the enemy to taste iron. We have no choice, we must fight to the last drop of blood," Marek said calmly.

"That sounds like some patriotic song calling for a final battle. Isn't that Adolf of the Motherland?" Piwowarek asked.

"Yes, Adolf. I feel it helps." "So, gentlemen, let's fight!" Marek roared, raising his sword. The entire team threw themselves into the fray. However, the wolves were agile and difficult to hit. When Diert succeeded, he couldn't hide his satisfaction.

"What's up! Only six bastards left! Let Norman handle him," the dwarf said to his friend, who was clearly struggling against his opponent. The others weren't faring too well either. Only three of the foes had fallen, and they were almost exhausted. Suddenly, Diert collapsed to the ground. The axe handle rested in the wolf's fangs.

"Get off me, you slimy bastard! Yeah, Norman, maybe you could help me, eh?" His friend, however, had no such intention. He was leaning against a tree and vomiting like a dog.

"Diert! Oh no, it's over!" Rajmunt shouted, distraught and covered in blood. Suddenly, an arrow shot out from the wolf struggling with the exhausted dwarf. One, two, three. The figure in black pounced on another, shattering the prey's skull with a single blow. Marek and Piwowarek, looking at the hooded figure, felt the strength of dreams in their arms, and surprisingly, they easily dealt with the other two. Blanka calmly approached the dwarf, helping him to his feet. Norman, seeing who was standing behind him, felt another knot in his gut.

"Blanka, you're here. It's good that you're here on time this time. It could have been bad," von Bere replied, just as tired as he was surprised.

"I advise you to go to bed and try to sleep, and tomorrow we'll talk calmly. Just follow Norman's example," Blanka said with a faint smile. McMurphy lay next to the tree where, moments before, he had been bending like a ribbon in the wind. "I'll watch over you until dawn. Don't be afraid, I have plenty of strength," she said, looking at the moon. In the distance, the howling of wolves could be heard.

In the morning, Norman was the first of the four to wake up. He had a disgusting taste in his mouth. He saw Blanka sitting by the charred remains of the fire. He also noticed she was holding something in her hands. He approached his companion, stretching and yawning like a cat awakened in the middle of the night.

"You're kidding! Blanka, where did you get him? You're not planning to take him...for a Viking, are you?" Norman asked, surprised by what he saw.

"He's just a little wolf cub. I found him near the pond. He won't hurt us, and most likely no one will look for him. So what should we name him?" Blanka asked with a smile. Norman only now noticed how beautiful she was. A light breeze ruffled her snowy hair. Her eyes, gazing at the wolf, were glazed with a greenish hue.

"Beautiful..." McMurphy said, staring into the woman's face.

"Hey, Norman, how do you know it's her, huh? Beautiful... she might be. Pretty, really pretty.

" "What, how did I know? Oh, I took a shot." "Okay, I've always been an animal lover, I recognized him right away..." he replied, flustered. At this, Piękna yawned cruelly and squealed, extending her muzzle towards McMurphy. Blanka, without a second thought, handed the wolf over to him. Norman, taken aback by the whole situation, blushed to the bone.

"It's obvious you've had contact with animals. She likes you!" Blanka said, smiling warmly.

Chapter Eight "

Easy

, gentlemen. Just five more minutes and we'll be there." Marek had been trying to silence Norman for a while now, complaining about the lack of beer.

"For a Viking's sake! Five minutes?! That's an eternity. I hope this Melchior isn't selling some cheap beer, otherwise...

" "Not at all!" Marek replied. "His drinks are famous for their freshness, flavor, and strength.

" "You're doing it on purpose, you tyrant!" McMurphy remarked.

"Hey, what did they write there?" Von Bere interrupted.

"Where?

" "On that sign on the left. 'Wiecejta Stundzienki'?

" "Exactly," Marek confirmed. "You see, educated people are hard to find here, but everyone knows about farming and animal husbandry, so poverty and hunger have never visited the local farms."

They were just passing the first buildings. Blanka had heard that the village was large, but what she saw exceeded her expectations. She couldn't have known that the inhabitants had long ago submitted an application for town privileges for Studzienki, but the bureaucrats from Kompativ (whose laziness had already been rumored) had probably drunk away all the paperwork.

