With great satisfaction I looked at the fiery spirals, waves, and hieroglyphs dancing on the bushy branches. If Quarters had not stopped talking to me, he would have learned that the City Hall paid for the second such device, and it fully compensated me for all expenses related to the project. The trick was that the bulbs were contacting each other by chance for creation of the ornament; the sole task of the decorators was to hang them as tightly as possible. I noticed that some students tried to guess where the ornament would appear the next moment, and what its form and color would be. Useless! The process was controlled by genuine dark magic—spontaneous and unpredictable.
A surprise awaited me directly beneath the Christmas tree. I recognized the recent friend of Quarters by the back—his figure had a very characteristic shape. Once again the dolt wasn’t dressed for the weather and had a freshman as company. The fact that he dealt with freshmen seemed strange; for a beginner, Shorty was a bit old. He looked like a frozen chicken: a white bird with blue legs.
I abruptly changed my course, came closer, and kicked him in the ass with my knee - I had an urge to see what his face turned into after my hit. Shorty turned around, intimidated. Oddly enough, he had no bruises on his face.
“Hi!” I greeted him, smiling very nastily. “How’s your health? Don’t you feel sick? Doesn’t your head spin?”
“No, thanks.”
“That means you aren’t pregnant.”
Gladdening him with the conclusion, I went on my way, whistling.
I wasn’t aware where that fool came from (likely, from the very same Southern Coast where Quarters enjoyed going), but if he didn’t get a scarf at least, he would not last until his return home. However, did I care about his pneumonia? A minute later I forgot about the frozen gnome, but he clearly remembered me. And took measures…
During a break between classes, I sat in the lobby of the lecture building and studied the rarity I recently bought in the bookshop: the work Toxicology by Master Tiranidos. I must say that the last distinguished inquisitor of Ingernika was a pharmacist, and his book could be read as a reference guide for a poisoner. I did not know how he managed to gather such factual material, but I heard that his grateful contemporaries tore him with their bare hands for it. Of course, the master did not describe the methods of poisons’ manufacture, but it wouldn’t take much skill to produce an extract of foxglove. I was reading in excitement about the symptoms of poisoning by toadstool (it seemed to be an almost perfect means, though I did not know where to pick the mushrooms), when Quarters showed up. He approached me indirectly, walking in circles with atypical nervousness for five minutes, looking at me and muttering something. Did he think that the dark magician would not notice him?
“Wow, Ron! Long time no see.”
In fact, for four days. In some way that was a record.
“Hi. You don’t… eh…”
I watched for Quarters, who had lost his tongue. I never thought it could happen to him!
“Do not harass Sam anymore!” Ron blurted out finally.
“Who?”
“The guy who was with me…”
“Oh, that one! You’d better tell me why he brought you to the police headquarters. It was his idea, yeah? As for me, I am not concerned with what you do in the evenings.”
“Why do you ask?” Quarters started getting angry. “It does not matter where we walked.”
“You are saying that you always walk around the police headquarters? Ha!”
Why did Ron bug me about some shabby boy, not even a relative? An incredible guess lit up my mind.
“Are you in love with him?” I shouted.
Quarters clapped his eyes blankly.
“Do not worry, there’s nothing shameful in it. We live in a civilized country…”
Ron’s face became so fearsome that any dark magician would envy him.
“Idiot!” he yelled, turned around, and almost ran toward the door of the auditorium.
Quarters was nervous; his painful reaction to my criticism was typical for this type of relationship. Did I guess right? I observed no such inclinations in him before; however, I didn’t produce the first impression of a felon either. Let them do with each other what they want—they are adults! Already leaving the university, I noticed Sam in the company of some sophomores. What a sociable freak… Shorty glanced at me with some challenge, and I winked conspiratorially in response. It scared him half to death, I thought.
In contrast to Ron, preoccupied with my leisure time, I couldn’t care less about his problems. I had already made arrangements for my vacation with Polak (it was easy); it remained to get permission from NZAMIPS (the most unpleasant part).
The police headquarters before Christmas looked strange. Its hall breathed austerity and almost a void of space; on the desk of the on-duty officer there was a spangled Bonsai Christmas tree in a scale of one to a hundred. Enhanced with white magic, the plant exuded a strong odor of pine needles. On the floor of the superior officers I saw no one, but distinctly heard the clink of glasses. Perhaps, in the wing that housed the offices of inspectors and investigators, the work was still in progress, but I did not go there—why would I want to spoil mood? Seeing people at work awakens unhealthy reflexes in me.
I decided to drop by the captain first to show my report—wanted to make sure that the text was composed correctly. He would advise me instead of mocking. For some unclear reason, the chief of Redstone’s NZAMIPS had his office on the fourth floor - level designated for miscellaneous non-essential staff. There, holiday eve was felt strongly: windows shone with tinsel, and the air was full of the treacherous smells of cucumber salad, freshly baked pastries, and vanilla. To the captain’s office I marched under the interested gazes of lady accountants not overburdened by work (whenever I walked by their office, they were having a tea break). The main thing was to pretend that you were terribly busy; the last time I agreed to try a piece of cake I barely managed to run away. The brutal women, suffering without men, didn’t care whether I was dark or white, or striped; more importantly, I was of age.
The captain took my appearance graciously, removed a cake from his desk, reviewed the text, and tapped his finger on the title of my report.
“Don’t go to Satal; he’s in a terrible mood now.”
“I thought it was the norm for him.”
“You do not know what you are talking about. We have received a petition demanding to find missing Laurent Pierrot.”
“Oh!”
“O-ho-ho! The boss now writes a response that doesn’t contradict the facts and looks true.”
“Damn it!” I said “good bye” to my vacation.
“By the way, I am your boss officially. You work in Redstone’s division.”
“Can I go on holidays?”
“Go home for holidays?” the captain asked good-naturedly, putting his seal?? in the upper left corner.