"Clara, be so kind, check if anybody in the police is still on the train. Tell them the killer is in the first two carriages." These carriages traditionally belonged to economy class: they smelled smoke and were right next to the locomotive that whistled too loudly and breathed out exhaust steam every now and then. But seats were much cheaper there, and the carriages were usually full.
"Are you sure the killer is there?"
"Yes, I am. I'm going there, too. Perhaps I'll uncover my disguise."
She nodded and left. I took two large golden apples from our food stock, as if for visiting Nancy and her dad (their seats were in the first carriages), and set off to save myself from shame.
Stepping inside the economy class carriage, I was thrown off balance by the smell of sweat, cheap cologne, and fried chicken. Surprisingly, I started paying attention to such trifles! Luckily, Mr. Dakker and his little daughter's seats were closest to the locomotive, so I didn't need to look for an excuse to check passengers of both carriages when I waded through them.
It didn't take a lot of time to locate the necromancer; symptoms of recent contact with an insect mind were obvious: his hands twitched involuntarily and his head performed odd movements. My estimate of eight-hour lasting after-effects was right on the spot! He attracted attention, but he had an accomplice - an unpretentious young man with an emotionless face. This couple probably disguised themselves as a mentally disabled person with a guardian. I didn't pause near the suspect and went right to the Dakkers' seats.
"Good day," I handed apples to Nancy to keep her silent and busy chewing. "The conductors promised free breakfast to passengers but, apparently, their higher-ups changed their mind."
I took a seat to watch the aisle with the corner of my eye. Nancy dug her teeth into a golden fruit and mumbled something indistinctly.
"Thank you. This twelve hour delay has ruined all my plans," said Dakker.
I nodded sadly. Meanwhile, the necromancer stood up and went to the tail of the train, away from me.
"Excuse me," I gave Mr. Dakker an honest look, "my aunt begged me to return immediately."
The police, warned by Clara, should be going now toward the necromancer. What a nasty turn of events: we had to chase the killer through the train's carriages, full of passengers. It could end in disaster, especially if the army mage joined the pursuit. I needed to act sharply: to sneak up and knock down the villain.
I peeped into the second carriage through the glass door. The mage probably spotted the police, because he quickly turned back. Judging by his grim face, he had already activated his Source. I smiled and even waved to him, as if I wanted to chat. The necromancer kicked the inter-carriage door and tossed a primitive immobilizing curse into me (with no effect, as if he just pointed a finger at me).
I hit him in the face right after that. The malicious sorcerer flew back to the vestibule like a cork from a bottle of champagne and remained lying there, blinking stupidly. Perhaps, my quick victory was mostly due to his shock - a white mage hit him in the jaw! I experienced a painful temptation to add a few kicks to the source of my trouble, but it would unmask me - a fight was exciting, fascinating, but purely dark entertainment. The same moment Lt. Traych grabbed the necromancer by the collar, and the question of who had beaten the villain no longer existed. I cautiously stepped over the two mages and fled.
The killer was caught in a very timely manner: in half an hour our train slowed down, and I realized what a hot encounter had been prepared for us. All army magicians seemed to gather there - a truly invincible force. I asked myself: did the authorities set up a primitive murderer from a transcontinental express to oppose Ingernika's entire army? Was it merely because he happened to be a necromancer? Hey, we are not so dreadful!
I gladly watched the disappointment of the army mages, that the fun promised to them didn't happen. They expressed their thoughts by obscene gestures, while we were slowly going away on the train.
When we left all the troubles behind, I became atypically cheerful. Fearing that the disguise into a white started affecting my brain, I sent to hell my masquerade and ordered beer and burgers. They were so good! The conductors brought free lunch as a compensation for moral suffering. I finished it, too. Well-fed and contented, I was half napping, when Inspector Graft sneaked into my compartment, politely bowing and apologizing. He wanted to know how I found the killer.
I made a soulful face, "I lived in Redstone for a while. My co-worker at one firm was a dark magician, a great young boy. Once, he explained to me the basic principles of necromancy. To raise a corpse, a magician has to restore in his mind the consciousness of the deceased. Bugs are simpler, but the principles remain the same. Our villain had to keep in mind three hundred beetles. I expected him to act a bit oddly!"