Diert admired the well-kept farms, the farms, and especially the mills. An interesting idea even sprang to mind. If only they could move the mill to this area... Maybe he would finally live in prosperity, maybe he wouldn't have to endure the filth of Kompativ, the discrimination, and the Schmerzgruppe anymore... Maybe, who knows...

Lost in thought, they entered a sort of market square. On a small, cobbled square, stalls were set up, surrounded by a wall of low buildings. On one of them was the sign "Inn" that Marek had been eyeing. He had beaten him, and now, more closely, Mc Murphy was watching. Before Marek could say anything, Norman was already tying his horse to a lamppost.

"He's all…" von Bere commented.

***

"Beer! Beer, innkeeper!

" "It's coming!" someone shouted back from the kitchen. The inn was deserted. The drinking hall was so large that Norman's shouts seemed to echo off the walls.

"Melchior, are you there?!" Marek shouted from behind the counter.

"I'm coming, Marek, be patient…"

A moment later, a short figure in a chef's hat emerged from a curtained alcove, carrying three mugs. "

I'll let you know soon, friends. Greetings, Marek, what's going on in town? Is Mom well?

" "She seems livelier than me," he lied, not wanting to upset the innkeeper with unpleasant news.

"Is that great? Where is Tehenna leading?

" "It's a long story. We'll talk over some food.

" "It's coming…" Melchior briskly walked toward the kitchen.

The moment McMurphy had long awaited had arrived. He dipped his mustache up to his nose in the thick foam, took a long sip, and within moments, his taste buds were treated to the exquisite taste of cool, dark beer. He drained the first mug in five gulps, holding his breath.

"Truly, you weren't lying, Marek... A truly first-class drink. I feel blissful. I'd gladly pour myself another mug of the gods' drink."

At that moment, the host approached them, holding a large, steaming platter of venison in herb and mustard sauce.

"This must smell like paradise..." said Piwowarek, after helping himself to a generous portion of meat. Everyone, except Blanka, immediately began to consume. The thief first asked Melchior for bones for Piękna. However, the travel-weary pup didn't even dream of sniffing the venison.

Everyone ate their fill. Melchior almost took offense when Marek pulled out his purse. Norman, Diert, and Rajmunt, after their fourth mug, decided to play cards.

"I'm going upstairs to talk to Melchior, because it's impossible to hear anything over all the shouting," Marek announced.

They headed up the stairs. Melchior's son, Kazan, stood behind the bar. He poured another glass of wine for the Thief, and they devoted themselves to a discussion about dogs, adventures, and the universe.

Meanwhile, the shouting and cursing continued at the card table.

"A pair of aces?! Von Bere, you cheater! You had exactly the same deal last time!" Norman shouted, outraged. "

Is it my fault that the odds are in your favor?"

"Easy, gentlemen, I'll give you two crowns to get in."

"Shut up, Diert, you've already won too much, I don't play." McMurphy had every right to be upset, as he'd already lost a mere twenty crowns to his companions.

"You're both cheaters and conjurers. I'd sooner get sick of beer than I'd ever play with you. You thieves for a tenner... Buy me a von Bere beer."

The brewer staggered toward the bar.

"Three.

" "Done." Kazan took the order as his father had taught him.

At that moment, four stinking men entered the tavern. Norman, sensing trouble, ran up to the brewer, snatched the mug from his hand, and downed it in an instant. Diert was dozing off, which was probably why he hadn't noticed the new guests at all.

"What can I get you?" Kazan asked politely.

"Shit!" one of the stinkers yelled.

"We're not selling," the innkeeper's son said, remaining as calm as if he encountered these types every day.

"We're looking for Marek!" he yelled again.

"Don't shout like that, you scoundrel, I'm not deaf! I don't know any Marek." Kazan seemed to know perfectly well how to deal with this kind of clientele. "Now get the hell out of here before I'm forced to use this." In a split second, he pulled a loaded musket from under the counter.

"Okay, okay..." Fear flashed in all three of their eyes, and they began to back away, their eyes glued to the barrel.

"By the Viking!" McMurphy shouted. "What faggots! "

"Shut up, you're drunk

! " Piwowarek tried to silence him. "They're shaking their asses!" "Shut up!

