From the author: Another fragment from our book “The Giant and the Hero” The general’s sleep was restless. Restless, and maybe it wasn’t even a dream. The clock in the corner ticked rhythmically, counting down the time. Time was getting short. The general clearly felt this, and at the same time considered it nonsense. Time is endless, there is a whole abyss of it, maybe it’s not like that for a person, youth-maturity-old age, etc., but in general... Then where does this half-illusion, half-confidence come from that somewhere in the common repository of ideas, matter and time this very time is becoming less and less, like wheat in a leaky sack? He stood up, turned over the pillow, and with pleasure pressed his hot cheek against the cool, clean fabric. You need to sleep, at least get a little sleep, otherwise in the morning there will be fog in your thoughts and a heavy, cast-iron head again. The soothing syrup was enough for exactly half the night. In the morning there was strong tea, at lunchtime too, and in the evening... At night - syrup. Heart massage, as the general told himself. In the corridors and halls he was greeted by worried glances. Some hid this anxiety, others didn’t even try. “What will happen?” - thought the general. This question, and most importantly, all sorts of answers swarming in his head, did not allow him to sleep at night and enjoy life during the day. Some people there have a curse like “may you live in an era of change.” The general sincerely did not understand why the curse occurred until recently. - Your Excellency, what do you want? - a sleepy servant appeared in the doorway, obeying the call of an invisible bell. - Bring some tea, light the candles in the office. - Will you get dressed? - I will, myself. Go. The general did not like multi-volume court etiquette and strictly ensured that in his chambers there was less etiquette than the average for the palace. He did not wear a camisole, although that, again, was required according to etiquette, and gave preference to pants and loose silk shirt. It was still night outside. The office, as usual, smelled of lavender oil - the general loved this smell, it calmed him and helped him concentrate. It was a wonderful accompaniment to history and astronomy classes. By the way, the general had a wonderful hypothesis about the influence of fast-moving celestial bodies (comets) on the course of political events (uprisings, coups, wars and other disturbances of stability). It was a good hypothesis, without five minutes a theory that he could brilliantly defend in the Round Hall of the Imperial Cryptorium in front of the best minds of our time... Unfortunately, in other times dreams have to be postponed until later. The general was especially sad in light of the fact that the cherished “later” could well not come at all... - What kind of nonsense is creeping into my head! – The General annoyedly rearranged the documents on the table (without any reason or logic) and did not notice that he was talking to himself out loud. Damn it, I need to calm down. OK. There are still two hours until light, no less. So what if times are troubled? Even in troubled times, you can find a couple of hours for your favorite activities. Especially if you have insomnia. Maybe she is a friend, and not a tormentor? The general was immersed in reading precious scrolls delivered from afar. And this was very good, because there, in the depths of antiquity, he drew calmness, inspiration and strength, and it was calmness, strength and inspiration that he needed when, a few hours later, the same servant, already cheerful and dressed in accordance with etiquette, knocked on the door and rapped out: “Your Excellency, Councilor Mann is visiting you.” Would you please accept? The general glanced at his watch: six thirty-five. It’s too early for an adviser, oh, it’s too early... And this does not bode well. And I will accept. - Shall I hand over some clothes? - No need. In principle, it would not be a bad idea to remind Councilor Mann that he is just an adviser (bureaucratic necessity) to General Call Alcourt, the eighth descendant of General Demius Alcourt, the first viceroy of the Western lands and guardian The rocky borders of the White Empire, may his name be famous for centuries. A man who defended the right of the Empire to spread its law and light in these god-forsaken lands, as well as the right of local residents to education, medicine andprotection from Zagorsk barbarians. How many generations have lived in peace and prosperity here, on the once ruined land, where the grass barely had time to grow, forever swept away by invasions, one after another... And now it’s the turn of him, the Eighth Descendant, to stand up for the rights - of his spiritual homeland and the people who lived here and looked at him with hopes. “Your Excellency, good morning.” “I’m glad I didn’t wake you,” the insinuating voice of Councilor Mann incredibly filled the office from wall to wall. The water of a flood could spread just as quickly, persistently and silently. If, of course, in the highest, South tower of the general's castle-palace you could be in danger of a flood. - Good morning, Mr. Councilor. Surprised by such an early visit. To what? Councilor Mann sighed with concern, and his narrow face took on a mournful expression. The cheeks, mustache and even the eyes sagged, as if on command. “Bad news, my general.” They brought it from Rozhk yesterday... The general thought two thoughts at that moment, it seems, at the same time. First: “Who was reported? Why not me? Why am I only finding out now?” The second concerned Rozhk itself, a small fort, to which for several weeks now, when examining the map, the eye had clung to it like a thorn. Little Horn is the first obstacle, the first stronghold on the way from the Gate to the Empire. This general’s thought was: “I’m sorry.” - What’s there? “- the general asked coldly, holding back his rage and pain through an effort of will. “It’s unknown,” the adviser sighed. - No details, the messenger can’t really say anything, it seems he’s crazy. I told the doctors to look after him. It is only clear that the fort did not survive. I ordered the sending of scouts, I hope Your Excellency is not against it? - Against, Mr. Councilor. I don't like it when such important decisions are made without my knowledge. Moreover, when I am removed from making these decisions. The adviser’s face took on an expression of offended dignity. “I very much regret my haste and the liberties I took, Your Excellency,” the adviser said with restraint, but his face spoke of the absence of any regrets, and also that It’s a shame, a shame to so rudely offend your elders, who care about your well-being with all their hearts. - However, I will take the liberty of reminding you that in the presence of your late father I swore allegiance to the Empire, and also that you yourself asked me, to the best of my ability, to resolve issues related to... - Thank you for your zeal, Mr. Advisor. And I ask you to continue to keep me informed of events, immediately reporting news at any time of the day or night, and also to approve with me personally every step to resolve the situation. “Yes, Your Excellency,” the adviser meekly agreed. “May the name of your family and the greatness of the state be glorified throughout the centuries... The ritual formula was drowned in the persistent knocking on the door. “Yes?” “Your Excellency,” the servant exuded such deep indifference that it was clear: the conversation was overheard from the first to the last word, - Councilor Konrad asks for an audience. At a quarter to seven? The general exhaled through his nose. - Let him in. - Yes! The servant disappeared, and Councilor Konrad appeared on the threshold. If the general did not like Councilor Mann, then Councilor Konrad... well, yes, he was afraid. I didn't know why. It’s just that this inconspicuous man with half-gray hair and a grayish face inspired timidity and awe in him. The general was even glad that Conrad had arrived only now: with him, he would have so freely, perhaps, would not have put Mann in his place. He glanced at the portrait of his great ancestor, General Demius Alcourt, hanging on the wall opposite the desk. Give me strength. Please. I can’t... General Call acutely felt the inconsistency - both of his title and of the time in which he happened to live. Yes, “general” in the Empire has been a formal designation for several centuries, replacing the word “governor” - since the time of the Enlightenment campaigns, when the greatest, brilliant commanders of that distant time expanded the borders of the state almost fourfold, making it a real Empire. And they remained to rule in the annexed territories,.