The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail)

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  He was a member of a small group of guards, watching hundreds of people, who found a shelter in the catacombs. When these people, led by Salem, had left the shelter, Rustle realized himself for the first time. The guards knew of his existence, but they weren't aware of his needs, and the monster was hungry. I held my breath, trying not to interrupt by chance the stream of his memories, which Rustle hadn't shared with me for so long.

  The room in which I stood was their work place. The black wall in front of me was a sophisticated version of a watchman's desk. Through the memory of the deceased, I saw the desk thousands of years ago, showing the shelter and movements of people in live mode.

  The operating part of the artifact was situated somewhere below and to the right of the room. I was going to visit it next time.

  Now I knew what I would take as a trophy - the bones! Charak and Axel would kiss my feet for such a gift! I tried to twist off the skull without sprinkling myself from head to toe with grave dust. But my attempts yielded nothing; a strange alchemic device was mounted on the corpse's spine, which made dismantling impossible without pliers. I need a set of tools, a drill…

  While I day-dreamed about the recognition of my achievements by the old bastards, the look of the watchman's desk subtly changed, and an unpleasant, jarring sound made me jump. What the hell?! The desk was still working! I noticed a dimly flashing button on the wall, apparently signifying that the protective perimeter was broken again and golems started combing the complex for violators from top to bottom.

  My first thought was about NZAMIPS. Larkes kept my Key for some time and could copy it. I knew they wouldn't be able to fight on par with the guards. I had to do something to stop the golems! A pile of NZAMIPS corpses wouldn't be good for me if Larkes recalled my ability to control golems.

  "Hey, Rustle, call off the golems! What do you mean 'you don't know how to do this'? You were peering over my shoulder all the time! I won't reach these freaks in time - the golems are already on the upper levels. Do not flatter me with my talent. Stop the golems!"

  I had to run there to make sure that tragedy was avoided.

  There was no time for taking off the skull, and I merely unscrewed one finger for myself and one for Larkes (without his permission I wouldn't gather the Circle, anyway). No problem, I could always come back later and get a decent addition to my necromantic library. I rushed to the elevator shaft, climbed up to the top, and barely managed to catch up to the people, when Rustle panicked: they started fighting back. The monster recalled that their rebuff was a harbinger of something much more terrible.

  So on top of everything else I had to deal with Rustle's infernal hysteria. "Take away the guards, you fool! I will take care of the people myself! Or the entire construction will collapse!"

  The golems forced out the visitors from the core of the complex to the later, added expansion, which was purposely built in haste. The people held up against the monsters, but the one-hundred-pound bodies of the golems, jumping over walls, could upset the stability of an already shaky construction, and its rusty iron and rocks would bury me alive underground again!

  Rustle desperately tried to control the monsters, and I appreciated his efforts - just a year ago the monster was scared to death even thinking of them.

  I was about to blame NZAMIPS officers for illegally shadowing me, when the floor visibly shuddered. Not enough time! I threw forward a necromantic weaving, blindly, at random; it would not hurt the dark, but could slow down the golems a bit. Oddly enough, it worked out well; Rustle seized control of the guards and reported that the visitors were fleeing.

  "Let them go! I'll explain the situation to them on the surface."

  Something rattled again, and it became quiet. I slowed down to a walk. The stupid people nearly destroyed the greatest archaeological treasure of all time! I wondered how they got inside: not through the dump, that's for sure. Nobody except Fiberti knew about the cemetery's entrance. They probably came through the Academy of Empaths. Was it Axel who attempted to steal the World Axis from under my nose?

  One of the golems controlled by the monster waited for me at the intersection; Rustle wanted to show me something funny. Rustle deftly steered the golem, as if he spent all his life on two legs. I asked myself in hindsight if encouraging him to learn how to handle the guards was a good idea. I couldn't control him anymore; the invincible force was at his disposal now. On the other hand, if anyone deserved such power, it would be him - the immortal being with principles of morality and a sense of humor (I wasn't so sure about Larkes, in comparison). No longer did I have to worry about the safekeeping of the Project, or my father's cache - controlled by Rustle, the guards would be twice as efficient. For a decent necromancer like me they weren't dangerous, anyway. If I had to, I would shove them all into the containers.

