Ron dropped me off at the turn to the road leading to the train station, and I prayed to all gods and forefathers that none of Reich's "cleaners" would spot me dressed like a white. No assassins would be needed - I'd just hang myself. I was so ashamed of my disguise that when a big lad accidentally hit me with his sack on the platform, I did not react. That scumbag did not even stop to apologize! Only then did I realize why Johan was so skeptical about the success of my masquerade.
I squeezed through into the carriage, took a seat in the corner, and started frantically recalling what I knew about the white's demeanor. We ask them to serve, being confident that they won't turn down our requests. People usually push them aside and don't expect to hear any protests in return. Could I portray someone like this?
All eight hours of travel I was meditating, trying to create a new - white - personality for myself, through which I could view the world. Rustle manifested himself, figured out what I was doing, and commiserated. This unpleasantly impressed me - the otherworldly felt sorry for a mage!
When I got off the carriage to change trains, I realized that our society treated the white truly differently. I'd never thought before that sitting on the bench in the afternoon, for all to see, was a dangerous pastime! It was a small train station, but people bustled around, and I wanted to relax for a bit. I went to the far end of the platform, took a seat on a lonely bench, and prepared to safely have lunch. I was reading the timetable and enjoying a hefty meat pie. And I managed to finish half of it.
"Hey! This is our bench. It'll cost you money to sit here."
What was that? Not a minute to relax! Perhaps, my martyr gaze perfectly matched the image of a white.
"What are you, deaf? Give us all your coins!"
Three midgets of my height dared to pressure me! I could have coped with them without any magic! These riffraff didn't pick on dark mages, afraid of rebuff! I faced a dilemma: either to give away all my money and get stuck there for a long time, or beat them to death and betray my image.
"What's going on here?" a loud question made the hapless robbers wince and almost instantly disappear.
"How are you, kid?" somebody came up from behind and tapped me on the back.
Grrr…Don't touch me! "Thank you, I am well."
A typical policeman in the rank of a corporal stood at the bench: round belly; carefully ironed, shabby uniform. I trembled from anger - hopefully, he would think I was scared. The officer mindfully looked at me and my cheap luggage, and kindly asked: "Did they take anything from you?"
"No," I tried not to look into his face - my eyes would give me away.
"Traveling alone? Where are you going to?"
"To Redstone," I smiled apologetically. "I want to apply to the university."
"You are a brave kid, as I see! Come with me, it's not safe to sit alone in such a place."
He didn't ask me to show any documents, thank god. Johan gave me his passport, but I wouldn't withstand its proper verification. The compassionate corporal took me to the railroad police office, offered me hot tea, and helped me get on the right train. I'd never thought that policemen could be so kind-hearted!
The lesson had been learned. After that incident, I moved around only in a crowd and rested close to police stations; that is, I behaved contrary to my usual habits. And I wondered why the white did not like traveling! For them, any trip was real hell. Ordinary people often treated the white worse than any dark, especially when dealing with a meek stranger.
With all the train changes and attempts to cover my tracks, the trip to Redstone took a whole week. By the time of arrival my nerves were on edge: people cheated me twice and robbed me once, not counting numerous cases of rudeness and neglect. If I had been exposed to one more week of such treatment, I would have joined the ranks of the artisans to make the life of humankind sour!
On the last stretch, I joined a company of traveling white mages, and my trip became a bit easier, though people tried to deceive them, too. On parting, a lovely blonde kissed my cheek and called me the most decisive white (!) magician in the world.
To NZAMIPS headquarters I rushed like a moth to a flame: meeting Larkes was my priority.
Without the card of a NZAMIPS employee (I returned it at dismissal), I was stopped by the officer on duty. Seeing a visitor with a suitcase, he tensed and pressed some button on his desk - probably, activating a defensive amulet. I realized that he was afraid of me - white!
"May I see Mr. Larkes?" I asked him politely.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"No, but I urgently need to talk to him."
