The Dinner Party

1

Dia returned to the city on August 11, almost a month after their conversation in the hospital ward. She called Cord and said that her father would be happy to meet him that Saturday.

That was not all the good news. On Friday, Cord learned that the driver who rammed his car had finally come out of a coma. This week no one could visit him except his relatives, but on Monday, it would be possible for the others too. This meant that soon Cord would either confirm his suspicions or have them denied. Everything was going as well as possible.

For now, he was more interested in meeting Dia's father.

2

Cord threw out his old suit. It had become spattered with blood during the accident, and he was too lazy to take it to the dry cleaners. In addition, he had long wished for a white three-piece suit, like the ones that Force wore. Cord, therefore, spent Saturday morning looking for what he wanted and after visiting three stores finally heard the words:

"It suits you very much!"

With a satisfied grin, turning away from the dressing room mirror, he gallantly thanked the sales girl:

"I couldn't have done it without your help."

Deciding to go all out to try to be impressive, Cord also bought some excellent genuine black leather shoes and visited a hairdresser's where he put his tresses in order.

What is going on? I ran into a girl (!), who turned out to be the daughter of the country's ruler (!), and she invited me to a private dinner party!

The surrealism of the situation is off the charts.

3

In the evening, the doorbell rang.

"Hello!" Dia greeted him loudly, standing outside the door with an elegant cane in her hand. "Wow!"

Cord looked gorgeous: from a scruffy, shaggy-haired rube he had almost turned into a genuine aristocrat.

"Mademoiselle, have you completely gone crazy spending an hour coming up to the fifth floor with a sore leg?" With a wink, Cord hugged the bewildered Dia in greeting.

"I— I—"

"Would you please wait a second?" Chuckling, Cord turned to the door and locked it. "And now…"

"Hold on! You are not Cord! You are someone else! This is incomprehensible!" Dia exclaimed playfully.

"…allow me to help you," openly having fun, Cord went up to the girl and picked her up in his arms.

"Oh!" Surprised, Dia dropped the cane, and it went thudding down the stairs. "What are you doing?!" she laughed.

"I'm pretending I'm a romantic gentleman," Cord smiled. "I must match the outfit I'm wearing!"

"No, don't!" Dia ruffled his styled hair. "I liked the old Cord!"

***

Carrying the girl to the door of an awaiting large black limousine, Cord put her down so that she could get inside. Smiling politely, the driver in white gloves shook Cord's outstretched hand and waited for him to get into the car. He then closed the door in a smooth motion.

"Good evening, Cord." Tsar held out his hand to greet him warmly. "Glad to finally meet you."

Oh, how truly striking was the difference between those who only pretended to be aristocratic and a natural aristocrat! A perfectly fitting tailored black suit, chestnut, slightly touched with gray hair, penetrating eyes, and smooth, clean-shaven skin. Tsar spoke in a low but highly authoritative voice, which he in fact almost never raised and never had to: if the ruler said something, no one dared to interrupt him.

Cord shook the outstretched hand.

"Sorry for any possible rudeness: I am not strong on etiquette. How must I address you?"

"Tsar," smiled Dia's father, "just Tsar."

4

In general, his correct title was Tsar III, because he was the third Tsar since the Civil War.

His grandfather, Tsar I, had been the reason for preserving the monarchy in the country. In fact, his decisions as a politician and commander led to the rapid end of the senseless war. True, the people in return thanked him by calling him Bloody. There was a reason for this: he had ascended the throne in times of trouble, and therefore the beginning of his reign was stained with rivers of blood. Those who suffered insufficiencies, troublemakers, dissenters, and anyone who tried to sow chaos in the country again were sentenced to death or sent into an exile from which they did not return.

It was Tsar I who carried out the reform of the names, which, in general, were correctly called nominations. However, this term did not take root in everyday life. This reform was carried out under the slogan "Emphasize Your Personality!" Let's say, up to now, you are all Janes and Johns, and what do those names mean? Quite another thing is names such as Brave or Benefactor: it is immediately clear who you are!

The people happily embraced the idea of "personalized" names. The state and police, in particular, now had a much easier way to identify a person. (Cord once, out of curiosity, looked in the archives how many of his namesakes were in the country. One.) If one of them committed a crime, it would be easier to find them with the knowledge of their name because the personal files of each citizen contained not only anthropometric data (people themselves provided it when they passed the medical commission for passing their driving tests, for example) but also their place of residence and employment. Of course, no one thought about how the information could be used: everyone just liked their new names.

