The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail)

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  The "cleaners" and white magicians from NZAMIPS tried to put a defensive system of reflectors against the enemies' perimeter and quarrelled as to what basis to use - dark or white magic; they were close to starting a fist fight. Badmouthing white magicians was an unforgettable picture!

  Satal rushed to the place on the first call to sort out the reigning mess: "Residents of the two blocks nearest the hospital are to be moved out. Tell them that, if they don't, we won't guarantee their safety!"

  Then Satal focused his attention on the chief of Finkaun's NZAMIPS, "Report to me!"

  "One…eh…well-wisher informed us that the owners of the children's hospital had recently modified a perimeter without a permit. I sent three scouts to verify this info. Two were injured, one was killed."

  "Scatterbrains! How did this happen?"

  "My officers were in civilian clothes." Captain Firsen frowned, "I guess the artisans recognized one of them. They've captured hospital staff and children as hostages. I believe the sectarians are drugged: they talk complete nonsense."

  "Maybe your people didn't let them finish their trap," the former coordinator grinned.

  "And we're not ready for the assault yet," the captain shrugged. "I am waiting for reinforcements."

  Both officers spotted a group of reporters, who resisted leaving the cordoned area.

  "Pull the time, negotiate, call for peace, do whatever it takes to hold them till evening. Drown them in empty talk. Got it?" Satal requested.

  "Yes, sir." Captain Firsen replied, skeptically pursing his lips.

  The chief of Finkaun's NZAMIPS proved to have a creative personality. He quickly set his negotiation post right at the shimmering veil of the perimeter. Weeping relatives, priests with spiritualized faces, an army general in a shiny uniform, and even the city mayor appeared from nowhere. Someone pulled a banner along the hospital fence with a call to love each other. And amidst this circus, NZAMIPS specialists completed their installation of the reflectors around the fence.

  The artisans started shouting - they requested the removal of "cleaners", and when the combat mages were gone from sight, the cultists calmed down a bit.

  Axel flounced among noisy journalists as a black shadow.

  Satal intercepted him and ordered him to leave, "Hey, go away! Don't frighten people more than they are already!"

  Axel's eyes darted a lightning glance: "I am the senior coordinator!"

  "Not of this region. Larkes authorized me to deal with the problem. You are interfering!"

  The two dark magicians fiercely stared at each other. Satal did not want a conflict and tried to reason with his colleague: "No time to please our self-esteem. Your meddling is taken into account by our enemies. Your presence is to their advantage. Obey or be gone."

  "What is your plan? Will you act decisively?"

  Satal grinned, "Last time they stuffed the place I stormed with nitroglycerin. How many gallons of explosives will fit into this building? Do you still want me to act decisively?"

  "Glycerin? It can't be! Their perimeter contains pure magic!"

  "Have you noticed that their perimeter lacks flutter-type spells?" Satal's smile seeped poison.

  The old magician blushed.

  "A new time brings new methods, Sir Axel. We will storm the building, but without any magic weapons. I've been waiting for the highest-protection suits."

  "A couple of suits won't help much…"

  "Twenty four of them. Larkes bought the highest-protection suits for stormtroopers. Unfortunately, Finkaun hasn't received theirs yet, but Dreyzel's team is on its way. They'll arrive by evening, but until then we'll be a role model of peacefulness and compromise. Got it?"

  Satal made it clear that the debate was closed.

  * * *

  I learned from Rustle that the situation around the hospital entered its final stage. The monster spied on Satal and leaked the news to me. It was nice of Rustle.

  I stuffed my pockets with amulets and poisonous potions, took a pouch with my new toy - technomagic constructs, and went to seek revenge. I didn't have to go far - they planned to release their zombies close to my hotel.

  Finkaun's police worked quickly and efficiently: the hospital was cordoned off tightly. I prepared to argue and show my NZAMIPS badge, but harsh cops let me in without further ado. I guess my idiotic look was sort of a ticket to the show. I sneaked past nervously smoking officers, covered trucks with "cleaners" badmouthing in hushed tones, and joined a seething crowd that looked like a circus, though it was supposed to be a police unit.