  * * *

  It was a stalemate: Sam was neither falling, nor able to climb up. Lavender shed tears of resentment - she couldn't unclench her fingers holding the young artisan's wrist. Minutes or hours dragged on; she lost her sense of time. Her mind drew terrible pictures of her and Sam's last minutes of life. As usual, reality refused to follow her imagination.

  The floor started vibrating again. Dim green light glided down the hall; a new monster was approaching them. She thought that was probably a local boss; even the catacombs' creatures ought to have someone in charge! The new monster heavily panted and bristled its tentacles; a pale violet halo glowed around its head. As Lavender expected, the master of the catacombs smelled sickeningly of decay.

  "Why the hell did I come here?" the offspring of the darkness asked himself. "They are not from NZAMIPS!"

  The monster beside the master shrugged quite humanly.

  As if a veil fell from Lavender's eyes, a young man under twenty-five, by all indications a dark mage, in slightly soiled overalls, stood near her. A backpack and a coil of rope hung behind his back; his firefly-spell emanated a violet-blue light.

  "Help!" Lavender gasped, realizing that this word sounded silly and unexpressive for the dark mage.

  However, the young guy neither bargained, nor mocked, nor strained himself personally. Instead, he turned to the monster that accompanied him. "What are you waiting for? Pull them out!"

  And the monster obeyed. Very soon they were dragged to a safe distance from the pit. Sam lay unconscious. The mage kicked him a few times, "Get up, you bastard! Haven't I told you not to cross my path again?"

  Realizing that the poor artisan showed no signs of life, he slipped his shoe under Sam's nose.

  "Phew," the stench brought Sam to his senses. Seeing his savior, the artisan screamed like an animal and almost jumped back into the pit. Lavender managed to grab him at the very last second.

  "It can't be you! No!"

  "Your life hangs by a thread," the dark became angry. "Tell me straight, what did you do here?"

  Lavender was a seasoned scout; she knew when risk was becoming unreasonable. She decided not to lie to the young magician. Perhaps she was motivated by the monsters looming behind him. And there was no point in her clinging to the old legend, anyway.

  "We are the government agents! We infiltrated the ranks of artisans to destroy them from within."

  "What?" the dark couldn't believe it.

  "It's true! We intended to interrupt a malicious ritual, but artisans unmasked us and left."

  It sounded convincing; their unwitting savior did not know Haino's character.

  "What ritual are you talking about?" the young man was curious.

  "They said the source of dark magic was hidden here, but I wouldn't blindly trust the words of artisans."

  For a while the dark kept thoughtful silence and then chuckled, "Get up and move! I'll deliver you to NZAMIPS. You can give them a headache!"

  This turn suited Lavender well. Obeying the commands of the unexpected savior, they walked to the exit - not the same one that Haino used.

  "Eh, Rustle take me!" the mage exclaimed suddenly and then gestured to the mons
ter, calming the creature down. "It was metaphorical speech," he explained to him.

  "I forgot about my dad's cache!"

  "Your dad left something in here?!" Lavender was startled.

  "He did. But it's none of your business. Move faster!"

  * * *

  Two people whiled the night away by the campfire near the dump. They kept stubborn silence. It was quite cold. Larkes cut down twigs, and Fiberti gathered them and put them in the fire. No one wanted to leave the place first. Poorly enchanted lamps with blue flashes oozed the smell of rotten eggs. City authorities didn't dare to leave the vicinity of the dump without light, despite severe budget cuts.

  A group of three people appeared from the dump; Fiberti took them for a family, at first. After the second look, she recognized in the shorty a young guy, led by the hand by an unpretentiously dressed woman.

  "Move, move, you half-baked artisans!" a familiar voice said. "Rid yourself of your habit to harm dark mages."

  "He is having a nervous breakdown!" the woman argued with Tangor.

  "Me too!"

  "We are government agents; you'll be rewarded for helping us."