Of course, how else would you behave having a beetle's mind under your hat?!
The inspector nodded sagely, "How did you guess in which carriage to look for him?"
I couldn't refer to Rustle, but I anticipated his question. "I went to visit Miss Nancy Dakker; she was in the first car. A fine girl! Very sociable. A man who twitched constantly was sitting not far from them. At first, I didn't want to bother you, but Clara convinced me you wouldn't mind my help," I tried to portray embarrassment without a trace of irony or smugness.
The inspector wished me luck and set off to write his report.
"Thomas, you are so clever!" Clara exhaled, as soon as the door closed behind our guest.
It was a balm for my heart. She was the right companion for me.
"Yes, I'm a genius," I sent false modesty to hell.
* * *
Minister Michelson rarely asked people for a favor. He believed his subordinates must do whatever was needed and beyond, but every rule had exceptions. Today he invited the senior coordinator of the Northwestern region for a confidential conversation.
"Mr. Larkes, are you aware that Ingernika is on the edge of war with the empire?"
The mage nodded, confirming, "Yes, Sa-Orio will start when its military factions finish squabbling over future trophies."
That was right to the point, no understatements. Michelson never doubted Larkes' ability to obtain information. "At first glance, it's a crazy endeavour. Their combat magic and best weapons do not keep up with ours. They are unable to defend their territory from the otherworldly. Why have they become so emboldened?"
A thoughtful fold appeared on Larkes' forehead. "A new weapon that we don't have?"
"You hit the nail on the head. It's of an alchemical nature - a poisonous gas. Extremely poisonous and imperceptible until it reaches lethal concentration. Fortunately, our military intelligence managed to get a sample of it."
The minister paused, giving his interlocutor time to ponder on the situation.
"Militant nobodies," Larkes voice oozed contempt, but his face remained emotionless. "They had ceded to the otherworldly a third of their territory, and now they stretch their greedy hands to us!"
"Then you know how important it is for us to counter this weapon. Recall imperial hostility to dark mages, and you'll see why they are in no better situation than our Arango was until recently. Nothing will stop the imperial generals - they desperately need lands free from otherworldly."
"How can I help?"
Michelson paused, reliving the events of the recent past. "Our top alchemist, who had magic as a second specialty, was recently killed on a train. We expected him to become the head of the R & D team, working on the Sa-Orio's counter-weapon. In the absence of a man, capable of thinking in two planes - alchemy and magic - simultaneously, there is no hope for a quick result. My experts advised me that a replacement is possible."
Larkes seemed to slightly stiffen.
The minister continued pressuring the senior coordinator, "Somebody in your region invented a couple of interesting things. I was told the author successfully combined magic and alchemy in the design. He would be a good candidate for us."
Larkes slightly nodded, but did not answer.
"I am asking you to find the author and offer him a job. On any terms. Keep it in deep secrecy. Will you help our country?"
"I'll find him," the magician replied quietly. "And he'll cooperate."
The minister raised his eyebrow - a strange slip of the tongue by Larkes didn't escape his attention. The senior coordinator already knew the name of the man they urgently needed.
PART III. IN SEARCH OF TROUBLES
Chapter 15
The transcontinental train stopped in the capital for half an hour and departed, enveloped in steam, carrying away the shameful secret of my disguise. I should forbid Fiberti to write about this embarrassing period of my life in her new book. And it would not be a bad idea to read the first one.
Spring in Ho-Carg was more pleasant than summer: the midday heat was mild; at dawn, the dry desert air squeezed out cold drizzle, and local residents wore heavy woolen cloaks. We rented two rooms in an unpretentious hotel, without fireplaces, and padded quilts didn't keep me warm at night. I started catching cold and wanted to leave the hotel as soon as possible. I thought of asking my acquaintance Tamur Hemalis for a couple-day sleepover. Surely, having a dark mage in the same flat would be stressful for the old white but, hopefully, not as horrible as keeping the company of a stuffed bird.