  I dropped my jaw. The huge dome of a protective perimeter covered a detached two-storey mansion, surrounded by professionally trimmed greenery. The house had no lights, all windows were shuttered. And around the perimeter there were unbuttoned whites chanting slogans - the most active of them climbed lanterns and swayed there like chimpanzees. Some colorful characters in bowler hats and with canes gave each other interviews, a real priest held a prayer service, and two activists painted the pavement with cryptic icons. This crowd wasn't completely crazy - no one approached the droning haze of the perimeter. The chaos was so perfect that it could not appear by chance - clearly, someone staged it.

  The artisans were hiding inside. They did not respond to the street show and, perhaps, it was the best tactic.

  Amulet-reflectors of a military look, hoisted on high tripods, were the only signs of NZAMIPS presence. Policemen huddled around the van with healers and watched the "play". Nobody paid attention to the appearance of another character - me.

  I had no idea what the "stage director" conceived, but I wanted to crank out my revenge before he started his. The perimeter looked impenetrable and appalling: I distinctly felt a crackling fire exuded by its magic veil and even discerned signs floating in its unsteady haze.

  My now permanently active dark Source began exuding animosity, and its wounded pride demanded crushing its enemies. I reached out for the pouch of cockroaches and poured them near a water pipe sticking up in the hospital yard - it was a perfect underground tunnel for my mini-golems. The perimeter's heat wouldn't affect my unbreakable magic machines. All remaining manipulations I wanted to perform in front of witnesses, in order to provide myself with an alibi.

  I got out of the street crowd and was intercepted by Satal.

  "What are you doing here?" my teacher suspiciously squinted.

  I replied naively, "To help you with zombies, if there are any!"

  "Don't you dare meddle!" Satal snapped. "Or I'll lock you in quarantine till the end of your life. In your current condition, you can kill half of the city in one sneeze."

  Son of a bitch!

  He did not send me away, but he ordered the healers to keep me in sight. I took a seat in their van, opened a candy pack, and shook out into my hand a massive copper disk that looked like a maze puzzle.

  One of the healers moved next to me at once: "You must not cast spells!"

  "It's just a puzzle!"

  The device in my hands was a remote control for a horde of six-legged golems. It transmitted my directions for their movement. Having received the signal, my mini-golems were free to use their own routes to the place I wanted them to reach. The controlled device was quite basic and lacked magic, but I wasn't expecting any complex work from my little soldiers: just go inside, pause, and return to the starting point.

  I pressed the button…

  In a minute window glass rattled from cries inside the hospital. Palm-sized roaches would frighten even a dark mage, let alone a white…Sectarians and their victims, adults and children, jumped out of the windows on both floors and ran away through the protective perimeter, breaking hedges. Luckily, it was a two-story building. The crowd on the street was stunned.

  I had to shout to bring the police to their senses, "What are you waiting for? Grab them quickly!"

  Red dots on my device represented the locations of the golems. A few of them pulsed - someone was brave enough to crush the creeping zombies. The roaches did
not care; they were indestructible. I pressed the rune "go to warm objects" - now my constructs were supposed to latch onto people. (I also had in my arsenal the rune "ingress".)

  The perimeter fell off - the enemy was mentally broken.

  I ordered the golems to return; they reshaped themselves into nail-sized spiders and hurried back into the pouch. My revenge was accomplished, and I didn't leave any trace.

  Stormtroopers rushed into the building at the same moment as the perimeter broke. They found no adults to fight with. Stretchers with disabled children - frightened and utterly not comprehending the strange turn of their fate – were carried by the police to the healers' van. The artisans, caught outside, scratched themselves till bloody, their glances wandering and their bodies twitching convulsively, as if they were shaking off some invisible creatures.

  "Your doing?" Axel asked me with curiosity.

