"They believe," Lyuchik remarked caustically, "that a dark mage should be in a sorcerer's hat with a pikestaff in his hand."
I rolled my eyes. People, stop it!
"The staff is good only as a bludgeon, and the hat went out of fashion two hundred years ago."
"Have you seen a monster?" a little girl looking like an angel (big blue eyes, pink cheeks, and two large white bows on thin braids) got courage to ask.
"You mean a supernatural creature? Of course, I have seen them. A lot!"
"No way!" a skinny bespectacled kid objected fiercely, squeezing a teddy bear in his hands.
"It is true!" I recalled Captain Baer's warning not to show my NZAMIPS card to civilians and showed it to the children. "NZAMIPS. Making the world better is our job! Nothing to worry, kids, Uncle Thomas will not let them hurt you."
The kids took over the card and began to twirl it, looking admiringly at the iridescent rainbow logo and delicate ornamentation around the enchanted seal. Carefully concealing malevolence, I watched as Mr. Fox on the opposite side of the room tried to convince Mrs. Hemul of something, angrily glancing at me. I was never good at lip-reading, but no skill was required in this case—the young headmistress believed that communication with the benevolent-minded dark mage would benefit their children.
"Like the little ones," Lyuchik muttered in my ear, and I heartily agreed with him.
All local pupils looked a lot younger than their age. Even my sister Emmy, who had not yet grown out of the childish defects of diction, seemed, by comparison, a model of prudence and common sense. That's what happens when the white lack breadth of communication! I was determined to help remedy the situation, as much as possible, for the entire two weeks of my stay.
* * *
"You are putting the lives of children at risk!"
"You are spouting nonsense," it wasn't easy to make a white mage angry, but Mrs. Hemul's patience was seriously depleted, "Luciano grew up with his dark brother by his side, and the kid has got no health problems."
"Our children are not ready to meet this sort of people!"
"And that is really bad, Mr. Fox. We must seize this great opportunity! The young man is very well-mannered and well-educated. Acquaintance with him will provide our children with a positive experience.
"Your predecessor had different views on this, Mrs. Hemul."
"My predecessor quit over a year ago, Mr. Fox, and you know why. We agreed that teaching methods should be changed. You've supported the actions of the Board of Trustees. Have you changed your position since then?"
"Take note of my words: this situation will end very badly!"
"It depends on us. I do not understand your position! If you cannot keep your pupils in sight, please say so outright. Ms. Ryman had enough courage to admit her shortcomings. We can apply to the Council for an increase in staff..."
As the door had closed behind the assistant principal, Mrs. Hemul shook her head. For a white, using power isn't a simple task, but ordinary people as candidates for the position of director were not even discussed by the trustees. Honestly, she did it solely for the sake of children. It was difficult to admit, but they should not live a life sheltered from the rest of the world, and the empaths were completely on her side in that regard.
Chapter 28
Next morning I got up with the first rays of the sun, which was unusual for me on holidays. Kids were sent to bed at exactly 11 p.m. yesterday (it was cruel, in my opinion), and I did not have time to find a place in Mihandrov where a lonely dark magician could have fun. Mrs. Parker, still sleepy, served coffee on the open veranda; Max lay at my feet and successfully imitated a bored dog. It was surprisingly quiet around, as if we were not in town. I could sit forever here in a squeaky rocking chair with a blanket on my shoulders and a cup of coffee in hand. Of course, such happiness could not last for long.
A car of characteristic striped colors with a squealing transmission drove up to my B&B. Why is it like that—an alchemist in a public employ is always a hack. I watched sadly as the driver and the hostess exchanged bows; for some reason I was sure that he didn’t come for her. Indeed, receiving instructions, the newly arrived went to the veranda.
Max stretched and yawned widely; I hoped that the man did not manage to see its mouth in close-up.
"Good morning!" the driver lifted his hat.
"Same to you," I tried to portray a polite smile. Had they received a complaint from the boarding school on me, or were the local services displaying vigilance?