" Kazan growled.

"You think I'm going to tell you where Marek is?! Shit!" Oh!

The thugs stopped for a moment. A wicked grin spread across their faces. McMurphy realized his mistake.

"I mean, I don't know Marek... Nobody here does, right? Marek?" This is the first I've heard of…

All four of them disappeared behind the door. Only the stench remained.

"You complete idiot!" von Bere shouted.

The scream woke Diert, asleep amidst the cards and spilled beer.

"Did I miss something?

" ***

"Do you have everything?" Marek asked nervously.

"I think so," Piwowarek replied. "We still have to get Diert on his horse. I even know who will do it. Norman, come here, you idiot!

" "What now…" McMurphy groaned. "I already said I'm sorry…"

"Get him on the horse, we don't have much time," Marek said, pointing to the sleeping dwarf. "Thank you for everything, Melchior, and we apologize for the trouble…"

The innkeeper hadn't said a word for a long time. He stood lost in thought under the street lamp, watching the guests hurrying by.

"Marek, perhaps you can at least guess who's so keen to meet you?" he asked after a moment.

"Many would like to get their hands on me… Many," he said, then climbed onto his mount. "Farewell, Melchior. I hope to see you soon. Thank Kazan." The innkeeper didn't reply. He only nodded.

They rode away with their heads bowed. Marek knew they wouldn't make it back today. Soon they would have to stop for a rest again. The "searchers" seriously doubted the success of their mission, which from the very beginning resembled a completely unrealistic fairy tale.

Chapter Nine:

According to Marek's Plan

According to Mark's plan, our friendly group of explorers should have reached the coast today. But there was no sign of that. After leaving the inn, everyone was a bit sluggish. Every now and then, McMurphy tried to chat up Raymond and then Diert. They ignored him equally. Everyone began to understand what this whole journey was really about. They realized that this wasn't just a trip, with a clearing at the end perfect for a fire and grilling sausages. They realized this wasn't a game. Watching the others, you could see that everyone thought the same except Norman.

"Hey, come on... I apologized! What do you mean? I made a fool of myself, that's all. It's over. Why aren't you saying anything... huh?" McMurphy asked impatiently.

"Norman, you don't understand! Nothing's right here! Those thugs who were at Melchior's are following us." They want to eliminate us because we're an obstacle to them, like a fallen tree in the road that prevents them from going any further. Most importantly, worthy McMurphy, thanks to you, they now know we are who I am. Do you understand even a little of what I'm saying?

"Uh... not really. I only understand that I did something very irresponsible last night.

" "Irresponsible isn't the right word," Marek interjected. "You did something last night that could jeopardize the success of our expedition.

" "Oh well! I'll manage, no matter what. And I'll find those parchments and prove you wrong!" This is Norman McMurphy, Gordon's father. And he always keeps his word.

"So be it..." Diert muttered under his breath.

They continued along the forest road. Norman was bringing up the rear of the peloton. His sour expression softened as time passed. He even began to sing timidly:

Soon we'll be at the seaside.

In a moment, a

seagull will squawk for us. We'll cut a fish with a knife.

The wind will tear our heads off

. We'll go to the beach together.

We'll collect shells for everyone. But

we'll do as Marek tells us,

not as a sparrow suggests.

Because this isn't a vacation,

after all, just a serious trip

. Even though there are acacias growing all around.

We still need a first aid kit

. "Oh my god, what a huge tree!" McMurphy interrupted the chants. "That must be an oak tree... I've never seen such a giant in my life.

" "Me neither... a true giant. All of us together couldn't have embraced it. And here in a forest like this... unbelievable," Diert added.

And the tree was truly enormous. Tall above the branches of the other trees. As wide as two horses. It grew a dozen or so feet from the road. Among the other meager poplars, it was remarkably out of place in this landscape.

"A tree is a tree, nothing to get excited about, gentlemen. You must have some sort of complexes... Ha, ha!" Marek sneered at his companions. Blanka paid little attention to the object of the others' attention. She only stroked Beauty and smiled at her.

"Zara, complexes... very funny. Look at yourself, Marek, because as they used to say in our village, 'You look at the speck in another's eye, but don't see the beam in your own.' It's an old and good thought, especially for a catamite like you.