Tsar I understood he would go down in history as a scoundrel, so he raised his son as a humanist, but a humanist with a head. The bet paid off. Tsar II, who was called the Holder of Laws, turned out to be an extremely reasonable ruler: under him, the country did not see any internal or external armed conflicts, and his father's policy of working for the safety of the people continued, and Tsar II became known as the great reformer of the police.

During the '40s and '50s, crime ran rampant throughout the country: not only organized crime but also those of an almost anarchical nature. For example, material collected on serial killers during that period was more than that accumulated for the entire rest of the century. Thus in 1961, Tsar II introduced a mandatory test for mental health—the initial stage of reforms which became popularly known as the "Decriminalization".

In the first year of the tests, people grumbled and complained that the questions were too personal, that the tests could be wrong and all that, but lo and behold, the maniacs disappeared. If there was any hint of a mental disorder (including alcohol and drug addiction), a person was taken for compulsory examination and even treatment. The isolation of potential psychopaths bore fruit: life became calmer. People ceased to be afraid to go into deserted places at night as the chance of running into a psycho with a hammer became minimal.

Unfortunately, organized crime remained. In this regard, Tsar II, not wanting to resort to his father's methods, acted as a real intellectual would: in 1970, a new area of information was introduced into the workings of the police. Of course, they had worked with fingerprints before, but Tsar II provided the police with a database of all the country's citizens. After all, every fingerprint was taken from everyone at birth or when they went to a medical institution.

Of course, the dissatisfied appeared again: the state treats us as if we were criminals! But a few years later, they discovered that fewer crimes were committed: there were so many criminals who were dumb and touched everything. Oddly enough, even knowing that their prints were in the database, many still did not know to put on gloves.

The ultimate attack on crime was the introduction of DNA profiling by Tsar II in 1985. Where did the material come from? That's right, from the blood that a person donates for tests throughout his life! Here not the people but entire countries were already outraged. They said it violated human rights! To which Tsar II reasonably questioned: "And crimes do not violate them?" And, to no one's surprise, the number of crimes dropped again.

In 1989, Tsar II died after a long illness, and his son ascended the throne. He focused not on the fight against crime but on the development of trade and international relations. In 1991, a powerful economic recovery began in the country, which has continued to this day.

5

The driver who had gone to retrieve the cane lost in the entrance returned, and they finally drove off.

After several minutes of awkward silence, during which Dia looked out of the tinted window and Tsar, with thoughtfully folded hands in his lap, looked nowhere, Cord finally decided to speak.

"Tsar," he looked at him. "I… must apologize. For what happened to Dia."

"What are you talking about?" Tsar was surprised, and Dia looked at Cord.

"Well, the accident. Everything happened so suddenly—"

"Oh, do not worry," with a gesture and a smile Tsar reassured Cord. "It was just an accident. Nobody could have predicted it—"

"And yet."

"Come on, nothing terrible happened!" Dia exclaimed. "And to be honest, we are supposed to be having a positive evening, so let's not reproach ourselves!"

***

They traveled further not in silence, but in a casual conversation, the most active participant of which was, of course, Dia. Tsar sometimes inserted remarks but still preferred more to listen and observe. He liked his daughter's friend. Although at first Cord was very tense, which was not surprising, now he had perked up and readily answered questions.

Two hours later, the car rustled to a stop. The driver opened the door for them.

"Please," Tsar invited him with a smile.

Leaving the car, Cord shook his head in surprise. They were on the neatly trimmed, vast edge of a spruce forest in front of a high brick fence with a massive wooden gate.

"Where are we?" Cord asked.

"At our country mansion," Dia smiled, getting out of the car with the help of the driver and taking her cane. "The family place. We also have an official residence where dad holds receptions, but there are always too many people."

"Here is a home for the soul," added Tsar. "It was built according to my father's own design. He loved to spend time in nature—fishing, picking mushrooms, and painting. Not a bad painter, by the way. In this place, he found inspiration and rested from all the fuss of the state."

Cord looked around. On all sides, they were surrounded by forest, and only a narrow road, paved with natural stones, led through the trees and to the place of their visit.

