The Time Master

by Dmitry Bilik

The Seer slumped to the ground and didn’t appear in a hurry to stand up. I checked his pulse, just in case. He was alive. I didn’t get any more notifications, so I figured he’d live.

  I got my ass in gear and dashed back home, via the courtyard this time. I dove into the lobby, slammed the front door behind me, heard the magnet lock click, and nearly slid down the wall.

  My knees were shaking and my arms were covered in goosebumps. They’d tracked me down. They’d found me... or had they?

  What was the probability that the Seers would be strolling right next to my house? Not very high. On the other hand, why was I so sure it had anything to do with me? Maybe they’d just found the foundation pit where the Chorul had met his demise? That scenario was also entirely possible.

  I could hear footsteps upstairs: someone was coming down. Trying to look as nonchalant as possible, I went to meet them.

  It was Victor, Lydia’s husband. While I was somewhat formal with her, he and I had a more cordial relationship even though there was a bigger age difference between us.

  “Oh, hi, Sergei. I thought you were at home.”

  I tensed up. “Why?”

  “There’s music playing in your place.”

  “Ah, I just ran to the store,” I glanced at my empty hands and added, “To get some cigarettes.”

  “I’ve also been sent to the store,” Victor said cheerfully, as if running errands was the entire purpose of his life, then stumbled down to the lobby.

  I took out my knife and continued upstairs. Music playing? They might be waiting for me at home. I really needed to get the hell out of here. That would be a much more sensible thing to do, except that there was a Seer outside, and he’d probably recovered by now.

  At the same time, hey, this was my house. I didn’t have another one. If someone had broken in, all I had to do was politely ask them to vacate the place. I might even give them a kick in the butt to speed up the process.

  I stopped by the door and furtively pulled at the handle. The door was locked. Victor had been telling the truth, though — there was music playing. I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  How odd. I took my keys out as quietly as I could, unlocked the door, and pushed it in.

  “Kalinka, kalinka, kalinka maya! Eh, kalinka, kalinka, kalinka maya!” was coming out of the living room.

  Don’t get me wrong: I have lots of respect for Russian folk songs. It was just that today I wasn’t really counting on hearing any in my apartment.

  Without removing my street shoes, I slowly approached and peeked into the room.

  I nearly burst into laughter. The scene was a beauty.

  Bumpkin was sitting on the folded couch with his legs crossed. He was waving his right hand like a conductor while pressing his left hand to his forehead — all the while, singing along. Or rather, he was opening his mouth, repeating the words after the choir.

  I decided to stop lurking. As I entered the room, one of the floorboards creaked under my foot. The house goblin jumped so high he very nearly hit the chandelier overhead.

  “Are you okay, Master?” he asked, staring at my knife.

  “You’re playing the music too loud. The neighbors are complaining. They asked me to talk to you,” I joked, putting away the knife.

  I went over to my laptop. It was switched on, the search engine sporting the words “feel-good music” in an open tab. “You know how to use a computer?”

  “My last master taught me. But that was before I...” he faltered.

  “Before you what? Come on, spit it out.”

  “Before I spilled some water on his campucher. I didn’t mean it.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Would it be any other way with you?”

  I walked around the apartment, checking to make sure that a hurricane named Bumpkin hadn’t destroyed anything else. To my surprise, everything was in order. The window had been fixed. I saw three bucks on the bedside table: apparently, the goblin had bargained the foreman down even more.

  The aroma of beef Stroganoff coming from the stove drove me wild. I didn’t even wash my hands. I dished out a plateful of exquisite, finely chopped pieces of meat, and as Bumpkin shrieked in protest that the sauce was supposed to be warm, I started to eat.

  The house goblin watched me fearfully, like you’d look at starving African children who have been sent humanitarian aid. I didn’t bat an eyelid. So there was nothing for Bumpkin to do but turn away and boil some water for tea.

  Huh, and what if I decided to level up my new ability? I reached out toward the house goblin, who was standing with his back to me, and cast Smoke and Mirrors.

  “Are you experimenting, Master?” Bumpkin asked without turning around.

  Well then. I guess that settled it: the goblin’s Mysticism skill must have been much higher than mine.

  I spent the rest of the day just fooling about. I played Heroes of Might and Magic III for a while, did a few sets of push-ups in the futile hope of upping Athletics, and added a few stretches for good measure. I also wanted to practice casting Light in order to level up Illusion but reconsidered just in time, realizing that it might be noticeable from outside. So I went into the bathroom and practiced it there instead.

  I must have looked a sight: half naked, in boxers and a trench coat, illuminating the confines of my bathroom with my hand. As my mother would say, all dressed up with no place to go. And in the end, it was all for nothing. A half-hour later, having spent all my mana, I hadn’t received a single point. Wonder if it might have something to do with the usefulness of the spell that was used?