The officer on duty frowned, "Mr. Larkes is very busy. He doesn't take walk-ins. Call his secretary to book an appointment."
"I'll wait, if he is busy."
It was pointless to argue with a clerk. I took a seat in a chair for visitors and caught myself thinking that I had already been in the same situation before, but with a different coordinator. Not my first time. I would stay here overnight, if I had to.
After about half an hour, the officer got out of his desk and brought me a cup of tea. "I am not supposed to say that, but the senior coordinator isn't in today. He's gone."
My heart skipped a beat. "Where to?" I whispered in shock.
"To Suesson, to run an investigation."
When people say that the dark can't die from shock, don't believe them. Black spots started floating in my eyes; the voice of the officer, advising me of something, retreated further and further away; pictures from the past flashed in my mind; my life hung by a thread. Then the guy called a healer. I imagined what would happen if a white mage examined me - a dark pretending to be white - and abruptly returned to life.
"I'll stop by tomorrow. Good bye." And I rushed out of the headquarters.
Shit! I spent so much time and nerves to get to him, and he drove off! I suspected that Larkes' investigation was directly related to my "death". How long would it take for the senior coordinator to put two and two together and realize that he was cheated? Perhaps, I'd better not count on his help.
I understood that the more time that passed since my "death", the harder it would be for me to "resurrect". But if I came to life, my family would be in danger. As the head of my clan, I was responsible for their safety. If other darks learned that I left my family without protection, my status would never rise above the plinth - the stigma of loser would haunt me to death. I needed a plan, and I needed a shelter.
Over the past two years Redstone had changed its image: the city became more suspicious. I saw police roadblocks on the streets, new defensive amulets on front doors, stronger protective perimeters around buildings. I started thinking that if I checked into a hotel, a receptionist would activate a magic seal on Johan's passport and instantly recognize that the document did not belong to me.
My clever feet made a decision for me. They brought me to my former "chatter box". I hoped that she still lived in the same place. Luckily for me, Ms. Fiberti was at home. She looked the same as before, except for new glasses.
"Hi, Thomas! Come on in; do not stand in the doorway. Have a seat. Coffee or tea?"
A familiar bellied teapot and small sugar cookies appeared from nowhere almost instantly.
"Did you like my novel?" the hostess started interrogating me. "I couldn't find you to get your approval."
"The novel was fine."
"Do you want a copy with my autograph?" she tried to pay no attention to my odd look.
"Ms. Fiberti, may I stay at your place overnight?" I cut her short.
She giggled, "Thomas, you are the first to ask me such an improper question. But so be it, stay."
I gladly fell into the chair; from enormous relief I even started feeling a headache. To rest in a safe place was exactly what I needed now. By morning I would be able to pull myself together and think of something else.
"Thomas, are you okay?" Ms. Fiberti asked cautiously.
I met her gaze; her eyes behind glasses were smart and understanding
. We had known each other for a long time, my "criminal" past did not bother her and, surely, she wasn't related to artisans. But the invincible dark magician was ashamed to confide that he needed help and advice!
Hearing a dull narration of my misadventures, Ms. Fiberti neither moralized, nor made stupid jokes. She was a gift of fate - she solved half of my problems in one minute.
"Do you have a passport, Tom?"
"What's the point of having it? Only Johan can activate its seal. When magical endorsement isn't active, the document will be a source of additional problems to me."
"Give it to me." Ms. Fiberti took Johan's passport and vigorously crumpled it.
"What are you doing?!"
"Have you forgotten to take your passport out of your pants before doing laundry, Johan? We'll soak your document in bleach, too. Rest assured, by morning there won't be any magic left in the seal. Tomorrow we'll go to the district council. You'll request a new passport, and I'll certify that I accidentally washed it. You'll easily get a replacement!"
Her idea was brilliant, but required a partner in crime. Ms. Fiberti demanded a fee for her help: the thirty-year-old girl wanted to join my quest, bored to death by her normal life. I honestly tried to talk her out of it.