"Is it safe here?" Cord asked thoughtfully. "I mean, you are the ruler after all…"

"Oh," Tsar smiled. "Curious that you asked. This house is very well guarded. You may not have noticed, but we passed three checkpoints on our way here, and the forest in the area is being patrolled. However, you should not be worried about privacy if that is an issue you are also interested in. Come on," Tsar opened a wooden gate and gestured him to enter.

After walking about fifty meters, they saw a small (smaller than Cord expected) white two-story mansion. On the right side of it, there was a stable, on the left—a blossoming garden, and fifteen meters before the structure, the path along which they walked rose to meet a wooden bridge that crossed a stream that ran from the depths of the forest.

"There's a spring over there." Dia pointed to the left, catching Cord's gaze.

"If you wish, take a walk," Tsar offered hospitably. "I'll clarify details about dinner." He looked at his gold wristwatch. "I think, you have about forty-five minutes."

"Great!" Dia was delighted. "Let's go!"

***

After the walk to the spring, they still had twenty minutes left, during which Dia briefly showed Cord the greenhouse, in which the gardener grew vegetables for the royal table, the stable for two purebred horses—a stallion and a pregnant mare which Cord fed with carrots—and also the tennis court, which was also used for playing badminton and volleyball, located behind the mansion.

It came time for supper, so they had to go into the house. Surprisingly to Cord, the inside of the mansion was not an exhibition of elegance, as usually happens with the super-rich. On the contrary, it was decorated simply and succinctly but not inconspicuous: the walls were not tainted by vulgar pictures, the floor was not covered with bear rugs or tiger skins or the hides of other animals, and what could be described as an 'ubiquitous woodiness', created a feeling of homeliness.

Walking down the hall a little further, Dia led Cord to a spacious room with a massive wooden table and a fireplace.

"Ta-dam!" the girl exclaimed happily.

"You are just in time," said Tsar, who was standing by the fireplace.

They sat down at the table. Cord looked at it with curiosity. There were two large porcelain plates with assorted cheeses and cold cuts. In the dish filled with ice, there were two caviar bowls served with red and black caviar, and right in the center of the table, there was a wicker basket with five kinds of bread rolls.

Before Cord had time to think, when according to etiquette it was possible to start eating, two servants in black livery floated (you could not describe their entrance in any other way) into the hall: one of them carrying three cocotte dishes filled with julienne on a tray and the other—a bottle of white wine. Tsar signaled to serve Cord first. Cord was so embarrassed and reacted to the servant's polite offer to fill his glass so awkwardly that Dia, who was sitting opposite, burst out laughing.

The supper began. Cord, furtively following Dia, took the same cutlery as she did and even tried to copy her gestures. Tsar, noticing this, said:

"Cord, you can eat the julienne with any fork you like. Dia is just teasing you."

Dia winked.

"Well, I'm sorry! I really shouldn't be teasing you!"

As soon as they finished their julienne, the servants brought them the first dish—sterlet ear soup, then, fifteen minutes later, the second dish—a pheasant baked with porcini mushrooms in a creamy sauce. The wine, the friendliness of the hosts, and the delicious dishes did their job: Cord relaxed.

"Well. I think the time has come to liven up our evening a little with some interesting conversation. What do you think?" Tsar suddenly suggested.

"I am for any conversation, except politics and religion," smiled Cord.

"Oh!" Tsar laughed. "Thank you for that. I have enough politics even during working hours. Still, everyone thinks I am always happy to talk about them all the time."

"You know, sometimes I like to chat about work. Not about the boring part of it, of course, but about the logical, motivational, and psychological aspects."

"What do you work as?"

"I am a practical investigator. Dia didn't tell you?"

"She just spoke about you with admiration all the time."

"Dad! Where is your tact!?" Dia protested playfully. "By the way, it was a secret!"

"Oh, forgive me, daughter," Tsar laughed. "Blame the wine, it's all the wine. What types of crimes do you investigate, Cord?"

"Mostly murders. Now, for example, we have a potentially interesting case."

"Well, I would be glad to hear about it. But I, as a father, must clarify something: is this case related to my daughter?"

"No, of course not!"

"How did you meet her?"

"I ran into her."

"Crashed?"

"Well, yes, I played little hooligan and bump into her."

"And do you often bump into people?"

"No, not at all…"

"I always knew that my daughter was special."

"Dad!"