"We express our deepest apology for yesterday. We intended to meet you, but an unfortunate misunderstanding happened! We are very sorry."
To meet me? Oh yes, yesterday at the station some clowns jumped around the baggage car, but since I had taken Max inside the sleeper, I didn't check in my suitcase.
That meant someone from Redstone had called here. Wow, what alertness! NZAMIPS in action.
"No problem," I shrugged.
He visibly relaxed.
"Mr. Clarence is asking when you can meet him."
I pondered it for a while. Two hours remained until Mihandrov's boarding school would open for visitors, and I had absolutely nothing to do.
"Now, let's go now; give me a second to take the documents!"
He started smiling, and I went to my room to lock up the zombie and pick up the travel papers. Maybe I could persuade the authorities to stamp the documents with both arrival and departure dates at once - it could save me time. I was pleased that Mihandrov's NZAMIPS was open on holidays at 9 a.m. They really worked hard! By the way, what were they busy with?
For the next half-hour, the driver intently steered the wheel along the narrow streets, cobbled at the time of the Inquisition, while I frowned and tried not to listen to the toil of the badly adjusted engine. I ought to check the car, purely out of compassion—they were just killing it.
The police office in Mihandrov nested in a nice one-story building, sandwiched between a hotel and a bakery. To the left of the entrance door, three doorplates hung, one above the other: the Criminal Police of the Town of Mihandrov, Mihandrov's Division of NZAMIPS and, for some strange reason, Mihandrov's Animal Cruelty Prevention. I had wondered how they all could fit there, but when I opened the door, everything fell into place: Lieutenant Rudolph Clarence (according to the plate) sat in a tiny office with one desk, being the sole head of everything, and he was an initiated white mage. Oh my God! What genius decided to put a white mage in charge of NZAMIPS?! It would be curious to learn who worked as "cleaners" here...
I closed eyes and started counting to ten, no, better to twenty. I had a feeling that my bosses had managed to find me a job for all of the holidays.
"So," I said calmly after a minute, "what kind of problems do we have?"
There were issues in this place—it was quite obvious.
"Eh," a disoriented lieutenant tried to recall what he was going to start with, and then brightened, "Rudolph Clarence!"
"Thomas Tangor."
We shook hands. I struggled with a feeling similar to delirium (the white have captured the world; they are everywhere!).
"You cannot imagine how eagerly we have been looking forward to your arrival! We've been waiting for you, waiting for quite a while; I went three times to the head office and personally filed requests, but Senior Coordinator Axel does not tolerate..."
I bravely stifled a groan: "Let us first discuss business!"
He readily nodded and stared at me. There was a pause.
"So what exactly has happened?" I could not refrain.
"Wasn't it explained to you?"
"Let's pretend that I want to learn everything from the source."
"It is wise," he agreed, fidgeted in his chair, and began, "it all started a year ago, after the scandal. NZAMIPS investigated the suicide of a graduate of Mihandrov's boarding school, and in the course of the examination it became clear that twelve former students committed suicide over the past eight years. Every one of them was a white m
age."
The lieutenant's voice broke with emotion; my eyebrows went up. The suicide of a white is an extremely rare event. Well, to ruin themselves by drinking, to lose mind was typical of them, but laying hands on yourself had almost never happened before.
"What a nightmare!" Lieutenant Clarence seemed to wince in pain even thinking about those cases. "The former director resigned, a special commission worked on it, but that's not the end of the story. I participated in the investigation and pointed out that another four children went missing. Of course, those students were rather unsociable, without close relatives and friends, but the white are not inclined to go nowhere! Then I compared these facts with my own experience. You see, Mihandrov is not that small: all the residents know each other, but they are not so close as to watch everyone all the time. So, according to my observation, at least five white mages who lived alone had moved out somewhere for no apparent reason. To their relatives that do not exist, to a town which name no one knows, just on business, and no one ever heard back from them. Two of them left personal items in the apartments, and homeowners still keep their stuff in the event of the owners' return. Of course, it is my speculation, but all of this seems weird! I applied to the head office with a request to open an investigation, possibly for the presence of supernatural phenomena. Out of my three reports, they responded to one only; I was ordered to wait."
