“You cannot imagine how thankful we are to you! I thought this nightmare would never end.”
Well, in a couple of days their nightmare would have ended anyway, but I wasn’t going to upset the client who paid money. I feigned a dry, cold, very dark magic smile and nodded: “Our staff does not make mistakes! We have recently entered the market in your area and would be grateful if you recommend us to your friends.” I gave shining business cards to both of them. “I ask you for a small favor: please do not give our contact info to the magician who examined your home before me. Dark mages are very sensitive to outsiders in their territory. I fear that he would try to hide his blatant incompetence through an ugly scandal.”
The farmer and the priest nodded so vigorously that I guessed that the local “cleaner” had already managed to manifest his appalling side.
“A word of advice. If you buy second-hand items, soak them in salt water or, depending on the nature of the object, pour rock salt and leave it on for a day. This will help you avoid trouble in the future. Seeing me off is not necessary!”
I moved off, proudly keeping my back straight and not turning around. I walked along the trail that wound through the hills and fields. Next time, I will get a cane and learn how to handle it elegantly. A cane with a knob in the form of a skull.
The trip to the station would have to last a whole day, and I intended to take classes at the university the next morning. The noticeably weightier gripsack didn’t get on my nerves any more, and the thought of three hundred crowns warmed my heart.
My visit to Gugentsolger’s could be postponed for a while.
A black lacquered carriage drawn by a pair of well-fed trotters stopped in front of a large farmhouse. Four children of different ages played inside the gates in the company of a sprightly red dog and a melancholic pony. Two people sat on the box of the carriage, and one more man—a passenger—sprawled on a leather seat and looked bored. The coachman stayed with the horses, and his satellite jumped down from the box and quickly went into the house. This man’s appearance could not generate any sympathy: he was lean and thin-boned by nature, with a puffy face, swollen eyelids, bluish-gray nose and cheeks from a mesh of burst blood vessels. His black coat was quite worn out and shiny on the elbows, and his pants looked chewed and stretched at the knees. The passenger from the leather seat gave him a contemptuous glance, stood up, causing the seat to squeak sadly, and slowly followed the first man. That passenger was tall, dressed in the impeccable suit of a public bureaucrat, and his bearing reminded one of a guard officer; upon his appearance, the red dog hid behind the children’s feet and began growling with displeasure.
The owner of the house wasn’t happy with the arrival of the guests.
“Look, that asshole is back again!” the farmer said through his teeth, watching the approaching people through the slit in the curtains.
“We did not call him!” his wife stepped in.
“That’s right. Take the children out of sight; I’ll meet them.”
Meanwhile, the owner of the coat reached the porch but did not step on it.
“Mr. Larsen!” he called in a quavering falsetto. “Mr. Larsen, may I talk to you for a moment?”
The farmer went out to the porch, staring gloomily at the visitors. His wife slipped behind him, gathered the children in the yard, and took them into the house.
“What is it, Mr. Kugel? We seemed to agree that my house was none of your business.”
“You misunderstood me, Mr. Larsen! I said that I could not help, but today I have brought a colleague of mine who is able to… ”
“We do not need your help!”
“You misunderstood…”
“Do I need to repeat it?”
“I apologize,” the tall gentleman stepped in, pushing hapless Kugel aside, “But if your house does have a supernatural contamination, as it was reported, it is a threat not only to your family, but also to your neighbors. Such beings do not go away; they cannot be ignored. Saving five hundred crowns, you drive them to the stage when they become dangerous to your loved ones, and the house has to be burned down…”
“Don’t you dare come near my house!”
A white magician in a fury was a rare and atypical phenomenon, and the consequences of that could be—oh-ho-ho! The tall gentleman raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.
“I beg your pardon! I used an incorrect expression, excuse me! I just want to make sure that the threat does not exist. It is my duty; I must react to the report. I only need to have a look; I won’t give you any trouble!”
The farmer pulled himself together with visible effort.
“You may enter. But I repeat: we do not have any problem, and we do not need your services.”
The tall gentleman went into the house and almost immediately came out. Mr. Kugel still hemmed and hawed at the door: “I don’t understand. I was sure…”
Subtly swinging, the tall gentleman slapped him in the face with such force that the unfortunate guy flew to the ground head over heels.
“What a knucklehead! Why the hell do you work here? What do they pay you money for? You could not expel a phoma; you needed help, yeah? Had it been the phoma, it wouldn’t have left even the bones of these people, while we were driving here! This was your last day at the office. Gather your stuff; I fire you. Your luck that they found someone smarter than you; otherwise, you would be sentenced to life in the mines. What a muddle head!”
The boss kicked the mage—who was crying in the dust—with the toe of his shoe and strode toward the gates. The coachman did not wait for the latecomer, and Mr. Kugel had to go home on foot.
Chapter 9
My memory saved that winter in torn half remembered fragments, with some episodes looking like they occurred to someone other than me.
Everyone knew that the first six months after the Empowerment was the most difficult period for a dark magician. Searching for equilibrium with the Source, a mage changed internally and externally (I don’t mean growing hooves and horns); this was true for both the dark and the white. Previously, I was amused by the looks of the third-year students, roaming the university with stupid smiles, hopping and skipping, or “saving” autumn leaves from puddles. A magician in the period of temporary insanity was a favorite topic in student jokes. Now I understood that the targets of jokes were only the white mages; no joker (fortunately for him or her) saw the dark ones in that state. Persistent rumors about zombies, circulated by the Faculty of Combat Magic, suddenly made sense.
Future masters and generals headed home from the faculty late at night, in complete darkness, without stooping to offer vulgar wishes of “good night”. That was the way the genuine darks had to behave in their own circle! But my old habits were so strong that I could barely keep myself from giving a parting gesture. One wizard wrote that the dark developed a nasty character as a means of self-preservation—that was the only way to withstand the day-to-day pressure of the hostile Source. I definitely didn’t have enough bitchiness. Perhaps only blind faith in my invincibility protected me from a complete collapse of personality.
Not good to be a dark, grown up among the white.
Leaving the gloomy walls of the faculty, I used to drop into the nearest pub, where I ate, not tasting the food, and drank without getting drunk, and then the pub owner called me a cab. Yes, I could afford a ride, not a walk, to the hostel now! I did not know how other dark students managed to find their way in such condition. The thought that the next day would be entirely devoted to alchemy helped me to sleep without nightmares.