" "Catamites, catamites... you, you bastard, excuse me, how dare you insult me ​​like that! That's an insult worthy of the worst scoundrel. But I, a man raised at court, say - Gods, don't hold this sin against him - that's what I tell you, Norman.

" "I feel terribly stupid." Once again, I apologize, dear Mr. Marek, I slipped out... actually, it was to Rajmunt," McMrphy replied, clearly flustered.

"What did you say!?" Piwowarek roared.

"Hey, gentlemen, this is no time for arguments. It's time to move on. We've already lost so much. There's no point tempting fate," the dwarf replied calmly. Blanka laughed so hard at the argument that she almost fell off the saddle. Beauty seemed to understand the joke too, purring like never before.

After Diert's verbal reprimand, everyone calmed down enough to move on. Marek and Norman glared at each other. They rode in silence, which was occasionally interrupted by the characteristic tapping of a woodpecker. Piwowarek pulled a water skin from his breast pocket and took a long drink. He offered the canteen to McMurphy, but he refused, turning his head toward the forest wall.

"Look, another giant. And yet, that wasn't an exception. There are probably thousands of them here and no one knows it. But where Norman is, there are new discoveries..." McMurphy replied cheerfully.

"Something doesn't add up..." Marek replied, clearly perplexed. "I have a strange feeling, but I think it's the same oak. Somehow, we're going in circles!

" "No, no... that's impossible. My excellent sense of direction has never failed me before," Rajmunt said in disbelief.

"Oh, I'm afraid he did," the dwarf added. "Yes, now I recognize it. We were simply here before.

" "What do you mean 'simply' Diert? We didn't turn anywhere, it's impossible for us to get lost. There are no miracles... I guess." Blanka looked shaken by the whole situation. The beauty squealed loudly, nuzzling the thief's shoulders.

"Let's keep going, maybe it's just a damned-looking tree," Marek said, not believing what he was saying. They set off on command. They rode with concentration and a strange sense of unease, as if across a centuries-old wooden bridge over a deep, wide valley. Everyone was waiting for... the great tree that had just appeared before them. Everyone looked back as one. And there was a forest, but no oak in sight.

"Well, that's a cesspool!" Piwowarek commented on the whole situation. "So what do you say to this, good guide? I'm talking to you, Marek!

" "Zara..." muttered the summoned companion, staring at the map. "Nowhere did they write that there would be such nonsense.

" "Marek, don't pretend you're looking for something there! You better think about how you're going to get us out of here," Norman said irritably. "

How are you going to get us out? What am I doing here? You better..." Mark's speech was interrupted by a strange sound.

"Hey, are you hearing what I'm hearing?" Diert asked.

"By a Viking..." McMurphy replied.

Right before their eyes, a figure ran past with unprecedented speed. This happened a second time, a third time. Finally, it stopped.

"Name, surname, parents' names, attitudes towards military service... what more can I say? What the hell brought you here, and what the hell are you here for?" the stranger replied. He was remarkably short. He wore a green vest, short trousers, and boots with pointed, upturned toes of the same color.

"We're here... I mean... searching... but..." Marek managed to stammer.

"Aha! Well, that's all clear.

" "I'm Marek. I'm the leader of this whole group, so to speak. That's... and there will be time for the rest.

" "Sir, I have to worry you. Time doesn't come, it keeps on flowing!

" "Who are you?" Piwowarek asked with great interest.

"Krzychu, Rychu, Roman, Zdzichu... does it matter! They call me Górnik, and that's it. But to the point... what's here?

" "We got lost. It's all because of that oak tree," Diert replied.

"What oak tree? And that... that's not an oak tree, it's a mine! These tourists today...

" "A mine!" the searchers shouted in unison.

"Please follow me. We'll do something about it." The stranger approached the tree. He grabbed a strangely growing branch, which he suddenly twisted. "Come on in." The companions found stairs leading down.

"Excuse me," Norman replied, "may I ask what this mine is?

" "What...? Er, Smith, what are we looking for here?" the Miner called into the depths of the "oak."

"Oh, who the hell knows!" the Miner shouted from below.