  I went to bed in a bad mood, expecting a serious conversation with Hunter.

  The morning sun greeted me in the kitchen as I devoured a plateful of fluffy homemade waffles. Today not only had I not overslept, but my dreams were normal and not memorable in any way. I spent some time reading the local news just in case, but I didn’t see anything of note, so at the scheduled time I went upstairs to Hunter’s.

  “Sit down and get into butterfly,” he greeted me.

  So much for talking to him. Uncle Nick looked angry, and he didn’t bother to hide it. He paced around, acting like he was occupied with something important — but to all intents and purposes he was only moving stuff around.

  “Tell me about it,” he said finally, sitting down in front of me.

  In theory, there was no reason for me to hide anything. So I told him all about my misfortunes the night before, skipping the trip to Gorokhovets.

  Hunter listened impassively and silently, shaking his head from time to time.

  “The Grand Master of the order sent Magister Oliverio here,” he finally said. “He usually oversees Western Europe, but Magister Velemir left for Mechilos for some discussions, so Oliverio had to come instead. He brought around thirty Seers with him. As far as I understand, most of them are empaths, but rather strong. It took them all of an hour to find the place where the Chorul had been killed.”

  “So I can expect them at any time?”

  “It’s more complicated than that. You didn’t have a chance to leave traces, not counting the Seer’s broken nose. Why are you surprised? Yes, you broke his nose.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s easy for them to track the Chorul’s information matrix because there’re none of that kind in the Cesspit. All you need to do is tune in to the right channel. By the way, right now there’s no mission issued that would mention the place of the Chorul’s murder. Know what I mean? With you, it’s a little harder. You’re a human — your Korl blood is diluted to say the least, — and most of the Players in this world are also humans.”

  “Cool. Does that mean I might sit it out?”

  “Yes, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. You’ll sit tight at home for about a week and then we’ll take you to Purgator to see a friend of mine. We can’t do it now; it’s not a good time.”

  “The community is the only place I can’t go.”

  “It’s not the only place w
here there are Gates and a Gatekeeper. OK, get up now.”

  He didn’t say another word. He proceeded as he always did, starting with hand-to-hand fighting, and then with knives. I made a new level in Hand-to-Hand and two in Short Blades.

  I squandered the rest of the day. In the past I wouldn’t have given that any thought, but now the inaction stressed me out. When you’re cozy and warm at home, you can’t level up skills, which means you can’t level up overall. And to be honest, in just the first day of my forced idleness I did everything I could possibly do. I played a game for a while, watched some series for a while, and in the evening even turned on the TV[12] and felt my brain rot even as I watched the national programs.

  The only thing I understood for certain was that I was slowly turning to mush, like a fish that lay in the hot sun for a whole day. Sitting around at home for an entire week was out of the question.

  On top of that, I had that idiotic dream again. The same darkness and the three figures in front of me. But this time I was standing still and they were walking toward me. I was roused by Bumpkin who was poking me anxiously: according to him, I’d been sleeping like the dead again.

  I had my training, after which my mood was as low as could be. I didn’t level up a single skill. It might have been my mood or maybe my body had indeed “adapted” — but Hunter was much crueler than usual, and at the end of the training he told me I looked fried.

  Bumpkin was the only happy one. Why shouldn’t he be? His master was at home and in need of his care. Except that I risked turning into a walking muffin top if it went on for much longer. I had enough food for a week and a half. In any case, I couldn’t go on like this.

  Julia put the final nail in the coffin of my craving for freedom, texting me a laconic message:

  Did you change your mind?

  I furtively slipped on my trench coat so the house goblin wouldn’t protest, and crept out into the lobby. I paused on the landing for a few moments, looking at the courtyard through the filthy window. Kids were playing by the slide; at a distance, teenagers were smoking on a run-down bench, practicing their cussing. A few men were repairing a Niva SUV next to some not-exactly-legal garages. The place was crawling with commoners: not a single Player in sight. Touch wood.

  I went outside- but instead of heading to the street, I walked through the courtyards, skirting the school grounds. I was so nervous I desperately wanted to smoke. I went so far as to take out a cigarette, knead it in my fingers, and sniff it. I imagined how good the first drag always felt.

  Then I broke it and threw it away. No way. I was stronger than that.

  I approached the bus stop from the other side. I stood there for a while and looked around. No signs of Seers anywhere. Impossible. Somehow I didn’t think they’d decided that lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place: they were bound to leave someone here. There was also the possibility that all of them might still be hanging around the foundation pit. But in that case, I would have noticed someone next to the building. Weird.

