My deceased Uncle advised to go to an empath with any problem, but they belonged to the white and didn’t know much about the otherworldly creatures. Now, when he passed away, nobody in my family would help me—even if I managed to reach Krauhard, refraining from sleep for two days. Chief Harlik was Uncle’s friend, not mine, and it didn’t make any sense to go that far to ask NZAMIPS for help. In any case, I would not dare to approach any people dear to me in that condition. God knows what the angry monster was capable of.
And the accumulator would be drained soon.
What did that beast want from me? The answer came instantly: its cold sticky tentacles greedily reached out to my mind, to the spot where memory is stored, where the source of my desires was, where the threads of my feelings converged. I plunged the electrode plates into the skin until it bled and kept it so until a chilling emptiness started reigning in my head. I’d rather die then yield to it!
I needed to hurry up.
I took Captain Baer’s card out of my desk. My hands shook—I couldn’t turn the door key on the first try. There was no sense regretting and repenting now. I wouldn’t have time to find any other help; I would be lucky if I reached NZAMIPS sane.
I did not dare to catch a tram—I was afraid that I would go in circles, but any cab driver in Redstone knew the building on Park Road. I had never thought that I would call that address of my own free will.
The entrance to the police headquarters looked impressive: its glass windows weren’t broken and the copper was not faded. There were surprisingly few people in the lobby. Last time I ran out of there so fast that the interior was not imprinted in my memory, and Captain Baer was taking me in through the service entrance. They were obviously well-funded! A beautiful blue-gray carpet lay on the floor. Why not? Redstone’s police headquarters is not a municipal police station; they don’t deal with drunken revelers there. But my imagination stubbornly put under the carpet a few protective pentagrams. I was practically sure that if I lifted up the rug’s corner, I would see them.
I approached the wall with the hanging office plan and realized that most of them belonged to the staff of the fiscal service. Oh, yes, besides NZAMIPS, there were also the criminal police, customs, the vice squad, and the alchemical control; all of them live their own very intense life, and bribe-takers and prostitutes are of no less concern to the society than the mages. That thought, for some reason, cheered me up. But I needed to find my captain.
“Are you looking for someone, sir?” the officer of the day asked.
I mutely put the captain’s card on the reception desk.
“Do you need particularly Captain Baer? He just left for an assignment.”
My resentment broke the bonds of depression for a second. It was outrageous! I came to report on myself, and he was absent. What were they doing here?
The officer on duty did not wait for my answer and dialed some internal number: “Sir, I have a visitor to the captain,” he said into the phone. “I don’t know; he doesn’t say. Will do, sir!” And to me: “Please take a seat! Mr. Satal will be with you in a moment.”
I hesitated, deciding whether the soft leather chair could be dangerous. In that condition I was afraid of everything…
A group of tough men in gray business suits walked by, politely moving me aside. Their leader should have carried colors of the Guard of Arak, if only his hands hadn’t been occupied by a plump leather bag. The strange detachment marched silently up the marble stairs to the second floor. Watching them, I did not notice right away that the same dark magician I saw in the junkyard, in a similar suit but of a darker tone, appeared in the foyer. Mr. Satal, yeah. He carefully gazed round me, stared without irony at the accumulator, and calmly nodded to the officer on duty: “Thank you, Officer Kennikor. Please find Captain Baer and ask him to contact me. I’ll be in the office. Come on, young man, we’ll wait for the captain in my office. Do not be afraid; I will not bite!”
I wasn’t afraid of him at all! Reluctantly dragging behind, I was figuring out once again how to start the conversation. Confessing right away about Laurent seemed undiplomatic. Some blurry silhouettes flickered on the border line of my vision, and on the suspicion that Rustle was ready to take its revenge, my hair began to stir with horror.
Perhaps one look at me was enough for the magician to draw conclusions. He searched in the drawers and pulled out an elaborate bottle with a blue label; not hiding it, he dipped the potion into a glass, splashed water from a carafe to top it off, and handed it to me. I emptied the glass. Why would I play the fool? The flickering in my eyes abruptly stopped.
“You are so upset because of Locomotive?” the magician asked gently. “He’s gone to you; have you met him?”
I shook my head: “Missed him.”
Hearing my reply, the magician visibly brightened: “That’s excellent! He is not a compassionate man: plays by the book. You’d better tell me what’s bothering you; maybe I can help.”
What was going on? A dark mage expressed sympathy to another dark, offering help and support?! I even shed a tear.
And then I confessed everything to him. About Rustle, about the book, about the black flakes in the boat hangar… everything. I only hoped my death would be painless.
Instead, he sighed and said, “Forget it!”
“What?”
“It would not be a bad idea to interrogate those morons, but it’s okay as it is now: for the attempted theft of the Source they would be sentenced to death anyway. Also, they tortured to death two more people before you. Let’s consider that the execution had been done onsite. Or you thought that the law worked only against the dark?”
“What are you talking about?! I have a monster sitting inside me. When I try to cast a spell, it throws them at people. And it seems to be trying to eat me, too.”
“That’s normal. It’s a standard response when contact between Rustle and a dark magician is reinforced with the shackles. Don’t panic! You’re not the first infected mage, nor the last one. With regard to the shackles: if the curse is not re-imposed at least three more times during the first month, its blocking effect will dissipate in three weeks. Then the behavior of your Source will be predictable again. As I remember, your doctor has forbidden you to conjure? Let’s say the ban is extended for another month, I will guarantee to you the absence of magic. As to Rustle, you will have to get used to it; it is impossible to completely shut down its access to your mind. You had coped with the Source; you will manage Rustle as well. Most importantly, do not play up to the monster.”
I expected a totally different reaction from the dark mage. My white upbringing skewed my perception of the world.
“That means you won’t penalize me?”
“Why not? We will,” he was surprised. “We’ll leave records in your file; when Locomotive returns, you’ll testify. Right after that we’ll prepare a contract—you will work for me.”
“No!” I was horrified. “I have one more year until graduating from the university and a contract with Roland the Bright’s Fund thereafter. I want to be an alchemist.”
“Who’s stopping you? You’ll serve as a magician-reservist—you’ll be set in motion when necessary; that way it’ll be easier for you, and NZAMIPS will save some money. I will settle the issue with the Roland’s Fund; I’m on close terms with the guys from there. Do you,” he frowned sternly, “seriously want me to institute criminal proceedings against you?”