I instantly recalled where I had heard that name. The spell was used by inquisitors to increase the sensitivity of their victims to pain, making obtaining any confession trivial. I broke out in cold sweat at the discovery.
Please understand me correctly: I did not hesitate to jump into a fight, and I never worried about skinning my knees. But being tied to the table, helpless…
Wait. Helpless? I was practicing all summer!
“Hey, freak, let off me now, or I’ll slam you with a curse!”
“Try it!” the instructor smirked.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling a disgusting tingling that climbed along my spine, remembering pictures of the injured from the police collection, and fighting with a feeling of mercy and humanism, awakened at the wrong time. Should I try to contain my temper further? No, damn it! With familiar effort, I mentally squeezed my Source and drove the Power outward, trying to crush any malicious magic or, at least, break the damn bracelets. A white shroud flashed before my eyes for a second, and when it had faded, all the unpleasant sensations disappeared at once.
“Not bad. Very good, actually!” the instructor’s voice lost its threatening tone. “Fourth level on your first attempt. Now dismiss the Source!”
I gently released the Source—my feet had already been freed.
“What, is that all?”
“Yes,” the instructor announced cheerfully, “but I have to remind you that you must not disclose to anyone the essence of the ritual. If our actions lose their surprise factor, we would have to go much further, up to the actual harm. Do you understand me?”
At that time I was ready to understand anything in order to cut and run. One of the assistants offered me water and energizers, and another advised me not to hurry, but I brushed off their help and broke through to the door. Already at the exit, I ventured to ask: “Why we are not allowed doing it ourselves?”
“If you hadn’t noticed, a modulating spell is set on the room. It directed the energy of your call and helped create a secure channel for your Power. The first time the control is very important; after the Empowerment had happened, it would be almost impossible to change the characteristics of the Source. Don’t worry! The ritual took place almost without deviations.”
“Deviations?” I instantly tensed up.
“Judging by what I’ve seen, you will show one particular talent.”
“Which one?”
“If you attend your classes regularly, I will tell you at the end of the year.”
What a bastard! It must be a common feature for those who teach dark magic—the ability to drive a student into frenzy. Oh, yeah, I will be attending his lectures! And he will regret that.
That was it—no more secret rituals. Screw that! Having climbed the steep stairs, I literally tumbled out into the hall. I was greeted with ceremonious applause. Quarters smirked brazenly behind the backs of the university authorities. Who let him in on the event for the dark? Dean shook my hand; the instructor slipped me some sort of paper to sign and a numbered token that would be exchanged for a magician’s seal upon graduation. I no longer had to fear wearing the shackles of deliverance.
The goblin in the uniform gloomily watched the process of my legalization. I smiled. A smiling dark mage is quite a sight! He couldn’t do me any harm now! Officially, I had just been initiated; to prove the opposite he would have to bring the memory crystal and explain why he had not done that before. This subtle psychological point was taken into account by Uncle Gordon and me. Had the brave cop’s sense of duty prevailed over his selfish interests, we would have found ourselves up a creek without a paddle. But the dark mages are quite selfish and measure others’ corn by their own bushel. In short, we bet on his cowardice and didn’t lose.
The goblin waved at me, calling me over. Others sharply stepped aside.
“How are you,” I welcomed him.
“Fine… Captain Baer.”
With some delay, I realized that the captain was him.
“What can I do for you?” I inquired politely.
“I… would like to offer you an apology.”
“For what?” I replied lively.
“You know!” the captain-goblin cut me off.
I shrugged: “I forgive everyone!”
Goblin looked me up and down, and then pulled out a plain business card with NZAMIPS logo. “If you have a problem,” he nodded meaningfully, “do not hesitate to contact me.”
“Thank you, Officer!” I grinned.
He paused for a moment, thinking (I was prepared to use the instructor as a shield), then nodded and returned to his place.
I looked around, trying to determine what effect I produced on others. They all stared at me somewhat strangely. Assured that there wouldn’t be any speeches given, Quarters took me by the arm and dragged away. I didn’t have the strength to protest. Everyone wanted to lay a hand on me that day…
The assistants with businesslike looks tramped past us—went to search for another victim. At this point I clearly saw why the secret of the famous ritual had remained veiled to date. The thought that every past and current dark magician had been tricked into this, and that every future magician would be, filled my heart with inexpressible satisfaction. You forget your own troubles, enjoying others’ misfortunes. Psychotherapy, damn it!
Quarters wasn’t perceptive enough to understand these subtleties.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “Do you know who he is?”
“Captain Baer.”
“Chief of Redstone’s NZAMIPS! You were rude to the inquisitor!”
I shrugged and said what I thought about Captain Baer, generously employing Krauhard’s folklore and many other slang expressions. Quarters gaped after me, trying to remember the phrase that took his fancy.
“Well, as you wish!” he concluded. “Let’s have beer.” Seeing me tensing up, he generously added, “My treat!”
A dark magician in the police uniform was righteously indignant: “As I said, it was idiocy to go there! A mage from Tangor’s family is not so easy to catch! He went to the Trunk Bay for a reason. It’s Krauhard! They cover for each other, all stand united; there is no tripping him up.”
Conrad Baer listened to him half-heartedly, briskly looking around. They marched to the gates of the university, and the majority of oncoming students abruptly changed course at the sight of the police officers. All were guilty!
“Come on, stop it,” the captain dismissed his subordinate. “The guy worked hard on self-control, found himself a mentor. I think he won’t be trouble.”
“A nonstandard channel of power will manifest itself during his training. Two years of intensive practice, and he will be off his rocker!”
“Hardly,” the captain did not support his coworker. “Larkes examined his crystal, and the configuration was quite stable.”
The magician chuckled, “Sir, I think Coordinator Larkes has his own stake in it.”
“We’ll see!”
A student standing in a group of people that gathered at the university gates suddenly took to flight, having discovered the presence of the police. Captain Baer barely suppressed the desire to pursue the fleeing man. NZAMIPS must strengthen intelligence work at the university! So many cases could be closed at once.
Chapter 8
Believe me, not every magician can become an instructor in combat magic! One must have a special talent to make a gang of young dark beasts nauseate and sweat their guts out. Precisely a gang, because the university’s program did not provide private lessons, and precisely to the point of sickness, because practice with the Source required incredible effort at the beginning. I, thank god, passed that stage. In my case, dearest Uncle Gordon stimulated my brain with pebbles, but a university instructor could not afford to beat up his students; otherwise, he wouldn’t leave the auditorium alive. However, Mr. Rakshat coped with the task welclass="underline" he cursed like a drill sergeant, thrashed his cane on students’ desks (making a sudden incredible noise over your ear-- it’s an unforgettable feeling), threatened to put you in the shackles, and hoarsely whispered what fate would befall you at the slightest mistake. I admit, I used to have a finger tremor after three hours of such training.