  "Thomas?" Fiberti sobbed. "Thomas!"

  One man from the group of three turned and walked to their campfire right through the snow drifts. "Wow! A field tribunal is assembled! Hey, agents, come here!"

  The odd couple caught up with the dark at the campfire: it was a short guy with wandering look and a surprisingly strong woman, a white mage, who practically dragged the boy. All three smelled like shit, and Larkes shamefacedly pressed his "whistle" - he didn't want them inside his limousine. He had a rapid response team for this, after all!

  "Where have you been, Thomas?!" Fiberti resented, but her voice treacherously trembled.

  "Do not be angry, Clara," the dark purred conciliatorily, and the woman melted.

  Larkes felt a sting of envy at that; he could never avoid a scandal so easily.

  "Down there it was a real madhouse! A crowd of white mages put up a fight with the guards of the catacombs and nearly destroyed the shelter with the artifact. At first, I didn't know that they were white. I hit them as before, and - please note - no one died! By the way, they got inside through the Academy of Empaths. Where was the Academy's security? The last two I had to pull out myself. They swear they are government agents."

  "Colonel Kilozo?" Larkes guessed.

  "Yes, sir!" the white roused.

  "Larkes, Senior Coordinator of the Northwestern Region. Nice to meet you in person. As for your friend, I thought you had worked alone."

  The colonel instantly changed her statement, "The boy was involved in the sect against his will!"

  Larkes narrowed his eyes shrewdly. Under his stern gaze the young artisan quickly returned to his senses and began whining. "He would have killed me, if I had not followed him!"

  "Who?" both dark mages asked in unison.

  "Leon Haino," Kilozo explained. "They are relatives."

  "Fear not, kid! I will kill him first," Larkes donned such a horrible smile that even Tangor flinched.

  Fiberti no longer cared about clashes between magicians. "Let's go to a warm place! We've been waiting for you for eight hours! I'll get pneumonia!"

  Tangor and Fiberti got back on the road and strode towards downtown; the scout and the becalmed artisan followed. Larkes lingered till the arrival of the rapid response team; let them see who they kept waiting!

  Chapter 33

  My retaliation at the artisans was accomplished: I thwarted their plans and handed over Shorty Sam and the scout to authorities. With Colonel Kilozo's help, a dozen of the highest ranking artisans were captured in one day.

  Fiberti returned to Redstone to record our adventures.

  I thought that Larkes forgot about the World Axis, because I didn't hear from him for a few days. I was mistaken; he set security guards at the Academy of Empaths and at the dump, and chirped about my discovery to connoisseurs of antiquities. Stunned archeologists and just curious people gathered in crowds near the entrance to the catacombs; Rustle's golems guarded the passageway from inside. The monster treated his newfound nest as an ardent owner would and didn't allow anyone in. I shared his attitude: give scientists your finger and they'll cut off your whole arm.

  I lost interest in my dad's cache and was about to return to Suesson. And then the wonders began.

  My new curator, a sad old man with a goatee, casually asked if I wanted to move into a roomier unit. My frivolous "Yes" hadn't died away yet as they placed me in a luxury suite free of charge, similar in size to our house in Krauhard. Plus free dining and maids of easy virtue. Every morning I had a brutal hangover…It looked like Larkes was testing the limits of my impudence.

  The reason was simple: they asked me to stay in Finkaun till the end of the Project. Actually, if they had dared to treat me rudely, I would have disclosed to the townsfolk a sensation: "Rustle is in Finkaun!"

  I remembered a silly Krauhardian saying about a cat drowned in sour cream. Now I understood what the unfortunate animal experienced. When you get what you desire, you don't want it anymore.

  Such surfeit doesn't do the dark any favor, really! You quickly get used to the good and fearfully look to the future. It's so hard to refuse a freebie that is literally pushed into your mouth. My pride took time off, and I realized that I wouldn't give up such a life voluntarily. In fact, NZAMIPS counted on that.

  Worrying about my professional degradation, I ordered from a porter the previous year's subscription of The Northwestern Alchemist and forced myself to continue the search for my father's cache. Without much ado, I got into the catacombs through the cemetery's outcropping. Larkes took care of the cemetery's guards: the cemetery was closed for maintenance (!) because of me.

