Back in that life, in a distant bright childhood, my grandparents lived in a small village, literally on the edge of a large lowland. From it, like tentacles, ravines spread out in all directions, most of their slopes long since turned into terraces with gardens. In these places, before the revolution, a landlord, or "pan", lived.
His estate was destroyed over the years, but the dungeons remained quite "alive" until I was about fifteen — that's the last memory I have of climbing in those dungeons. What's my point? It's just that when I went down there for the first time, into the darkness, a thick, old silence came sharply over me, carrying me away from the noisy existence with an impenetrable peace.
The being under the brick vaults literally instilled in my soul a kind of peace with its unshakable age, a kind of self-confident monumentality, or something? It is a very specific feeling, and I remembered it when I returned to Britain with the idea that this is where my real home is being built. Without circumlocution or innuendo, it is home.
The thought came to me: even if the islands do not have the best climate, the best land and so on, I can safely say that the foundation of my house is strong, it inspires confidence in its established, stable fortress. It is a strange feeling and the thoughts are unexpected, especially for someone like me, but it is what it is.
Smiling at my thoughts, I motioned for the clerk on duty to make an imprint of my Portal-key. This is a standard procedure necessary to travel comfortably, and if it is not done, each nation's Ministry has its own methods of blocking international portals. Often these methods cause serious injury to various smugglers and illegals. I have everything legal, so I don't see the point in promoting entities in plain sight.
***
— ...at the end of the report I would like to add that "Tears of Hippocrates" is, unexpectedly even for goblin analysts, in demand among the populace....
— How else could it be? — I shrug. — People need the simplest of medicines at all times, and not everyone is born with the gift of medicine or potion making, and our cheap but high quality goods are not inferior to those of our competitors.
— The accounting department suggests we raise the prices... — Lupin started to say, checking another note in the folder, but was interrupted.
— No price increases. — Categorically. — Right now, the Potions Shop in the Potions Room is selling the most primitive but sought-after potions. If we raise the price, our customers will be disappointed and leave. We can't do that. The prices are frozen at the current level, we will only raise them if the price of ingredients goes up, but we will evaluate new, more specific potions carefully. ....
— Are you sure that's wise? No, — the man caught my sharp look and immediately decided to explain himself. — I'm not against your decisions, but I was told that the profit can be increased.... — Lupin was surprised at himself, he'd walked into this whole thing unnoticed and even more surprisingly, he was enjoying it.
— Remus, I'm going to tell you a little secret, one that I can already trust you with. — I smile as I watch the man change dramatically, looking even younger somehow. — It's all for a reason. Do you understand? Me and my business — we're new here, and if I start with incomprehensible price fluctuations, the locals will be suspicious, and we don't want that. Tell me, what do the English value most?
— Maybe, — the man frowned slightly, thinking. — Stability, tranquility...
— I once read an article in a scientific journal where a doctor of sociology said the same thing. That's what I want people to see in my companies (you didn't think we'd stop at just one, did you?), stability, consistency. And that's what we're going to strive for, you know? By stability of prices and assortment we will declare: "We are serious and we are here for a long time", you know? People should get used to the fact that we always have "pepperup potion" for three shekels and healing ointment for five shekels. That we'll even lend money in a pinch, if the wizard signs a promissory note with magic. Stability, Mr. Lupin, that's our credo. — That was a bit exaggerated, but it's better.
— Ahem, yes... what about your bloody fame? — the werewolf asked with a strange undertone.
— What's wrong with it? Thank you. — A grateful nod from the maid who brought tea and cookies.
— The investigation is still ongoing, and many people are concerned about its conclusions. There are also rumors that there are many innocent victims among your victims. — Lupin asked with the squint of a professional detective, wondering who had already beaten his brains in?
— Lies. — Like I'm waving away an annoying fly. — By the way, I don't know who exactly hired the attackers, but the interrogation revealed that they were all illegal immigrants from neighboring countries, mostly refugees. Someone was picking them up, literally one by one, then keeping them in Ireland and transferring them to the game at the right time. — I sip green tea with jasmine, in general Gwyneth has a gift for all sorts of culinary wonders, she even made dumplings that oh-ho-ho! — The investigation revealed that none of the former Eaters were involved — that was the first thing they did. — Lupin listened with open interest and surprise. — The participating countries were determined to find the culprit, so they "dug" together. It's a rare case: the British have accepted outside help.