"It'll be deadly dangerous. No romance whatsoever. We can be beaten, poisoned, or cursed to death. And Coordinator Larkes will be unhappy with you, when he realizes that you helped me cheat him. NZAMIPS won't let me or you live a normal life. I suffer for the sake of my family. Why do you want trouble?"
"Thomas," she took off her glasses in excitement, "my life is empty. With you, I'll have adventure!"
I could guarantee her adventures, for sure. "Clara, I won't be able to protect you, at least, not at all times."
"I understand."
Shit! I would have to chase artisans with a romantic fool on my hands. On the other side, I needed a passport. And a reliable aide. A white, traveling alone, would attract too much attention…
Well, she asked for it; no one pulled her ears.
The following day I relaxed, recovering from the stress of the previous week. Clara Fiberti worked on my image. She was more skillful in hair coloring than Polack, and my hair became light brown. I posed myself as an overage dunderhead, living under the care of his aunt and not even thinking about rebelling against her will (not a rare situation in white families).
I received a new passport without difficult questions to answer. I felt that even if I didn't show the old document, the city officials would issue a replacement, believing my word. On the other side, their trust seemed to be justified: for the white, any contact with bureaucracy was a huge stress. So, if the rules were tightened, Ingernika would be filled with fools unable to adjust to the realities of life.
Clara packed up our stuff for traveling. I was glad that I passed my domestic problems onto someone else's shoulders.
"By the way, Thomas," she said as she loudly snapped the suitcase locks, "where are we going to?"
I had already pondered over this question. If I had said that I was driven by revenge, she could've been offended to the core. I had to come up with something so fantastic that any action would be justified by this goal. I took a deep breath, "Have you ever heard about the World Axis?"
* * *
Johan requested a replacement of his passport, destroyed in an explosion, a week after the incident. He reasoned that this time was more than enough for Thomas to reach Redstone, and by now the young magician had already given up his masquerade.
A short man waited for him at the passport office's exit. "Lost your documents?" Larkes had a mawkish smile on his face.
Johan nodded shyly. The presence of the dark mage made him terribly nervous.
"How did you manage to lose your passport here and in Redstone at the same time?"
The white staggered.
"Don't faint, for God's sake! Follow me."
"What are you going to do with me?"
Larkes' smile turned maniacal, "With you - nothing."
Chapter 12
There are plenty of popular myths about magic and magicians, but only one was discussed with equal enthusiasm by venerable professors and students of elementary schools: the legend of the World Axis. According to legend, the World Axis was a place where people could obtain unlimited magic power, where anyone could become God. The place was searched by every imaginable method: by decoding the verses of ancient prophets, dowsing, and whatnot. Though if you asked those dreamers whether they wanted to be white (that is, eternally suffering nerds) or dark (heartless bastards), they wouldn't have given a clear answer. From the point of view of a practicing magician, belief in the World Axis was totally idiotic.
My true goal was more down to earth. Repeating the feats of NZAMIPS - chasing artisans around Ingernika for twenty years - wasn't in my plans. I pondered on the ancient artifact, the schemes of which Charak brought to me. What was so urgent about this thing that NZAMIPS wanted me to join their ranks immediately? Reasoning logically, I came to the conclusion that the artifact would be found soon. If I seized the rarity, artisans would come into my hot embrace. On the other hand, if the artifact had been easy to find, sectarians wouldn't have bothered with its rebuilding.
I did not believe that The Liturgy of the Light could bring the end of the world. Charak mentioned White Halak as the place where the ritual was performed last. To find the mysterious artifact, I needed more information about it. The result of my thoughts was the decision to go to Ho-Carg; Hemalis would refer me to book dealers who specialized in forbidden literature on magic.
The transcontinental train was leaving Redstone at one p.m. I walked in the tracks of Fiberti, tightly clutching my bag to my chest, and tried to keep a relaxed, moronic face (Clara said if I frowned, any resemblance to a white would disappear).