  "Of course not!"

  "Do you like watching this?" the mage didn't pay attention to my objection. "Do you savor their helplessness? Rejoice, rejoice! But remember: evil comes back to you!"

  I looked at him and wondered if he ever woke up in the midst of a lethal ritual, naked, fastened to an altar, with a blocked Source! I wondered if he knew that artisans practically killed me in the Circle, that sectarians captured today would humanely pull a life sentence, but I would die in a month, writhing in convulsions! Did I have to pity them? No way! Everybody should get equal portions of justice. The artisans were not the type of people with whom you could be syrupy. My revenge should be decisive and devastating! By the way, Rustle fully agreed with me.

  I didn't expect to receive well-deserved laurels for destroying a whole nest of sectarians in one swing. Even more so, if NZAMIPS found that I was involved, I would go cuckoo in quarantine for life (for a month or so, keeping in mind my lethal injury). But they hadn't discovered my participation - I kept my freedom.

  Finkaun's society was torn between two groups with opposite opinions: one admired NZAMIPS decisiveness, the other was outraged by the torture detainees experienced during the assault. The fact that these bastards planned to blow off the entire residential block remained unnoticed.

  The healers didn't figure out how to help me get rid of my co-inhabitant, even after extensive research on the topic. I refused to believe that I was doomed. Other necromancers must have been in similar situations before! I recalled where I saw the biggest collection of books on necromancy - in Uncle Gordon's cache in Krauhard! I urgently needed to go home.

  * * *

  Senior Coordinator Axel broke into Satal's office without knocking. "Where is…this…"

  Satal patiently waited. His colleague knew the name of the young necromancer by heart.

  "…this fiend from the Tangors!" the old man snarled.

  "He's gone for business," Satal shrugged calmly. "With my consent and Larkes' approval."

  "What?" the old mage was close to having a stroke. "How dare you let him go!"

  Satal watched with interest as the guest's face acquired a crimson hue.

  Having noticed that his anger didn't produce the desired effect, Axel took a seat in a chair for visitors, as if nothing happened.

  "Your young man is loony - he proved it yesterday. I am afraid sectarians won't stop the attempts on his life."

  The old magician no longer grimaced or frowned. Satal always suspected that these grimaces were nothing more than a mask, hiding an attentive and flexible mind.

  The former senior coordinator fished from the bottom drawer a curvaceous porcelain teapot. "Green tea?"

  Axel sighed, "Thank you; I'd love to."

  Five minutes later the tea was poured, and their conversation acquired a business-like character.

  "My agents followed him to the station. Artisans didn't shadow him."

  "Shallow thinking! In Ho-Carg they went so far that they even faked the railroad timetable, and a military train collided with a passenger express," Axel retorted.

  Satal whistled: "How many army mages died?"

  "They weren't even hurt. Only a fireball hit to the head could kill these badasses. The oncoming passenger train was a different story: three hundred people were killed and twice as many wounded."

  "I haven't heard about this," Satal frowned.

  "Luckily, Coordinator Gremani has the talent of an inquisitor," the old mage brightened up. "He shook out of the suspects the names of involved artisans in just two days. I thought he was a humanist. He's not."

  The dark magicians pointedly looked at each other. Satal glanced into the empty kettle and reluctantly returned to the conversation. "No, they won't touch him. They think he is dangerous to others in his current condition, and this plays into their hands."

  The old magician could not refrain from grimacing: "Are you really so confident in the sanity of your student?"

  "Trust me. Of all the people I know he will lose his mind last. It's a verified fact."

  "Okay, I'll leave it up to you," the old man gave up. "I don't know much about necromancers - they're weird."

  Chapter 8

  I left my motorcycle and Max in Finkaun - didn't want to waste time on worries unrelated to my survival. The after-effects of the failed ritual became more apparent by now: I ceased to experience strong feelings and emotions and began forgetting who I was and what I wanted.

