Ranierov had not been decimated, and that he and his penalty battalion were one step away from something more dangerous.

— Who cares about that? — Khmelnitsky replied, looking at a poster hanging on the wall with a skull in a beret, their new symbol for a punitive unit. It was pasted on so that the real emblem, the attacking falcon that had once been used to make the trident, was not visible underneath.

— Yeah, of course not. All I cared about was where the informant would be found. Who the informant would be found with. And who that informant will be is a tenth question… But still. Are you sure we got the right guy?

— Sergei, I don't know… All we have is our speculation and information from the Mountain. That Raniere's a jackal is already known to everyone. And the only thing that doesn't add up is his behavior, which doesn't fit the behavior of an informer, who should be quieter than water, lower than grass. But you know… It's quite possible that that was his tactic. He'd get caught, he'd be like, "am I stupid to put myself in harm's way?" So what we got from The Mountain is still out there.

And it looks like nothing's gonna change in the next three days…

The fact that there was an informer in Squad 14 had long been known to the top brass, but the rank and file were fully convinced that there were only friends around. And when Ranierov was sent to the brig, where he had been many times before for drunkenness, most of them had no questions about the reasons. But they did not keep him there longer than three days, and at the end of them it was necessary to decide whether to accuse him officially and tell everyone the truth in order to bring the case to execution, or to let him go as an innocent man, if there was not enough evidence of his guilt.

At the mention of the word "jackal" Bolotnikov immediately recalled his recent conversation with a man who bore the same name. The jackal from Khivi had said that soon Gora would have new mines at his disposal, which meant that his influence would grow disproportionately more than before. He'll be treated very differently. And it will lead to very different results. It is not clear when it will happen, and what the Mountain knows about it. And from this it may follow, whether he has not intentionally leaked to us the one whom we would be glad to kill ourselves, just to make it look the most credible. Like, I did you a favor, acted honestly and in proportion to my strength, so now you do something for me.

And what could the Mountain demand now? They were already doing nothing that would interfere with him in any way. Their sabotage operations were only directed against the plagues and their infrastructure. Though… Things were changing. If people began to set their own punishments and rewards, then the infrastructure must change eventually. And yet the Mountain is silent. He didn't say anything about the recent raids, and especially about the explosion on the outer communication lines, which temporarily stopped the transportation of coal by the shortest route.

Should the Mountain care about that or not?

— Vitya, I have my doubts…" Bolotnikov said. Such behind-the-scenes games were not for him at all, but it was already clear that if he did not participate in them, defeat was inevitable.

Khmelnitsky looked at him questioningly.

— Vitya… About Zubkov, we would never have thought he was such a rat….

Khmelnitsky wrinkled his face — and understandably so, it concerns him most of all:

— No, we never would have thought–

— Gora leaked Ranierov to us. And the facts only point to him. There are no other candidates. No one who has family left at the mine. No one who would have run away in the last few years… At the same time, I know a few people who might fall into this category. I don't have the data he does, of course. But it doesn't add up. We've had a lot of people defect to us, and no one else has any living relatives left in the mine?

Khmelnitsky stood silent, unblinking. It was unclear whether he liked such words or not.

The major continued:

— Remember that girl. Maria. The one who escaped from the mine six months ago, and they asked us to find her. We didn't. That's what we told them. But that doesn't mean she's dead. And her father, by the way, is a deputy foreman… We have another candidate who escaped from the mine, leaving her family alive. I'm not saying anything about her, but Gora said clearly — he has no other options but Ranierov for the role of a snitch… How can you be so unambiguous?

— Sergei, you know… you're fucking with me. — Khmelnitsky said calmly. — I'm sick of defending this asshole. Tell me straight, do you think that Ranierov does not deserve the death penalty for what he did?

— What does that have to do with it? If he deserved to be punished for his past, then he should have been executed.

— I should have. But they didn't. And then they regretted it, but it was too late.

— So now we're supposed to execute him for something he didn't do? And let the real informant walk free? And snitch on us all he wants?

— One. Raniere deserved it a long time ago. Two. A real informant, if there is one, will only relax if we catch him. And then he'll be easier to catch. Three. If you want to do your lawyering, you and Zhivenko should do it together. He fucks me up as much as you do. And fourth and finally. I'm no longer the commander in chief here, I'm just the commander of a punishment unit. If I wanted to do something, I don't have the authority to do it. Zubkov got his way, so he's the one who's gonna have to deal with this shit.