Tsar chuckled.

"I confess, Cord, you surprise me. This is the first time I have seen a man who speaks so freely to me."

"Are they all afraid?"

"Of course."

"Is that reasonable?"

"I do not put people in jail just because they do not speak to me, following etiquette. Dia is also not a fan of all the norms."

"By the way, yes, she mentioned something like that when we were acquainted."

"Oh, since we're talking about that," Dia interjected. "When will you introduce us to your parents?"

"I hope, not very soon."

"Why is that?"

"They are dead."

There was an awkward pause. Cord sighed.

"Well, eventually, it would have been discussed anyway, so… Do you know what my opinion is of the ideal structure of a story? The beginning of the plot should intrigue, and the ending should give one a maximum level of emotions, but in the middle, you can add a little exposition. And if we correlate such a structure with tonight, the beginning has already been successful: it was very relaxed and tasty. I want the ending to be great as well. But if this question remains hanging in the air, nothing will work out. Therefore, I think we need to deal with it."

"Only if you want to, Cord," said Tsar.

"Dia?"

"Y-yes… I think it would be better this way."

"Then I'll start."

6

"I was born into an intellectual family. My father was a nuclear physicist, my mother a practicing child psychologist. It was quite predictable that my childhood was happy; therefore, there is no point in talking about it.

"But when I was twenty, my father died. Remember the accident at the nuclear power plant? My father was radiated there and faded away in a week. Well, so my mother told me: I have never seen the body. But I don't think she lied to me, judging by what happened later.

"Do you know what the problem was? The moment this happened, I was in the army. Imagine what it would be like to wait two years to see your parents, only to find out later that one of them is no longer there. He died eight days before I was discharged, but my mother informed me about it only after my return. She said she had done so to not spoil the event of my return, but I was furious. I yelled at her, slammed the door, and left. I gave a damn about the celebratory dinner she had cooked and about her. Now I understand I was acting like a complete asshole, but at that moment, I didn't care.

"And I painted the town red. I entered the Police Academy to divert my attention and then wasted my life with booze and on girls who were not the most decent while, at the same time, completely forgetting about my mother.

"She started drinking, but I didn't even know that because I was constantly hanging out at parties and such. When I finally did go back home, I did not notice the deleterious changes my mother skillfully hid from me.

"Six months after the death of my father, my mother was also gone. She jumped out of a window. Guess who was not at home at the time? I think I was the reason that she did what she did. Instead of supporting my mother during a difficult moment, I abandoned her and wallowed in my own misery. Why not? I lost my father, I had the right!

"I remember the day I learned about her death. I went to the kitchen and found many empty bottles in the kitchen cabinets. I don't know why I suddenly decided to look in them, but I did. My mother had not tried too hard to hide them, clearly realizing that I came to the kitchen only to eat. So, that night I found four bottles of vodka, three full and one partially empty, and began to drink everything. Drink and smoke. Hoping that, when the night ended, things would change. I would die or I would survive. It would become easier for me or I would drown in an abyss of depression. I would understand everything or I would forget everything.

"And when I woke up in my vomit, I truly realized something. I'm not a good person. I'm an asshole who killed my own mother by my indifference."

7

The gazes directed at Cord were difficult to describe with certainty. Tsar looked thoughtful, Dia sad and apologetic, but neither of them seemed judgmental.

"So it was something like that," Cord shrugged, "but that was a long time ago, so there is no point in being sad. However, I am glad that I shared this with you. Now you, Tsar, know what kind of person your daughter is dating."

Dia took a deep breath and held it in her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but then exhaled.

"You know, Cord…" Tsar chewed his thin lips, trying to find the right words. "I don't think you're a wicked man. Or rather, I don't know yet. But… We all tend to make mistakes. And the fact that you recognize them does you credit. Nevertheless, it seems to me that you should not blame yourself. Perhaps everything was not exactly as you perceived it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you allowed for the possibility that she just chose the most optimal way out for herself?"

"You mean suicide?"

"Exactly. That may have been her deliberate decision. Perhaps after the death of her husband, she did not want to live anymore. She tried, for you, but couldn't."

Cord shrugged.

"Maybe. No need to dig up the past right now. Anyway," Cord raised his glass of wine and smiled, "I suggest changing the subject. Enough with the gloomy expositions."