Naturally! No bodies, no file. It was normal practice, but Lieutenant Clarence looked genuinely distressed.
"They probably have a shortage of staff," I comforted him (I didn't tell the man that it was foolish of him to expect help if there was no crime), "especially of the go-getters. In the last four years supernatural activity has increased, but the staff hasn't; growth has been cut off. At Redstone, things got better only after the ghouls had eaten the former chief of the "cleaners". I am not kidding."
"But you've come!" Lieutenant Clarence snapped.
Because I didn't know.
"My brother is a student at your boarding school."
My Lyuchik lived in the snake's lair! I had to take him out of here. But where to? Could there be a guarantee that another school would be better? And the chance remained that all the missing people lived happily somewhere on the South Coast... Hmm, alongside the suicides. No worries: I had two weeks to solve the problem and draw conclusions—but time was running out.
"Well, your suspicions are understandable, lieutenant. Though it does not look like the work of the supernatural. It rather reminds me a killer-maniac—we'll work on that. Do you have any information about the missing people?"
"Of course!" he smiled again. "I have compiled detailed files."
He took a cardboard box from somewhere under the table and started pulling plump folders out of it.
"Can I take them with me?"
"Yes."
"Another request: let my involvement in the case remain a secret. Why scare the townsfolk in vain? The presence of a dark magician is a serious challenge to their nerves."
I didn't mention that I could be denied access to Lyuchik, too.
"Of course, I understand," the lieutenant nodded with the look of a habitual conspirator.
"If people ask what I was doing at your office, please tell them that you are keeping an eye on me."
He nodded, twice as energetically as before. And we parted. Already at the door, I asked the question that was tormenting me: "Tell me please, who works in the 'cleaning' department here?"
His eyes became a bit guilty. Oh!
"I understand. Thank you. Goodbye."
To get out of this madhouse as soon as possible! I took just one folder—no time for more reading. I was curious to see what the police could dig out in principle about a person who did not commit any wrongdoing. The driver, who introduced himself as Alfred, took me back to Mrs. Parker. He could not refrain from standing up for his boss: "Do not think badly about Mr. Clarence, sir; he performs his duties with all diligence. He does a lot for the town."
"Uh-huh. For example, in the area of animal protection."
Alfred did not protest loudly but, apparently, he got angry. "Do you really think that if a man is kind, he will not be able to stand firm at the right moment?
I sighed and said frankly: "Lieutenant Clarence, as one of the white, is physically incapable of performing the work he has taken upon his shoulders. Successfully, I mean. You were lucky that nothing happened here! If I were in your shoes, I would buy some brochures on how to avoid the supernatural (Krauhardian NZAMIPS prints a lot of them currently), and rely on myself only. Everyone will be safer that way."
Alfred stayed silent. I hoped that he would ponder my words, at least.
Half an hour later I was back on the veranda of Mrs. Parker's mansion, but not in the same state of blissful indifference as before. I got further proof that there was no paradise on earth! I should not show my change of mood to Lyuchik—no need to scare little tykes. I sighed and began to recall some formulas for meditation—I was about to demonstrate wonders of self-control to the world.
* * *
Mrs. Hemul watched from the window the second visit of the dark magician, about whom pupils were whispering the entire morning. The awful monster, smiling good-naturedly, helped his brother unwrap the gifts. Given the amount of gifts, it was truly titanic work. Mr. Fox breathed heavily over the directrix' shoulder, constantly rubbing his palms and making her feel madly nervous. Had Luciano come to the thrilling meeting alone, it would not have attracted so much attention, but the white from Krauhard (a compilation of words that hardly made sense) brought a friend along.
"Petros is not poised to talk to the stranger!" Mr. Fox whispered indignantly in his boss' ear. "You know how susceptible he is!"