  With a spring in my step I headed over to Uncle Zaur’s café. I shook his hand and much to his surprise, only ordered a coffee: a nasty, foul instant drink whose only natural ingredient was water, and simply because you can’t sit in a café without ordering anything.

  I took out my phone and dialed Julia. She picked up almost instantly. We agreed to meet half an hour later at the Woodlands.

  The Woodlands? Did she really want to go to the park in the winter? Was she also a Korl or something?

  It wasn’t a very long ride, anyway. I’d have enough time to finish my coffee.

  “Hey, minnow, wanna do a three-way split?” [13]

  Minnow? Oh, right, to commoners I was still this scrawny guy who didn’t look his age. A definite drawback of Uncle Zaur’s little café was that there was no dress code. As a result, it attracted a motley crowd.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Why not? Who do you think you are, fucking Prince of Wales?”

  It was too bad there was no way to just make him disappear. But... maybe I could do just the opposite?

  I reached out my arm and cast Smoke and Mirrors.

  Your Mysticism ability has increased to level 2.

  My potential drinking buddy gave me a dull look, then turned away and sat down at a nearby table.

  Fantastic. Had I had just a little less of a conscience or a less scrupulous upbringing, I would have gone in for thieving. With a spell like this I didn’t need anything else, provided I didn’t end up on CCTV cameras.

  I finished my coffee and went outside. Once again I took every possible precaution — but it was like the Seers had decided to troll me a little. I waited for the bus and rode to the park.

  When I got off, I ran into a little corner store and bought a box of Raffaello. I arrived at the Gorky monument 10 minutes early.

  Julia appeared with the punctuality of the English queen. No, I hadn’t been imagining things when I met her in the dark. She was a knockout.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi. Flowers weren’t quite right for the weather, so here,” I said, holding the chocolates out to her.

  “How do you know they’re my favorite?” she asked with a smile. “Nothing like them to grow some fat on my butt.”

  “You could eat twenty of those boxes without ruining your shape.”

  She blushed and so did I, embarrassed at my clumsy compliment. I wanted to rewind time but then reconsidered. I could handle this.

  “Some place you’ve chosen,” I said.

  “Why? I often come here for a walk.”

  “Aren’t you scared?”

  “What’s there to be scared of? I have a green belt in tae kwon do.”

  I learned plenty more interesting things about her. For example, she went to an industrial technology school on scholarship and was finishing up. She lived with her parents. Not married. Clean criminal record. Little Miss Perfect, in other words.

  “You’re shivering,” I said.

  “No, I’m OK.”

  “You may think I’m a nerd, but let’s go find a warm place instead of walking in the cold.”

  Julia shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Oh please. Do I look like a rapist? How about a movie?”

  We left the park happily. I called a taxi on the way. A couple of minutes later we were sitting in a toasty car, and ten minutes after that, standing in line at the theater. All the movies playing looked crappy, but I couldn’t have cared less what we saw. I bought tickets, led her to the bar, and practically had to force her to get something.

  My jaw practically dropped when she asked for some salted popcorn. Holy shit! Things like that can’t be mere coincidences. We ordered two buckets of salted popcorn and Cokes, and went inside.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the Seers, the Chorul, and the entire situation I’d fallen into. But at the same time, I felt happy and at peace with myself just sitting beside Julia. It was as though I’d known her for a hundred years.

  The movie exceeded my expectations — that is to say, it was exceptional garbage: a brainless action blockbuster with three obscene jokes and eighteen toilet ones. But not even that could ruin our good mood.

  “I’ll get us a taxi,” I said outside.

  “Let’s take the bus,” Julia suggested, averting her gaze. “It takes longer.”

  Did I need to say anything more? Well, probably.

  I walked her to her front door.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “What for now?”

  “For guessing my name.”

  She kissed me on the cheek and fluttered into the lobby. I unfastened my trench coat to cool down and stomped toward the bus stop.

  Sorry, Misters Seers. You won’t get me. Especially because I’d come up with a plan.

  I took out my phone and found the contact I was looking for.

  “Litius? Hi dude. I need your help.”

  Chapter 15

  AS THE RUSSI
AN proverb goes, you’re better off having a hundred friends than a hundred rubles. Meaning that you can always turn to a friend in need. I wouldn’t say I had a lot of money. And people weren’t exactly lining up to be my buddies. But as it turned out, I didn’t need a hundred friends: two proved more than enough.

  “Hey,” Jan said, shaking my hand.

  “Hi.”

  “Here,” he handed me a slip of paper.

  I stared at the map of the community depicted in the best traditions of primitivist art. That is to say, it looked as if a three-year-old child had scribbled it.