***

They followed the winding stairs down into the unknown. The path was well lit by torches hanging on the walls. The horses had to stay outside, though the Miner assured them they would join them very soon. After a while, they stopped shuffling their feet up the steps. They found themselves in a mine shaft. However, they saw no mine cars anywhere, nor any tracks stretched out for them. In every respect, this mine was unlike those from various tales. Here and there, a figure with a pickaxe in hand could be seen, digging into the hard rock.

- Yeah, Górnik, tell me what they're looking for here, otherwise I'll ask them myself and you'll look like a fool - replied Piwowarek, full of curiosity - So, what's it like?

"Ask over there!" the Miner said, sounding bored.

"Er, sir... I'm talking to you, what are you looking for in this land, eh? Gold of some kind, or maybe diamonds, eh?

" "Diamonds? No, no... I'm looking for that, my dear... well, as the saying goes... whatever I find with the pickaxe, I take, and that's it!

" "What do you mean 'I find with the pickaxe'?" Norman asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"A week ago, I found a horse and cart here... yes! Only this horse, a bit thin, true, but not bad at all. I use it for work now, and it'll do for longer expeditions too. And just yesterday, right over there," the digger pointed to a large alcove fenced off with a wooden grate. "Those are shoes, right, I dug them up. Black ones, a bit odd because they don't have strings. Someone must have found them before me, but comfortable!" I wouldn't trade them for shoes from the most expensive shoemaker. And that one over there, sir, to be honest...

"Okay, okay, let's get to work, enough of this chit-chat," said the miner. They continued, turning into a side corridor. Its walls were receding further and further from them, as was the ceiling.

"They're digging and digging so much here... it's surprising they haven't found the Ark yet, ha, ha!" Marek chuckled under his breath.

"Pots, sir, pots, they're carrying twenty or thirty of them out of here every day," replied the miner. He led them into a large hall in the center, which had a chair, a table next to it, and on it piles of books and scattered papers.

"Please stand up, the king is coming," said the guide loudly, approaching the only furniture in the entire room. "You may sit down.

" "Excuse me, where is this king, and where should we sit?" asked Blanka politely.

"The king, as you might guess, is my humble self, and as for where to sit... sit wherever you can, just one at a time, without making a noise!" said Górnik, opening the thickest of all the books.

"Who do we have here, please? Norman McMurphy, Rajmund von Bere...

" "Rajmund, the "t" at the end!" interjected the one being read.

"Silence, sir, or I'll order a whipping! Who else is here? Diert, called the Miller, Blanka, and Jarek. All present?" the king continued reading.

"Marek, not Jarek," the injured party corrected.

"Marek, Darek, Jarek, one man. Let's get to the point; you've lost your way, I see. What do you expect from me?

" "If I may, how do you know our names?" asked Diert. "After all, only Marek introduced himself?"

"How do I know? I don't know—I was shooting! I've never been wrong before. Returning to our matter... you're probably thinking of a dozen questions you'd like to ask. I'll answer one of them, and I think it's the most important one: 'what caused us to get lost, and who is this penis, Górnik'?" So I answer: you got lost because you entered, willingly or unwillingly, land that once belonged to the local magicians. This is where, how can I put it, a time-space warp occurs, caused by those magicians. It's a remnant of them, because they themselves left here a long, long time ago. Were they expelled for not paying taxes... I don't remember. It was supposedly a trap for uninvited guests, like you, for example. The second answer... I don't know! I've been here for as long as I can remember, and I rule here, quite simply. Any questions?"

"Can I go to the toilet?" the dwarf asked out of nowhere. "I want to puke at this nonsense of yours.

" "This isn't nonsense, good Diercie. It's the honest truth. Okay, if there are no more questions... please stand up, the king is leaving!" The miner rose from his chair and approached the group. He faced McMurphy. "I feel a great energy within you, good Norman, speaking through you. You have a problem that bothers you so much that you can't sleep at night. I tell you this: 'You'll see the stars by day in a place as dark as night, as cold as a corpse, and so damp that your throat will hurt the next day. But get out of there quickly, or the bucket might soon decapitate you.' Follow me, friends!" the miner shouted, running towards the narrow shaft. "We'll explore a little while longer, and then we'll get to work!"

