On the other hand, the authorization of documents happened at a phenomenal rate now, as in the approval of increased funding for intelligence work at the university. Locomotive was not sure if the coordinator took his arguments seriously, but the logic was compelling, and Satal did not risk arguing about it. It was easier for him just to give the money.
The unlicensed dark mage was not found yet. The captain agreed that such a successful otherworldly liquidator was unlikely to be a novice. Unlikely, but not totally improbable. First, according to the assurance of his own experts, the unknown magician used a single spell, the Fire Seal, in all cases. It would be hard to find a simpler curse, but what a great effect he had achieved. Second, all of Redstone’s magicians minimally suiting the description of the Knight had already been checked. Oh, and third, what mage in his right mind, apart from a student, would agree to stake his life for money?
“A novice,” the captain confidentially whispered to the coordinator.
“A student?” the coordinator winced with displeasure, trying to dodge off the bulky body of Locomotive. “With such skills? Three ghouls simultaneously, practically with his bare hands, improvising as easily as scratching his foot’s heel! It’s a shame to admit, but I don’t know any combat mage so powerful.”
“A gifted student!” Locomotive hung over the dark mage as a big warm cloud.
And Mr. Satal surrendered: “Okay. Talk to the faculty members whether they have a young genius in mind.”
“A genius with money.”
“Right. If we don’t catch him red-handed, then at least we will watch him. We’ll need to recruit this kid.”
To recruit! First, they needed to find him. The intuition of the experienced police operative hinted that they would have a good run to accomplish the task. Captain Baer wandered around the office with a businesslike appearance and without a specific purpose, but not because of thoughts about the Dark Knight. He was not a magician (and did not possess any Source), but years of service and life woes taught him to perceive approaching troubles, even when the others found only occasion for fun. Now Locomotive was haunted by a feeling that the situation had acquired an irregular shape.
Thinking logically, events in the county were supposed to undermine the reputation of NZAMIPS and dark mages in one fell swoop. All preconditions for disaster were present: a dismissed team of “cleaners” headed by the fat idiot, long-time ignorance by the central office (perhaps too long) of the activities of the Redstone division, the novice coordinator, not knowing yet how to put two and two together, and the mass media—always waiting for a scandal. The situation bore distinct traces of serious planning, and here an adventurous unlicensed mage emerged on the scene, walked over some sore spots, fixed them in passing, and transformed a minus into a plus. And the worst was that the former coordinator Larkes definitely played some role in this. Captain Baer felt the upcoming troubles in his gut, though he could not rule out the possibility that it was all about him changing the room.
Chapter 13
I never had a chance to work in a team, except for the expedition to the King’s Island. The future belongs to large research institutions and corporations; the time when alchemists worked alone in garages has forever gone (my motorcycle is a different story). Therefore, I had to learn how to get along with co-workers or become so brilliant that I would be forgiven for anything.
Overwhelmed by those thoughts, I bought a penny-worth pamphlet titled The Business Etiquette from a hawker’s tray, read it, and realized that it was written by a well-wisher whose intent was to help prostitutes reach the level of a secretary. A more useless idea was to ask Quarters’ advice. No, he would have answered, but god forbid I follow his recommendation!
It would have been easier if the employer had interviewed me; we would have looked at each other and understood who was worth what. But Ron conveyed that Mr. Polak preferred to test me in action. Did he think, ‘Every dark is the same?’ Or was it our patent that impressed him? On the other hand, they offered so little money during the probation period that it wouldn’t matter who was at the drawing board; even with a monkey they would not lose much.
The situation was kind of confusing to me. I could have guessed then what was the matter, but, as a naive student, I wasn’t versed in business.
And then the day came: the first day of my grown-up life.
I went to work in a business suit (in my opinion, I had to be dressed up), though I didn’t put a tie on; I was fed up with neckties. The bureau occupied the third floor of a cheap office building. A dusty sign on the door declared “BioKin”. That name did not shout association with alchemy. Behind the doors there was a huge hall. Two drawing boards, pushed into the far corner, and desks with rolls of drawing paper on top of neighboring thick folders hinted at the creative process that was taking place there. A boy in uniform and two girls (I immediately recalled The Business Etiquette) were having coffee at the only unloaded desk. One of the two was red-haired and giggling cutely; the other, a searing brunette, flashed her astounding blue eyes from under long bangs. Not without regret I interrupted their fun: “Where can I find Mr. Polak?”
The redhead pointed her finger at the distal end of the hall, where the deposits of folders and drawings were particularly high. I confess, I did not notice a man behind them. He did not see or hear me, but not because he was busy with work: Mr. Polak was sweetly napping with his head on a pillow of folders and his legs stretched into the aisle.
“Hello!” I called gently.
He started, looking around with bleary eyes. I waited patiently until his face took on a meaningful expression.
“You booked an appointment with me at three p.m.”
“Is that so? Oh… of course! Mr. Tangor?”
I suspected this guy wouldn’t be able to pronounce the word “mister” twice in a row. Not because he woke up two seconds ago. Bewildered, I looked at the man who was steering the whole company: he wore a plaid farmer shirt and overalls, like a handyman from a farmyard. (If not for the quality of the fabric, I would have thought that he had just come out of there). On top of it all, a brilliant earring gleamed in his ear.
And then the revelation hit me that my first boss was a classic, double-dyed representative of the nerds. Shit!
“You can call me Thomas for short.”
He smiled radiantly and introduced himself: “Geoff. Would you like coffee?”
“Thanks…”
“Girls, girls! Coffee!”
I tried to avoid stimulants in the afternoon, but it was impossible to get Geoff off of the idea. The courier quietly disappeared; the secretaries stopped giggling and started intently rattling the dishes.
“By the way, you don’t have to dress up. Our company has adopted a casual style,” he pulled a strap off of his overalls.
Okay, he might think of me as a hick, but I would not allow myself to wear such junk on the streets, except maybe to use as work clothes on the job. But they could make me look like I had an attitude, not to mention that there were no lockers or places for a clothes change.