The train was about to depart. Literally two steps remained till we took longed-for shelter in a separate compartment, when we heard an enthusiastic scream behind our backs, "I know you!"
A teenage girl in a dress of crazy colors with a dozen pony tails sticking out of her head in all directions (like a cactus) made her way to us through the crowd. I was figuring out what spells to throw at her, when she said, "You are Ms. Fiberti!"
Thank god, she didn't recognize me! My companion blushed from embarrassment: "Yes. Unfortunately, I do not know you…"
"I am Nancy! I got your autograph at the gathering in Liden Hall!"
"Yes, of course."
A gentleman with a gold chain on his waistcoat appeared near the noisy girl. "Let me introduce my daughter and myself: I am Paul Dakker. My daughter Nancy. She is crazy about your book."
"Yes, yes, yes!" his daughter was frolicking. "Are you traveling to gather material for a new book? Yes? Right? About the same dark magician?"
"Sure…sure."
Something told me that Fiberti's next book will be A Brutal Murder on a Train.
"Is he your assistant?"
"My nephew. We are going to Ho-Carg." Fiberti tried to seize the initiative, "Are you heading to the capital too?"
I wish she did not ask. The girl broke into a long, indecipherable speech with a kaleidoscope of unfamiliar names, places, and circumstances. She talked about having a dog or buying a dog, or not a dog, but a rabbit, or not about buying, but viewing…The situation was saved by Mr. Dakker, who obviously was better accustomed to his daughter's behavior.
"We are going to the country fair in Killem," he briefly explained.
Fortunately for them, the successful merchant Dakker was stingy and bought his tickets in economy class, so he and his little daughter had to leave us - their carriage was further away, next to the heart of the locomotive. I bought seats in a compartment with two single suites, connected through an internal door - very convenient, though expensive. It wasn't about love of luxury: I didn't want to pose as a white twenty-four hours a day.
I flopped down on the sofa in my suite; behind the wall Fiberti discussed something with the conductor.
Late passengers shouted on the platform. The train startled, and its wheels began to tap out the familiar rhythm. I pulled myself together, and the meeting with Fiberti's fans seemed funny. It was high time to read the book about myself. What if Clara ridiculed me in it?
My companion knocked on the door between our compartments, "I'm going to the restaurant car. Would you like me to bring something for you?"
For a white mage, it would be normal to spend the whole trip locked up, but I wasn't going to follow my image so close. "No. I'm going with you."
How could I foresee that Dakker would dine in the restaurant? I thought they would chew their homemade sandwiches up to Killem.
"Mi-i-i-i-ss! Miss Fiberti!"
Perhaps her mother was a circular saw. Her voice made my fingers itch to cast a fireball. Nancy loudly broadcast that a genius of literature was among them. A few passengers in the dining crowd were familiar with the book and supported Nancy's toast to the famous author. That was a huge mistake: they encouraged the girl to lecture the audience on the vitality of the characters in the novel. While I came there to eat!
A table by the door was taken by an army mage; surely, he wanted to learn about the book with a dark mage as the main character. The last thing I needed was his attention - so I didn't take my eyes off my plate. Fiberti tried to find a way to politely silence the shrill girl, but to no avail.
The most nervous passengers left their tables in a hurry; the more tolerant smiled furtively; the devoid of a sense of humor snorted angrily. Soon darling Nancy moved to the narration of the story plot…
A gray-haired man, sitting with his back to us, protested first. "Enough!" he slammed his hand on the table. "I came here to eat and not to listen to this nonsense. You, my dear, are too gullible. A combat magician, helping people? This doesn't even count as a joke! The dark and the altruism are incompatible!"
The girl was a fool, but why did he touch dark mages? I frowned, forgetting my role. Fiberti deftly kicked me under the table. I shouldn't react to this insult - I would unmask myself.
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