Chapter 66: Blood is Thicker Than Water

  Justinian watched the clamor, deafening only a moment ago, die instantly upon the old devil’s appearance. The group of spindly cultivators looked unsettled—none more so than their leader.

  Yet, the nobleman Seweryn seemed just as shocked; he clearly recognized this "cardinal" from somewhere.

  "Jean?!"

  The newcomer, seeing his reaction, merely smiled and adopted a cheerful expression.

  "We are all friends here. There is no need to be at each other's throats."

  He turned toward Justinian, as if wishing to confirm his intentions. Justinian exchanged a quick glance with Septima, then nodded. He had not expected such a conciliatory tone, given the opposing side seemed to hold the advantage.

  Satisfied, the cardinal turned to the green-haired group. The "flock of storks" remained unconvinced. The drunken Henri wore an inscrutable expression, as if wavering in his judgment. Then, one of his companions stepped into the fray.

  He pointed a trembling finger at Bogna, seething with anger.

  "She laughed at us... Le scandale, it is an insult!"

  The fledgling's words sharpened Henri’s gaze, as if a sudden surge of emotion had granted him a great deal of courage.

  Henri straightened abruptly. The unsteadiness he had displayed just moments ago gave way to a theatrical, exaggerated posture. He dusted off his caftan, adjusted his unrealistically high collar, and lifted his chin so high he was almost aiming it at the ceiling. Placing a hand over his heart as if he had just received a mortal blow, he exclaimed in a squeaky but carrying tenor:

  "That is an understatement! This is a glob of spit upon my personal majesty! The honor of my mignons is an extension of my own, and that, messieurs, is inviolable!"

  Justinian sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on. Through his time of dealing with Sarmatian nobility, he had heard enough about coats of arms, lineages, and insults that could only be washed away with blood—usually stemming from someone looking askance at someone else's greyhound. He was not in the mood for hysterics.

  He looked with undisguised pity at Henri, who was now crowing like a rooster.

  "What kind of honor is so fragile that it is diminished by mere laughter?"

  A silence fell, deeper and heavier than when the Cardinal had first entered. Henri and his "flock of storks" gasped simultaneously, emitting a sound like broken organ bellows. The faces of the gaunt mignons darkened with indignation, and Henri himself turned even greener, this time from rage.

  The air around the green-haired leader began to tremble. A dense, acrid aura filled the room, dimming the candles. Cardinal Jean flinched, placing a hand on his cane, ready to intervene before the tavern turned into a battlefield.

  But then, Justinian took a step forward. He did not reach for a weapon, nor did he shift into a combat stance. He simply looked Henri in the eye.

  There was no challenge in that gaze, only a promise. A coldness so absolute and severe that it pierced through the drunken haze and theatrical pose of the green-haired man, striking his primal survival instinct. Justinian had seen things in his life far worse than a sulking devil with a complex, and that experience now poured from his eyes.

  Henri blinked. His aura wavered and burst like a soap bubble. His puffed-up posture deflated, and he stepped back half a pace, swallowing nervously.

  "If... if the Cardinal vouches... C'est bon. We shall not spoil the atmosphere."

  A quarter of an hour later, the situation had changed diametrically. Everyone sat at a massive oak table which Jean had ordered moved to the center of the hall. The tension, though still palpable, had receded into the background, replaced by the clinking of pewter tankards and bulbous glasses.

  Interdimensional differences also manifested in the choice of libations. While the nobility of the 66th Dimension would not feast without quince liqueur, here something else prevailed. Before Jean, Henri, and his flock, wide goblets were placed, filled with an amber liquid possessing a sharp, spicy aroma.

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  The Cardinal smelled the vessel's contents with a smile, swirling the liquid in the glass. Justinian noticed that Seweryn was trying very hard not to roll his eyes at the sight. Despite a looser approach to tradition than the rest of the Brother Nobles, Seweryn still valued the customs of the 66th.

  Soon enough, the nobleman leaned in toward Justinian.

  "Do not be deceived by that pleasant smile. He is not merely a simple, good-natured devil, but a man who, not more than a few centuries ago, was one of the most important politicians of the 58th Dimension."

  "Ancient history, my dear Seweryn. I am now on something of a... well-earned retirement."

  While the old man began to spin tales of his renowned past, the rest of the company was mostly occupied with watching those sitting opposite them.

  Young Rudnicki, having spent the entire brawl cowering under the table, now sat puffed up like a peacock. Expanding his fatty chest, he looked around the room as if he had personally pacified everyone.