"Sir, we didn't come to explore, we came to seek rescue!" Marek shouted at the Miner, who was disappearing into the darkness.

"By a Viking! This man must have been in the darkness too long that his mind has gone haywire. He's lost his mind, that's all!" Norman added.

"Don't talk, don't sleep, just explore!" came from the end of the tunnel.

Everyone followed the guide along the dimly lit walkway. Only Piwowarek held a torch he'd taken from the wall at the very beginning of the shaft.

"Cholipa! A stone got stuck in my shoe. Damn it!" Diert grumbled, leaning his hand against the tunnel wall. "You! What do I feel, how soft! Are the walls lined with cotton, or what? Piwowarek, shine a light here, I can't see anything in this hellish darkness!" the dwarf continued. Rajmunt von Bere did as his friend ordered. The softness and velvety feel appeared to both explorers.

"Save yourselves, whoever can! Bats, batseeee!" Diert screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Someone calm him down, damn it!" the voice of Górnik could be heard running towards them. "They're sleeping, and if you stay quiet, nothing will happen," said the guide, already standing next to the dwarf and Piwowarek.

"I think you meant to say, 'Nothing good will happen.' It's moving on a Viking! I advise you—run!" McMurphy yelled. Suddenly, a low squeal could be heard, which grew louder and louder, unbearable.

"The competition's over now! Behind me, you unruly tourists, behind me!" the Miner shouted, disappearing around the next bend.

"He said to keep his mouth shut, but you didn't! As always, you've screwed everything up again! It's probably in your nature, McMurphy, isn't it?" Blanka, calm as ever, added. "Hush, Beauty, hush, everything will be alright."

They ran as fast as they could. The corridor didn't branch off anywhere, so it was hard to get lost. However, the darkness enveloping them made their run difficult. Norman, who had been leading the pack of fleeing companions, had long since lost sight of the Miner. He was beginning to lose hope that he was running well. A moment later, however, he saw him standing before him, standing by the round door.

"Faster, humans... and nonhumans too, if you value your lives!" the guide said with a smile. The door slammed shut just behind the last Diert.

"Well, that was close. What's my problem with you...? But oh well, different people - different customs... yes or no, Mr. Norman?" the Miner asked.

"The pure truth, the pure truth..." McMurphy managed to choke out, exhausted and unconscious.

"All right, my dears. This is the end of our so pleasant and adventurous meeting," the guide said, standing right next to the wooden, winding staircase that seemed to lead straight to the top of the castle tower. "All good things come to an end. What can I wish you? I hope you achieve your goal, so I wish you that, and courage for the rest of your journey. Farewell, 'great seekers,' and remember what Norman told you.

" "Farewell, Miner... probably forever." We'll never forget the moments we spent here. We won't forget them, even if we wanted to. Thanks for everything, especially for the help," Marek said on behalf of the entire group. One by one, they climbed the stairs and shook Górnik's hand.

***

Everyone emerged, slightly out of breath. When they were firmly on their feet, they couldn't help but think they'd been here before. As you might imagine, they emerged from a large oak tree. Looking around, a dozen or so feet away, they spotted horses tied to the tree. Their horses. They stepped onto the road, mounted their mounts, and no one said a word. Everyone was thinking one thing: "Will this hell happen again in a few moments?" Silently, they increased the distance that separated them from the large, old oak tree.

Chapter Ten:

The Land of the Elderly

"Ha!" said McMurphy, scratching his ass. "Good luck... I thought we'd never get out of this forest."

They saw wheat fields and farmers drifting among them. They covered more and more miles and the landscape showed no signs of changing.

"Marek, please... Aren't we getting lost again?" asked the perplexed von Bere.

"No, no... We're now in the vast fields of the Land of the Elders.

" "Wait, wait..." whispered Norman. "The Land of the Elders? I heard about it somewhere... There's a song..."

"No!" Blanka knew she wouldn't achieve anything, even with the loudest scream.

"Quiet there... How did that go...?"

Hey, over the mountain, hey, over the river,

where the fragrant poppies grow,

an old man with a large portfolio is coming

to the lake to catch crayfish. He

's already cut two fields of grain.