I looked in the mirror and saw myself, the dark mage, in the black classic suit, and it gave me great satisfaction.
My companion sighed sadly, "You shouldn't have given up your disguise. It was a great image!"
"No, not here, not in Ho-Carg. I'll be dealing with people who are involved in illegal near-magic business. They will see my nature through any masquerade. I won't deceive them."
I knew that many criminals sensed troubles like clairvoyants. On the day when the police rounded up Redstone's junkyard, half of its residents did not show up.
We waited until a new receptionist would start his shift at the front desk and left the hotel. I found Hemalis' address in yellow pages. I must say, the former sufferer settled chicly - two blocks away from the Ministry of Public Safety, in a quiet place. The building lacked a flower garden on the roof, as at his previous house, but the stucco was unbroken and the entrance was clean. My old friend didn't expect trouble from me and let us in.
"Hey, I don't want to give out my name to a concierge, unless it is absolutely necessary. You'll start talking first. Say that you need a translator from Sa-Orio."
Clara readily nodded. I pushed the door.
A watchful concierge, fully awake, looked suspiciously at the strange visitors with suitcases: "Mr. Hemalis does not take visitors without an appointment!"
Fiberti politely wrangled with him for a quarter-hour. I gave up: "Please call him and tell him that Tangor's here."
In a minute a disheveled Hemalis in slippers and bathrobe came running into the hall and chirped, "Master Tangor! I'm so glad, so glad!"
The look of the hustling-bustling white caused in my soul a warm, cozy feeling. I instantly felt at home. Hemalis dug out guest slippers for us and hung our coats on the rack. He seemed to be paid well for the translation of the empire's languages. The floors in his apartment were covered with green, deep carpets from Sa-Orio. I loved their soft feel! Traditional metropolitan furniture: short ottomans, tables, and cushions stuck out above the green sea. Silk muslin swayed on the windows instead of curtains. Despite an abundance of books, there was no smell of dust. I really enjoyed his home.
The white quickly removed thick dictionaries and piles of handwritten sheets from the table.
"I am very, very busy!" he complained. "Orders are coming one after the other."
"Business correspondence?" Fiberti smiled encouragingly.
"Mainly alchemical treatises."
"Alchemical?" I became interested.
"Yes, with an emphasis on healing. Sa-Orio has been famous for potions with the most amazing effects."
I snorted. Poisons and dopes - that's what our overseas neighbors were known for. Luckily, Ingernika is separated from the empire by a wide strait. What Sa-Orio smugglers carried into the neighboring Urpada, not every customs officer risked touching with bare hands. I trusted the authority of Master Tiranidos, who spoke very sarcastically about imperial alchemists' pursuit to make their potions exclusively from mineral sources.
Hemalis went on talking, effortlessly weaving an intricate ligature of words, peppered with quotations and epithets. The gist of his heartfelt speech could be summarized as: "Hi, I am glad to see you!" I gave him an opportunity to speak out and relax, and let Clara deal with him. She was my aide, after all! That's why I did not want to keep an image of the white: I couldn't play such clownery physically - after five minutes of talking my tongue would have tied into a knot.
"I'll make tea!" I announced and went to look for a kitchen. Hemalis attempted to follow me, but couldn't tear himself between us and remained in the living room to entertain the lady.
The kitchen was tiny - a short countertop had space only for a kettle or a coffee maker. The kitchen entrance shyly pretended to be a closet, which I passed twice before I recognized it as a door. There was practically nothing to eat; in his previous home Hemalis had more food. Maybe it was due to the shortage of water. I hadn't seen how people washed dishes here - it was probably a spectacle not for the faint of heart.
The white pulled himself together remarkably quickly; when I appeared at the door with cups and a tray, the indefatigable Fiberti was already interviewing the old man. Hemalis' recollection of events two years old surprised me: "Master Tangor pulled the levers in the government, and that same night the bastards were apprehended! If not for him, I wouldn't get justice for many more years."
I shrugged. I wouldn't interfere in other people's fantasies.
"For the first time in many years the townsfolk felt safe!" Hemalis shed tears from an excess of emotions.
