Finally, I was ready to leave Krauhard. With calm soul and conscience, but with agitated nerves. All the way to the village my palms and shoulder blades were itching so much that I wanted to bob up and down like Lyuchik. The enthusiasm of the white is contagious. And I couldn’t tell anyone…
Returning home, I found Chief Harlik drinking tea on the veranda with the leftovers of cold pancakes (there were no bees). It was outrageous—in my absence my mother let another man in and fed him my meal! I was about to revile the NZAMIPS boss, but Mom deftly put scrambled eggs in front of me. My dark nature was pleased—my meal was bigger. Harlik gave a sour look toward my plate, but did not say anything; yes, he was older, but it was my home.
“I see you’ve recovered.”
I allowed myself to swallow a piece of egg and then replied: “I have!”
“We have found those murderers,” Harlik paused meaningfully. “It’s a pity that we couldn’t interrogate them.”
I felt like the scrambled egg got stuck in my throat. Hmm. I wondered what Max was doing yesterday. I had not watched the zombie at all.
“Wolves?”
“No, Rustle.”
So, that rascal hadn’t gone far away. Supposedly, it was waiting for me!
“Obviously, they weren’t local,” Harlik explained when I did not respond. “They came in the evening, hoping to get to the village at night. That’s when the otherworldly caught and killed them.”
Yes, only barbaric townsfolk could do business in Krauhard at night. Well, even if they saw my dog, they wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about it now!”
“Bad luck,” I mumbled, returning to the food.
“You don’t look very upset,” Harlik noticed.
“I am not upset at all,” I agreed, chewing non-stop. Mother sighed softly, and I had to explain my point to her, “I know what Uncle had gone through before he died. Rustle is far too humane for them!”
I reminded myself not to blab out to the chief that I was now personally familiar with Rustle.
Joe cautiously approached the veranda: two dark magicians at a time were too much for his nerves.
“I am leaving,” Harlik stood up. “Call me, if anything.”
Mom gently nodded.
“What was he talking about?” I asked suspiciously when the back of the chief was out of sight.
“He is worried that the interest in Gordon would pass onto us,” she answered serenely.
That was unconvincing. Though why would Mother lie?
And I threw Harlik out of my head; I had far too many impressions today.
Locomotive wasn’t able to take the student to the coordinator: the enterprising kid had left town right before the authorities expressed interest in him. The captain flirted with the idea of contacting Krauhard’s department of NZAMIPS, but decided against it: fables of mutual cover-up and conspiracy among the local dark could be true. None of the dark magicians was ever caught in Krauhard for the entirety of NZAMIPS’ history. The captain had to wait until the guy returned to Redstone on his own.
Mr. Satal reacted to Locomotive’s misfortune quite emotionally: “What the hell! Next time I should be the first to know, got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Locomotive did not argue.
Morning briefs of NZAMIPS higher-ups became regular, and Captain Baer had to attend them alone—his subordinates were losing their operability after meetings with the senior coordinator.
It was difficult to say whether there was any benefit from the meetings. The coordinator wished to know everything that was happening in Redstone—Redstone alone and nowhere else. Sometimes Conrad Baer asked himself: was the situation in his town unique? Had anything similar happened before?
“A new informant let us approach the elder who acts in the southwestern part of the town. His name is Godovan Boberri; he has been detained for illegal practice of magic. Boberri is clearly a priest and had a few disciples, three of whom have been arrested.”
The coordinator nodded in satisfaction.
“The source of the rumors about a ‘rebirth’ has not been found yet. Our analyst emphasizes the high quality of the underlying theory; he is of the opinion that they will soon move from words to deeds. His recommendation is to pay attention to the corpses of young men, including the ones who died of putative suicide or accidents; they could attempt to hide the real cause of death.”
Mr. Satal frowned: “This topic had already been discussed in the ministry. We have been advised to stay calm and wait, meaning that we should use information resources only after finding three-four corpses. Try not to miss them!”
Captain Baer refrained himself from swearing, though he was confident that he didn’t need recommendations on how to do his job. The captain himself had complained that his superiors were not interested in his work, and he started regretting that now.
“All editions of the pamphlet ‘The New Way’ have been confiscated; the reason formulated was the ‘promotion of dangerous magic practices’. The publisher has been detained; the chief editor is under investigation. We are checking why they decided to print the editions without the visa of the NZAMIPS censor.”
The coordinator sighed: “Share responsibility. If your censors are choking, pass on part of the work to our department. Ms. Kevinahari has a group of six experts, and it would warm them up.”
“Thank you, sir!” Locomotive made note to contact the empath; his censor was truly overloaded.
His whole division was overwhelmed with work—their weekly load was higher than their monthly load a year ago.
“Now for the oddities.”
The coordinator put his elbows on the desk and folded his palms as if making a house of cards—the gesture meant he was extremely interested and attentive.
“There is a connection between Boberri and Fire Mage who was arrested two weeks ago: both used trusted aides of similar appearance—it seemed to be one and the same person. The aide uses different names and dress styles, and the two groups belong to different religious confessions, but a few white witnesses quite emotionally described a man with a piercing gaze who smelled strangely. What was interesting in case of Fire Mage is that the aide insisted on more serious sacrifices than a few candles.”
“Excellent!” the dark magician echoed. “It looks like we are nearing the center point.”
Locomotive grimly nodded: “All of these ‘elders’ are just protective fog around a group that is up for some really serious stuff. Minions are lost sooner than their leaders expected them to be, and now they have to risk the lives of higher-standing agents.”
A haze of meditation covered the dark magician’s eyes: “We need to find them, Conrad! Before they are ready. We must strengthen the work at the university. Tell your guys there. Freshmen from the province will be their first target.”
“We think about the same,” Baer stated grimly.
Mr. Satal’s voice broke out in a hissing whisper: “The artisans! Or a similar sect that just calls itself differently. They preach that the nature of man can be changed—that man can be turned into a different being. As soon as you eat and drink something special or say ‘yes’ in the right place, voila, your soul and body are purged. First, they invent some kind of threat, then they require sacrifices to fix it; and the greater the sacrifice, the more followers believe in the existence of threats. But in the end no one can remember for the sake of what it all began.”