To visit the horse race, maybe? But I had no spare money to waste.
I decided to join a student club; it was kind of late - a year left till my graduation. They didn’t let me into the “Green World” club—pushed me out the door. Quarters suggested a yacht club, but I declined—I disliked moisture. I went to a meeting of fans of antique mechanics, and for two days I dreamed of gears. I even promised to find authentic weights for clocks. Surely, I could find something at the junkyard next time. The historic club offered a series of lectures on the origin of magic; I went there to ask about Roland (why he was nicknamed “the Bright”), got into a dispute about northern shamans—to prove my point I quoted an excerpt from the book “The Word About the King”—and made all feel jealous.
Captain Baer came to me and spoiled the mood: “I know that you do not care, but bear in mind: the Melons trial is over, but she has friends. Before, they wanted to appear good-natured, but now they will seek revenge. Watch out!”
And what am I supposed to think about the police after that?
I bought a ticket to the theater one more time, again for a tragedy—“King George XIV”, and guessed it would be as laughable as the previous one.
But Polak saved me from the bizarre escapades with unpredictable consequences: once, closer to the end of the day, the boss came into the office shining like a brass chandelier and said that BioKin had successfully handed over the gas generator to the client. The concept had been approved, the firm was commissioned to design two versions of industrial-scale devices and soon, as the finale of the two-year ordeal, the team would have a grand banquet. Well, finally!
Nothing warms the heart of a dark mage more than plenty of free food and drinks of the sort that he cannot afford, and a chance to strut before a gathering of cultured people, knowing that they won’t be rude or get into a fight. The only fee for participation in the event was the obligation to silently listen to the solemn forty-minute speech by the owner of the sewage factory and the invited mayor of Redstone. The floor was given to no one else; Quarters said that this way his uncle could emphasize that he had wiped the noses of all the skeptics. He had the right to!
Then all knocked back, and the party went on. I methodically tasted the contents of all bottles and decanters on the table, discovering how much I had missed of life. What could I taste in my Krauhard? Beer. Mead. Once-tried moonshine at the fair. Uncle told me a story: someone in our valley made homebrew once, but the drink had attracted chariks (a supernatural thing, plentiful as mosquitoes in Krauhard), and he no longer risked it. There was no demand for hard liquor in Krauhard! Even in Redstone, I acquired no taste for strong booze - did not like to lose consciousness. But there were white, red, fruity, wormwood drinks… Though, I must admit that after the third glass the difference between the drinks disappeared.
“Hey Tom, don’t drink anymore,” Quarters took the glass out of my hands.
I was stunned with surprise: “Why?”
“Because! I briefly saw one guy here. He used to hang out with Melons; I do not understand what he is doing at the party. He was not invited! You can get into trouble…”
Damn it, what bad timing! Why am I so unfortunate with banquets?
Quarters was already grogged; caring about me in his condition was surprisingly touching.
“No more!” I sincerely promised and switched exclusively to appetizers; they were also very good at the sewage tycoon’s soiree.
The party proved to be no worse than at home: snobbishness quickly evaporated, the guests danced to music and without it, loudly talked and laughed. Johan, who drank only apple juice the entire evening, entertained a group of white mages in deeply philosophical conversation; Polak danced around another sponsor. Some plump little man pestered me with the question of whether I got paid enough.
It was close to midnight when a waiter came over with the message that the requested carriage had arrived. It must have been Quarters who ordered it for me. Actually, I intended to spend the night at the party—they said that the hall was rented until noon the next day. But if the carriage had arrived, I had to go. In the end, a feather bed at home was softer than flooring. What if I caught a cold on the floor?
Sighing, I moved my extra few pounds into the carriage that was waiting at the entrance, was painfully stung by something in the darkness, cussed out the cab driver (who smelled like a fishing tacklebox), and sharply fell asleep.
I didn’t remember the moment I nodded off: there were neither twilight glimpses of consciousness, nor visions—nothing. I closed my eyes and then opened them under a high ceiling with a dome. The blue sky could be seen through broken fishnet windows without glass, and I felt cold. It was no longer summer.
Shivering, I realized first that I lay not at home, second that it was in an unknown place, and third that I was completely naked.
And then all the liquid I took imperiously demanded to be let out.
“Lie down quietly!” a voice commanded from the off-stage. “A horrible curse will not let you move.”
I gently patted myself, found nothing (no pants, either!), and sat down. I wondered whether they really expected me to fall for such a stupid joke.
Two (white mages, by all indications) stared at me in shock. They were kind of chewed up, and because the body’s physical health directly depends on the condition of the soul, I concluded that they were experiencing mental stress. Especially bad looking was the guy nearest to me with a spear in his hands. His eyes shone feverishly, his cheeks were sunken, and his hair tousled. The spear looked genuine and antique, though he held it as casually as a whisk.
“We do not fear thee, sorcerer! The teacher has killed your magic; now you cannot hurt anyone.”
What a clown.
They looked painfully familiar, and the zombies of White Halak suddenly surfaced in my memory. Of course! That meant he would easily jab a spear into my chest without thinking twice, if I let the situation slip into fisticuffs. On the other hand, maybe they wouldn’t dare. How could the captain say that they were “gullible, suggestible, and industrious”?
I had not known that the need to go to the bathroom could stimulate my thoughts that much.
“You betrayed your souls, miserable freaks!” I announced in a tragic voice. “You are the same as zombies, and the dead are at the mercy of dark magicians. Obey! I curse you on the first star, the sepulchral fog, and guts of a black cat! Ow-ow! Let you lose the true vision and skill to separate illusion from reality! Let it be!”
I said that and snapped my fingers, intending to cause a sheaf of colored sparks. Instead, I puffed up a huge ball of fire above my palm. I quickly shook it off under the table—it started smelling of smoke.
In short, it was time to get away.
As expected, the enchanted mages couldn’t critically think of the situation. While the white fools clapped their eyelids at me, wasting time, I gathered an armful of clothes and was gone. I didn’t care what was going to happen with them; it was their fault anyway.
I got out of the building into the junkyard, pulled on the crumpled clothes, and looked around. The place that I had left was a public use building, about to be demolished, but still quite sturdy (foliage on its marble steps, peeling colonnades, dome devoid of glass). A greenish-turbid river rolled its waters around: we were on the island in the middle of it. Now I understood why no one had noticed the hideout of those fools—water barriers greatly weaken magic background.
I felt surprisingly welclass="underline" no trace of hangover, my head was fresh and body was energetic and pleasantly itching. I experienced an urge to start a fight or do some trick. If it was an effect of the white “killing magic”, then give me more of it. I strongly disbelieved that the white hobbyists were able to invent something fundamentally different from the centuries-old practices of the Inquisition. It remained to discover what their ritual was called in plain English to make sure it was nothing outstanding.