His ears are shining brightly. He

's already devoured his third breakfast.

Zara will steal another one

. "You know, Norman... How can I put this... He's not crazy," commented Marek

. "The singer has spoken...

" "Gentlemen," Piwowarek interjected. "Excuse me for interrupting this heated debate, but can anyone tell me what this signpost means?

" "What?" Norman asked, surprised. "It's standing there like a bull: 'To the beach, turn right.'"

"To what beach? Why, the grain is swaying in the wind here?!," replied Diert.

"Exactly... But I'm sure Mr. Marek will surely dispel our doubts," added Rajmunt.

"Hmm..." Marek pondered. "According to the map, we still have one day's ride to the sea... According to the map...

" "Ha!" shouted McMurphy. "This must be the beach where the old women catch crayfish!

" "Don't be ridiculous, Norman," commented the dwarf. "Maybe they still catch them in their briefcases..."

"There's only one way to find out," replied McMurphy.

"Indeed," remarked Marek.

***

They had been walking in the indicated direction for about an hour, but so far, nothing indicated a change in the landscape.

"Relax, it's probably behind that hill...I swear!" said Norman.

"You better be right, McMurphy, or I'll fry you some eggs and eat them warmed up with sweet horseradish sauce," added Rajmunt out of the blue.

"Eggs will be fine if Norman's right," said Blanka, indifferent to the whole situation until now. She had seemed to be pondering something very intensely for a long time. Beauty had also been absent since they left the mine.

"Ho, ho!" The princess has spoken, welcome to the living, Blanka. Marek had long ago stopped trying to establish closer contact with the Thief. He decided he didn't deserve such a perfect woman. Yet despite this, he couldn't help but stare at her beautiful, sun-drenched face.

They noticed the first changes after a moment. Reeds began to appear sporadically among the grain. The paved road gradually covered with sand. Finally, a vast lake came into view.

"Viking-like!

" "Indeed," Diert replied at Norman's call.

"Look over there!" McMurphy jabbed a finger at a small hut around which old men were milling about. "They're fishing for crayfish!

" "Indeed," Diert confirmed. "But they're using nets, not briefcases—as you suspected.

" "Are you sure? We have to get closer, by the way. I'll at least ask if they know that song."

Everyone headed in unison toward the wooden hut with the thatched roof. The sun was at its zenith, blazing hot—but that didn't bother the indefatigable old men. None of them even noticed the new guests, as if this place had been frequented by tourists for centuries.

"Excuse me," Norman asked the first fisherman they encountered. "What do you call that device you gentlemen use to catch crayfish?

" "Don't use Greek.

" "What language should I use?" McMurphy asked.

The old man shrugged and pointed to his friend, who was standing on the jetty.

"Fyodor, speak," he announced, then returned to his routine, which in his case was sewing sandals and sharpening knives.

The entire group unconsciously dispersed around the camp, intently observing the workers. Norman decided to talk to Fyodor.

"Hello, Mr. Fyodor, do you speak Greek?

" "Yes, sir.

" "Oh, that's wonderful! So could you tell me the name of that device you gentlemen use to catch crayfish?

" "That, sir, was a deki.

" "Deki! Of course! I knew something was wrong with that verse.

"Smichy gichy!" the old man suddenly shouted, very nervous. "Excuse

me?! "

Sir, you're laughing at me!

"Who?

" "You!

" "Me? How could I dare—"

"Smichy gichy!" Fyodor shouted, then threw a sandal at Norman.

"Ouch! What are you doing, old man?! Have you lost your mind?"

"I don't understand.

" "I don't understand either... I'm afraid, you fools," McMurphy mocked the old man, and as a result, he received a crab in the back as he left.

Blanka entered the cottage without any problems. Together with the beautiful one, they were examining large pots, probably used for preparing crayfish. For some reason, the old men seemed afraid of Beauty's gaze. The puppy clearly realized the situation, jumped out of Blanka's embrace, and began chasing the panicking old men, wagging its tail cheerfully.

"People, what's wrong with you? Haven't you seen the dog?!?" Blanka realized that Fyodor was probably the only one who could communicate in her native language.

When she managed to catch the unruly dog, Norman entered the cottage, followed by the rest of the team.