Well, he exaggerated the safety of Ho-Carg: a year ago the capital was stricken again. However, it was time to get down to business. I passed a tray with the kettle to the white, and he, as the host, began pouring tea. It distracted him from his enthusiastic speech.
"Master Hemalis, may we stay at your place for a few days?"
The white bloomed: "Yes, of course! You will love this area. Safe and close to everything!"
He did not even ask why we came to the capital. It was so typical of all the white.
"Thank you, we'll try not to bother you. I want to buy some books. As I remember, you had connections with book dealers…"
"What interests you?" the white snapped. "I will inquire immediately!
Oh my god, he was too enthusiastic…Soon the entire white community of Ho-Carg would learn about the arrival of an artisan fighter.
"No, no, Master Hemalis, we don't want to distract you from your work. Just jot down a list of dealers, and we will do the rest."
I merely needed information about the ritual of The Liturgy of the Light, but I could not ask this question directly. Surely, the liturgy (and the famous artifact) had been described in detail long ago; I just had to find the right books.
Hemalis, sipping his tea, continued to rant, recalling my deceased father; Clara strangely glanced at me over her glasses every now and then. I pretended to be dumb and deaf.
* * *
Larkes began fulfilling his promise to the minster with a visit to his subordinate. The senior coordinator sat patiently in his car for half an hour, waiting for Satal's twins to go for a walk with their athletic nurse, and then climbed the porch. The happy father enjoyed silence at home.
The senior coordinator made a grimace of cardiac sympathy: "How is your wife doing?"
Satal raised his eyebrow in surprise: "She is fine. Three more months left. She is staying with her mother now."
Satal was going to become a father for the fourth time. Larkes did not understand such heroism and suspected deep inside that his younger colleague was a pervert. However, if his next baby was dark, Satal would be able to claim his own clan. Was it Satal's genuine goal
?
"How about your lovely daughter?"
"My daughter sent her family to hell and set off the furthest from Redstone College," Satal grinned.
"A smart girl."
"Why do you ask about my family, Rem?" Satal's eyes narrowed suspiciously.
Larkes habitually changed his grimace. "Do not flare up; I'm here to ask a couple questions. Do you think your former disciple had really died?"
"Who led the investigation: you or me?" Satal retorted in surprise. "I have no idea what happened to him."
"When he was locked underground in Undegar, it was you who told me he was in danger."
Satal smiled and relaxed in his chair, "Are you talking about Rustle? I did not ask the creature."
"I must find Tangor for the sake of our country! Rustle can track him. If you ask…"
"It won't work," Satal frowned. "The boy is the creature's favorite, sort of an "adventure in progress". How can I motivate Rustle to rat on his minion?"
Larkes' eyebrows flinched, as if he didn't understand.
Satal noticed the confusion of his boss and genially explained, "For Rustle, every contactee is a window into the world. The creature has no purpose for its existence and no offspring to take care of. I believe he borrows from Tangor a purpose for being, as well as feelings and sensations. In short, he lives Tangor's life. Let's be honest: Tangor will make the grade as the second Roland. If I had asked Rustle, not only would we have learned nothing, but he would have notified the kid about our interest. Who knows where he would hide then?"
"Got it," Larkes never thought about the terrible creature in this way.
"Anything else?"
"Did you spot anything odd in Tangor's behavior?"
Satal looked at his boss for a few seconds and then guffawed. Laughing carved tears from his eyes. "This guy is one big oddity!"
Larkes took his leave, pondering that last Satal's remark was much closer to the truth than the former coordinator thought.
He would have to search for Tangor with traditional police methods.
As the head of Northwestern NZAMIPS, Larkes received plenty of reports; for example, every day he browsed through lists of people who were issued identification card replacements. The senior coordinator was surprised when the same name appeared twice within a couple-day interval. After talking to the genuine Johan Kitoto in Suesson, Larkes suspected that Redstone's Kitoto was Thomas Tangor, but he couldn't believe that the necromancer would be traveling around the country under the guise of a white. It was unimaginable! Absolutely impossible!
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