8

The evening slowly returned to normal. Dia livened up again. The dishes changed now—desserts appeared on the table. The conversation spilled over into Cord's favorite topic of culture, on which he could hardly talk to anyone.

Both Tsar and Dia turned out to be very well-read, so much so that Cord, accustomed to having literary superiority over Force, felt that he was on the same wavelength with them, although tastes varied: Dia preferred light fantasy stories and sentimental novels with happy endings, Tsar liked medieval literature and complex intellectual works, and Cord was omnivorous, only demanding that books were interesting.

After that, the conversation flowed smoothly to film adaptations and cinema in general, and then to music. Tsar preferred the classics, and Dia, to Cord's surprise, was a fan of rock and roll and pop-punk.

"Wow! I mean, I understand everything, but if Tsarina is a punk rocker, won't anarchy come to the country?"

Dia laughed.

"Well, it will come and it will be great! Just don't tell dad!"

Tsar jokingly shook his finger threateningly at his daughter.

"And so, Cord, what do you think about politics?"

"Papaaaa, here you go again…" the daughter looked at her father with a reproaching look.

"Sorry, Dia, but since the conversation has started—"

"Then I'll go and powder my nose," the girl smiled and left the room.

"So?"

"I'm not interested in politics."

"Not at all?" Tsar raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Absolutely. Intrigue is not for me."

"There is more to politics than that," objected Tsar. "The governance of the state is a time-consuming and complex process. Wouldn't you like to change something in our country?"

"No, everything suits me. There is no war, and so everything is okay."

"Interesting," Tsar smiled. "Your point of view coincides with the point of view of my father. He, too, did not particularly seek anything other than keeping the peace. I, however, think it's time to move on."

"You mean to start changing things?"

"Right. Start developing. Happy stagnation is good, but smart change is even better."

"I don't quite understand what you are driving at, Tsar…"

"Do you know about the order of transferring the throne?"

Cord nodded.

"At thirty, Dia will be crowned. She will learn to rule the country under your leadership, then when you abdicate or die, she will become the full-fledged ruler. Right?"

"That's right. I'm fifty now, I'm going to end my reign at seventy."

"You tell me about it like this… Isn't that a secret?"

"Well, you didn't lie," smiled Tsar. "You really are not interested in politics. However, that is not important right now. Let's say, just for a moment, that you marry my daughter. You will have to become Great Prince; you are aware of that?"

"And I will have to take part in politics."

"Right."

"So, I have to accept the inconvenience."

Tsar laughed.

"Good answer! And even thus, you have no reservations over the wording of my question. I think we will talk about it a lot later."

Suddenly, the men heard a lively melody pouring from somewhere above.

"Oh! Come on, Cord!"

Tsar quickly got up from his chair and walked to the door, Cord following behind him.

They went up to a spacious hall on the second floor. There, in the center, was a beautiful white grand piano on which Dia was playing.

"You're right on time!" she shouted without turning around. "Now comes the most interesting part!"

The melody got tighter and more complicated. The girl's fingers danced on the keys so dexterously and gracefully that Cord, without realizing it, admired them.

The final three chords—and Dia turned to the men.

"Well, what do you think?" she smiled mischievously at Cord.

"You didn't say you could play the piano!"

"Well, well! Not just a piano, but a grand piano!" Dia shook her finger and laughed. "Do you want me to play anything else?"

No response was required.

***

The concert lasted an hour, and as it progressed, the slower and calmer the compositions became. Before sleeping, this was a plus.

Tsar invited Cord to stay the night, but he refused.

"As you wish." Dia looked a little disappointed. "We have a lot of space. You could stay."

"The guy who ran into us, he woke up yesterday and on Monday I want to talk to him. I need to prepare," Cord replied apologetically. "So… Do you have a phone here?"

"Unfortunately, only one-way to the Palace and for internal communications," Tsar answered, "but if you want to call a taxi, then never mind. I will ask the driver to take you home."

"Wow! Thank you!"

The men shook hands goodbye. Tsar left, apparently to give orders.

"By the way," Cord looked at Dia, "will you be back tomorrow?"

"Oh no," she shook her head, "I'll stay here for a week, at least until my leg is better. My dad's personal doctor will look after me. I'm kind of on vacation now," she smiled.

"Oh. Well then, get well!"

"I will!"

 The couple hugged and kissed goodbye.