"Let's get out of here," suggested McMurphy. "My first Greton lesson with Fyodor cost me a blow with a sandal and a crampon, respectively. I'm not going to risk getting hit by one of those pots.

" "Speaking of pots..." whispered Blanka. "This one's gold-plated. You could get a little for it..."

"Stop it, woman," Diert interjected. "You're here with us, don't even think about stealing.

" "It's too late," replied Blanka, stuffing the ornate silver cutlery into her pocket.

But before the spoons and forks could touch the bottom of the pocket, the massive door flew off its hinges with a tremendous bang, passing our heroes and then crashing through the large window.

"Will the referee count this goal..." whispered McMurphy to Piwowarek.

At the doorstep stood the short figure of an old man with a long stick in his hand.

"Wouldn't it be easier to turn the handle?" asked Marek, unmoved.

"I'm Krzysztof," the old man replied. "I never knock on my door."

He jumped, spun, waved his stick three times in the air, and then fell onto the table, breaking it in half.

"Time's running out," Piwowarek said.

"Yes, I think I left the milk on the fire," McMurphy added, slowly moving out of the way.

"Halt!" Krzysztof ordered. "Someone's missing my cutlery. Give it back.

" "Zara, zara... What cutlery?" Diert tried to get out of trouble.

"I'm counting to four," the old man announced.

"But we...

" "One.

" "Wait, we only...

" "Two.

" "But you can't...

" "Four!" the old man yelled, and in one fluid movement, he threw the stick at the blank so hard that it lodged deep in its skull. Seeing this, Norman grabbed what he had at hand, but unfortunately, it was a long metal spoon.

"???" Brewer asked in surprise.

The old man laughed, looked at the spoon, and bent it with his eyes. Now even the miller seemed a little nervous. He drew his axe from his belt, turned the mill, and with a lightning-fast movement, lunged at the old man. However, the old man proved even faster. He caught the dwarf's hand in mid-flight, bent it, and broke it with a headbutt. The bones crunched. Diert didn't even have time to roar. As he fell, he took a fatal blow to the spine.

The only thing Norman could do at that moment was to urinate honorably.

"Sir," he choked out through his tears, "it's only cutlery..."

The old man grabbed the convulsing dwarf's axe and, with a single movement, with the force of a bear, nailed Norman to the wooden beam, drenching himself in the dwarf's blood.

Marek and Piwowarek stood paralyzed, unable to make the simplest move. The old man delivered another blow. He twirled a pirouette at a height of two meters and struck Marek in the forehead with his calf with such force that it broke his neck. Piwowarek tried to escape. He even made his first move, but unfortunately, he slipped on his own vomit, fell onto Norman's backpack, and a stream of blood poured from his head.

"What the hell are those rakes for, Norman?!

You'll hurt anyone else with that and they'll be screwed!"

-I'll be Krzysztof the Winner. Twenty-two fights ahead of time. Zero losses. Zero draws.

At that moment, Beauty burst into the room and barked cheerfully at the old man. Undefeated Krzysztof's eyes bulged, he clutched his heart, and breathed his last.

What's the moral of this fairy tale?

Smoking causes cancer and heart disease.

END OF PART ONE*

* last.

All events and characters appearing in this work are purely fictional, and we express our deepest sympathy to those to whom this really happened.

Chapters by:

Gollumb (Kamil Gębiak):

"The Miller"

"The Thief"

"Under the Musty Blanket"

"The Road Longed Unmercifully"

"According to Mark's Plan"

The Bald (Jakub Nowak)

"The Artists"

"The Lilliputians"

"Provisions and Something to Eat"

"Easy, Gentlemen"

The chapter "The Land of the Old Men" was written collaboratively.

The book uses quotes from several Polish feature films and the Gospel according to Saint Matthew. Marka (no, no…)

...You should always fear me,

I will come with a scythe when you fall asleep,

Beware, I tell you,

I am not telling you this in vain,

that the harvest is coming,

Death is never lazy,

So I end our chatter,

Because All Souls' Day is approaching...

...And besides me, the world knows not

how many ghosts there are already in heaven,

One more thing tells you,

the old striga of death, the ghost,

That everyone should be feared,

Even the scantily clad...

Gollumb