The skinny, sickly boy was thought to be a distant relative of the assistant principal and an object of his constant care.
Mrs. Hemul was inclined to disagree with her colleague: with uncanny insight, for some meager fifteen minutes, the dark managed to ingratiate himself with the child, gave him a bag of candy and a big glass ball with a Christmas unicorn. The beautiful, shimmering iridescent toy totally fascinated the kid. Taking a seat right on the walkway, Petros admired the run of the illusory horse, scooping handfuls of candy from the bag and, without looking, shoving them into his mouth. Before, the painfully shy boy took nothing from strangers! Had it not happened on the territory of the school, right before her eyes, Mrs. Hemul would have been the first to rush and rescue the child from a potential pedophile.
Luciano suddenly discovered that, when unpacked, the gifts occupied twice as much of the space, and the process went in the opposite direction.
Perhaps, if the situation with students had not been so alarming, Mrs. Hemul would have satisfied the request of the assistant principal. But there was something wrong with the school in Mihandrov, and even the best empaths weren't able to prescribe a medication to it. The director herself left her sons (two wonderful twins) in Artrom when she accepted the job in Mihandrov. For now, the parents of her students still believed the Board of Trustees, but if the alarming events, acknowledged by the commission, didn't come to a halt within a year, the authorities would close the school. No one wanted to be responsible for the possible death of students—and the oldest educational institution in the district would cease to exist. Less than six months remained until the end of the one-year probation.
But what were they doing wrong? The intuition of a practicing magician, a rather strong one, prompted Mrs. Hemul to think that the answer was closer than they imagined, and the dark stranger was a part of it. He had fumbled with the children for half an hour already, and from a distance it looked like he even enjoyed the kids' continuous chatter. It was not normal! Neither a harsh word nor an aggressive gesture from him. Indifferent like a cat.
Petros, wanting attention, clutched with his dirty hand the sleeve of the dark's light jacket. Now the dark would show his true nature... No, he leaned over, listening, and seriously replied. Appealing to both boys,
he united them in conversation, and then left kids to talk to each other. A skilful trick! Gesticulating vigorously, Petros dropped the ball. Oh my God! The glass ball bounced harmlessly along the walk—protective magic in action. What foresight... She became uneasy by such mastery of the situation by the dark.
Mrs. Hemul decided: "You are wrong, Mr. Fox!" Noticing the change in her mood, the assistant principal slightly stiffened.
"I think Mr. Tangor's visit is our best luck this year. Perhaps he is our last chance to improve the situation in the school. We've tried everything—except asking the dark for help. If you have a different opinion, please keep it to yourself or appeal directly to the Board of Trustees. While I am the director here, Mr. Tangor will be free to visit the school and communicate with any of our pupils."
"Petros does not need the intervention of a rude, selfish..."
"Petros seriously lags behind in his development, even if we account for the initiation of his Source. Don't you agree that it is disturbing when the period of primary fragmentation of consciousness is delayed to ten years! Luciano is the only one with whom Petros communicates regularly, and his brother is the first adult in the presence of whom he doesn't hide in a shell, like a frightened snail. I advise you to appreciate it."
Her relations with the assistant principal were spoiled; Mrs. Hemul realized that by how resentfully the man had twitched his chin. People think that hierarchical concerns are the prerogative of the Dark, but the white mages are cut from the same cloth, and sometimes the whites' blood boils too. Mr. Fox thought of her as an irresponsible greenhorn. Whatever; perhaps, later he would understand her motives, although at his age... doubtful.
Chapter 29
My trip had a chance to become a real resort vacation. I got up at dawn, did some exercises, had lunch, came back to take a nap in the room, and by 10 a.m. went to school to entertain my little white. What could attract an adult dark mage to the white youngsters' company? One thing: with no effort on my part, they literally hung on my every word, and it was like a balm for my wounded pride. Deceased Uncle Gordon was right when he said that my lust for power was enormous.
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