All short and to the point. Yes, possessing exactly these qualities Khmelnitsky once became the leader of "Detachment 14", and then also absorbed the surrounding independent units, making "Detachment 14" the largest among all the Maquis of the Slavic Column.

Dima, Misha Zhivenko's new deputy, rumbled into the house. Since the recent shooting and the capture of the prisoner from the Khivi, he had only become more active in moving his legs and moving his brain more actively, as if he had been given a second life to make things right. Now he wasn't even out of breath, though it was obvious that he had been running from afar:

— There was an ambush. Near the Deese sector.

— An ambush? — Khmelnitsky waggled his eyebrow in surprise. They were preparing an ambush, counting on the fact that the plagues would begin to repair the recently blown up roads, and thus it would be possible not only to postpone the repair work, but also to inflict new damage in manpower.

— Hiwi. They discovered our positions, and attacked at the same time… Only nothing came back, ten men.

Ancient Roman military rule — "If an ambush is detected in time, you can do more damage than what those who were preparing the ambush were going to do. And so it was. Two companies were lost almost entirely. And where the Maquis positions were particularly strong. This goddamn Deez sector is a tricky one.

Prefect

There's no such thing as too much power. No, there's no such thing as too much. And you especially realize that when you get more. Gora had thought about these things a long time ago, when he had been pondering the structure of the Chum Empire. It seemed to him that everyone there reveled in power and had no conscious ability to stop. Back then, he had considered that a weakness. Now he considered it a weakness that they couldn't hold power properly, especially in one hand.

That's the most important thing. One goal, one head, one leader. There was something about that slogan. Something long forgotten, but eerily similar. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's got it all now. And he knows how to handle it.

Gora walked along his office. It was now much richer than it had been before: a cabinet at the entrance with machine guns, ammunition, and grenades, a second cabinet in the corner with documents and clothing, a nightstand near the desk where he kept his current necessities, a large flag with a crossed axe and pickaxe under a large white fang on a black background-the new symbol of the Prefectorate. On top of that, he had another room cut into the depths, where he now slept. Three of Tikhomirov's security detail were always on duty near the entrance.

Tikhomirov already had three subdivisions: a "security" unit for the safety of individuals, a GRB (rapid response group) to prevent possible riots or attacks from outside, and an "assault" unit for possible future occupation of new positions. How to use the assault team hasn't even crossed my mind yet — the plague will give as much as they give. But still I wanted more and wanted to take it by force. It was only important to wait for the time to do it.

Yeah, none of that existed just three months ago. And now there are seven mines in subordination, and the paths between them, and the infrastructure on the surface, and even has its own army, although very hidden from prying eyes.

Hora realized that if he had not once surrendered the Bulgarians before their revolt, if he had not come with a bow to the plagues, and nothing like this would have happened. But even that was not enough. It was necessary not only to prove his loyalty to the plague empire, it was also necessary that it was convincing.

There it is. Power. And it must be held not with strong hands, but with a far-sighted mind. That's the only way it can be solid and lead to something. When it's done strategically. Then you can be sure that it won't evaporate the next day or slip through your fingers like sand. You're only sure when it's strategically calibrated. And those fools who once held it by brute force didn't realize one simple thing — they could quietly succeed in front of ordinary people, but inside the system it doesn't work. Only calculation works within the system.

So far, only Tikhomirov understands that. This is what his son Rafael should have been. Intelligent, calculating, restrained. And not a stupid strong-willed romantic who wants a better life for his family and rushes headlong into new obstacles. How did it end? There is no Raphael now…

And there is power. And there will be more. You just have to get the math right.

This morning he received a letter. A very strange and equally interesting letter. It was from a plague, apparently a priest of the Church, who introduced himself as a faithful adherent of the Zhakh faith, as he called himself:

"To Mr. Prefect.

I am writing in your Russian language so as not to waste your time on translations.

Congratulations on your new acquisitions. The six new mines are very valuable and will do you good service, I'm sure. And for my part, as a staunch adherent of the Jah faith, I have nothing against it.

Moreover, I am even ready to support this decision. And in the future, if we succeed, I am ready to give you disproportionately greater influence and territories under your control. You understand the territory I'm talking about.

As my contribution to our long term relationship and first step, I will give you a small gift.

I'll help you keep your place and your current, I'm not afraid of the word, gains. With a kind word.

Which you won't be without in the next few days.

The good word is in the information you will receive in this letter.

Metropolitan Samoh will be raiding one of your subordinate sectors the other day. Not the one you've settled in personally. But a neighboring sector. He's trying out his forces, so to speak.

Neither the imperial army nor the SCIU will offer him any resistance.

But his