  The way to Krauhard took two days. Twenty years ago my mother and I used the same route to flee from Finkaun. I thought it was a sign of Fate.

  The twilight region welcomed me with an infernal spectacle: the crimson leaves of shrubs, grass of a faded color, and drops of rain amidst layered fog. Joe met me at the station. I didn't bother sending my family a telegram. Perhaps, Joe learned about my arrival from chief Harlik. The chief came to the station, too. I guessed Satal made him shadow me, just in case. Whatever, I did not care.

  We got home in the chief's pickup truck.

  Joe and mom didn't move out of Krauhard; they just sent Emmy off to school. My stepfather stayed put because of his sense of responsibility - where else would Krauhardians find a good teacher? My mother became prettier, released from worries about her little ones. I pretended that nothing happened - didn't want to scare them. Periods of memory loss shortened at home: familiar things raised shadows of the past and stirred something inside me, forcing my indifference to retreat. As a result, even Harlik, suspicious at first, found me sane and freed me from his custody.

  "Our horse has gone lame," Joe explained confusedly why Harlik was giving us a ride. "Mr. Beers wrapped her leg and told us to give her a break to recover."

  The gelding was sixteen years old - time to go to the knackers' yard! I cleverly kept my mouth shut; if I said this to Joe, the poor fellow would cry from my cruelty. They needed to buy a car, and I could afford to squander money on a new truck for them.

  At home my mother set a table for dinner. Chief Harlik was in no hurry to leave us. He seemed to be trying to convince Mom of something. He dined with us, and it didn't annoy me, as before. I wondered what they were up to.

  When Joe took an empty tureen to the kitchen and didn't return, and my mother moved over closer to me, I understood - she was about to uncover some treasured family secrets to me.

  "Thomas, last summer you asked me about your father. I am sorry, I wasn't quite honest with you before," my mother began from afar.

  I firmly decided not to tease her - my sense of humor was very strange at the moment.

  "I need to tell you a lot," she continued.

  I hoped she wasn't going to cover the contents of the entire Salem Brothers' box; I didn't have that much patience.

  "Your father was born to a very prominent family. Several generations of your ancestors dedicated their lives to the control of magic."

  She found an interesting formulation for the Inquisition.

  "I know you're not very fond of guardians of law…"

  When did Chief Harlik manage to notice this?

  "…but I hope you'll understand your father's mo
tives. Toder chose a career as law enforcement officer not by the dictates of his soul. His parents sent him to a church school…"

  My mother tried to explain that my dad could not find a better job because of his very special - theological - education.

  "It was the College of the Holy Inquisition," I corrected her absent-mindedly. Before the Reformation, this school provided the same education as the modern Academy of Law.

  "How did you know that?" she gasped in shock.

  I shrugged. "I read his dossier."

  Her lips began trembling. "I'm sorry, son! I thought it wasn't important to you."

  "Ma! Don't start. Treat me as an adult. I have grown up already. Why did a stranger have to open my eyes to the truth? You know, it was humiliating. You should have talked to me long ago!"

  She was embarrassed and kept silence.

  "A tough guy, huh?" Harlik said calmly.

  "Rather, I am preoccupied. No, not with this old story. I have a lot on my plate to worry about." I didn't want to go into detail and scare my mom with my soon-to-come death.

  "Then why did you come home?"

  The chief's question was straight to the point, as always. He didn't believe that the dark could suffer from nostalgia.

  "To restore my peace of mind. My workload has been outrageous as of late!" I wasn't lying. I hoped to regain emotional balance.

  Harlik stood up and haughtily bowed. My utterly confused mother began nervously clearing the table of dishes. It was hard for her to accept that her confession was long overdue. It was she who constantly persuaded Harlik not to "disturb the boy" with stories about his daddy. However, her feeling of guilt was opportune now - Mom and Joe wouldn't watch me closely. I could pass for a dark magician on vacation, if Harlik didn't pay attention to the fact that my Source was always on.