  Opposite him sat the mignons. Henri's gaunt companions sipped their cognac in small swallows, never taking their eyes off Justinian. Their eyes flashed daggers, and their mouths twisted in grimaces of disdain at his every movement. He, however, had considerable experience dealing with irritating individuals, so he easily ignored them.

  What drew attention, however, was Henri's behavior. It was... unique.

  "Ah, this cognac!" the "Stork" suddenly cried out with tears in his eyes, smelling the drink. "It reminds me of summer at my beautiful family palace!"

  A moment later, however, when Bogna glanced just slightly too much in his direction, his mood did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turn in a split second. He turned completely red, looking ready to pound his fist on the table and scream. It was a near thing that his mignons did not have to restrain him from reaching for his rapier.

  'Worse still... these mood swings occur every few moments...'

  Watching this with horror, Justinian discovered that the level of absurdity in the 58th Dimension's aristocracy did not differ much from what he had grown accustomed to with the Brother Nobles.

  Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted again.

  Henri was just opening his mouth to deliver another paean to his own sensitivity when he froze. His mouth remained open, but no sound emerged. His face contorted in an expression of supreme disgust, as if he had just smelled sulfur of the worst sort. Interestingly, his mignons adopted an identical expression.

  Justinian looked inquiringly at Seweryn, but to his amazement, young Rudnicki had also paled, his eyes widening in terror. Cardinal Jean looked as if he knew what was coming and sighed heavily.

  The silence became absolute. And then Justinian heard it.

  A quiet, rhythmic squeak. Like something scraping along the road outside, accompanied by a distinctive, cheerful jingling.

  Through the tavern window, against the backdrop of a burning sky, a silhouette slowly passed. It was a young devil, laboriously pedaling a creaking, two-wheeled bicycle.

  Justinian didn't even have time to furrow his brow in confusion before Henri jumped up with a scream.

  "This is a profanation! In my territory?!"

  He knocked over the bench with a crash. He was seconded by young Alfons, who suddenly remembered he could speak.

  "Death to him!" cried the mignons in unison.

  In an instant, they rushed to the door, drawing their weapons.

  "Stop! That's my cyclist!" Henri screamed, bolting outside. "I saw him first! I'll make a dish out of those spokes!"

  The crowd poured out of the tavern, chasing the hapless cyclist, who, seeing the approaching horde of dressed-up weirdos, began to speed up in panic.

  Justinian watched this with horror, unsure if he should intervene, when Cardinal Jean came to his aid.

  "As a human, you may not know this, but we devils believe that riding a bicycle ruins our infernal climate, so wonderfully rich in carbon dioxide."

  Taking a sip from his goblet, he added after a moment:

  "The desire to fight this terrible invention is particularly popular among our nobility."

  Seweryn hid his face in his hands and shook his head in resignation. He was evidently ashamed of his caste.

  Justinian leaned back comfortably in his chair and looked at the door, behind which the screaming mob was disappearing. The corner of his mouth lifted in a slight smile.

  'This is probably a bad time to mention that I recently became a nobleman, too.'

  The gathering lasted a good hour longer, though the dynamic of the meeting clearly slumped after the exit of the privileged estate. No one even noticed when Septima vanished; the girl hadn't said much from the very beginning.

  Bogna said her goodbyes shortly after. She was still a bit pale after having provoked the earlier brawl. Justinian assured her that nothing had happened, though she had lived long enough to know the meager value of assurances from a terrible, grim judge.

  Following her, without much emotion, went Franciscus, for whom bedtime had already arrived.

  Henri, his mignons, and young Rudnicki did not return. Only Justinian, Seweryn, and Cardinal Jean remained at the oak table.

  "So, what do you think of my pupil?" Jean asked, looking at the door through which the green-haired Henri had disappeared.

  "Pupil?" repeated Seweryn, raising an eyebrow.

  "Indeed. That is the brother of our dimension's Voivode himself."

  Justinian and Seweryn exchanged looks of disbelief.

  'That squeaky fop who just threw a hysterical fit at the sight of a bicycle is a Voivode's brother!?'

  Justinian knew Boruta quite well—a powerful, awe-inspiring administrator, the embodiment of strength. He was on a different level from every other devil he saw, not counting Micromegas. Juxtaposing that image with the perfumed, green Henri in tights was so abstract it was painful.

  The Cardinal chuckled softly, but after a moment his face grew serious. He set his goblet down on the table with a quiet clink. The mirth vanished from his eyes, giving way to the cold calculation of the politician Seweryn had mentioned earlier.

  "But enough about family troubles and my dimension."

  He leaned over the table, fixing his piercing gaze on his guests.

  "So... what have you heard about the upcoming ceremony in the 60th Dimension?"