  It took about two hours to find my dad's cache: he set it in a small room not far from the ancient shelter. Its door was locked and jammed, but Rustle sent a golem to open it for me. There seemed to be a strong fire in the hallway, and heat deformed the armored plates of the door. It was for the better, as it saved my family's cache from unwelcome visitors.

  The contents of the cache turned out to be priceless. First I spotted books - more than in Axel's collection - on handmade shelves and in stacks on the floor, lavishly sprinkled with protective potions against rot and bugs. I was the owner of historical relics, more precious and famous than the ones in the National Library! I could forget about working for money for the rest of my life! If I sold just one such book…Larkes would instantly nationalize my collection. No, no.

  I spent half an hour anxiously fingering treasured books and tormenting myself with a question: how would I carry them? And where to? I had not built my tower yet! Some of these concentrates of knowledge were sheathed in copper and half of my weight; the dimensions of others were greater than the dining table in my Suesson house. Obviously, I couldn't transport my legacy in one run, and I couldn't leave it out of sight. Eventually, I decided not to move the books from where they were, and leave them under the watchful eye of Rustle.

  Besides the books, I found a chest with unfamiliar amulets and other useful magic stuff. I thought of testing them, then pictured the consequences of activation of an unknown amulet and locked the chest for safety reasons. Unfortunately, I found neither coins, nor ingots of gold, nor loose diamonds, and left the cemetery with mixed feelings. I had become rich - an idiot's dream came true - but I could not show the cache to anyone. The same NZAMIPS would confiscate it all. These shameful wolves would surely find a reason for it!

  After a month of paradise at NZAMIPS expense, Larkes made it clear to me that such things as free donuts did not exist: he politely asked me to meet with a very (very!) important person. I couldn't decline his request - he had been too helpful recently.

  The very important person didn't name himself; perhaps, the occupant of a mighty government office was afraid that the Krauhardian bastard could curse him. I hoped I had earned the reputation already. I survived an interrupted Cir
cle, wiped artisans' noses, almost single-handedly ensured victory over the empire, and forced the Salem Brotherhood and graybeard necromancers to respect me. I felt as if they had not called me to a meeting, but I graciously deigned to take a visit. The unknown petitioner behaved with dignity and expounded his thoughts in a soulful baritone, "On behalf of the government of Ingernika and my ministry, I would like to ask you for a favor that you have the right to reject. The matter concerns the discovery you've made in the catacombs under Finkaun - the ancient artifact, about which the artisans knew more than us, unfortunately. Our experts need to know how the artifact works and what consequences an interference in its operation will cause. In the past this city had been the center of catastrophes. Such a coincidence bothers us. Given that Leon Haino escaped, solving the mystery of the artifact becomes especially important."

  "The Circle," I stated. "You are asking me for another ritual of the Magic Circle."

  "Yes," the polite gentleman admitted.

  I remembered a promise I made to myself: to no longer participate in the Circle. The last time NZAMIPS missed an attempt on one of the members of the ritual, and I barely survived. But, on the other hand, the ritual would allow me to get through the life of that ancient guard and see not only the Project, but the entire ancient world as a whole…I chewed my lips for a bit. "Well, we can discuss it. But I have a condition: I will select magicians for the Circle."

  The nameless mister cheered up, and five minutes later we were already bargaining. He negotiated doggedly, as if I were trying to pull the money out of his wallet!

  For the past two years authorities markedly improved their understanding of the Magic Circle's needs. This time they gathered the participants of the ritual at the base of Finkaun's "cleaners" and treated us, necromancers, much better. First of all, I didn't have to crawl on all fours, debugging safety systems; a large heated barn was packed with safety amulets no worse than the Kerpan Labs. Second, they had even drawn all pentagrams for us! Local "cleaners" jealously watched the fuss around the strangers and kept silence. Two unfamiliar curators alternately approached me to ask if I sensed any problems. Yes, I did - I suspected that I was already in heaven.