“Ah, Alfred, I could have seen him with my own eyes if I had looked around a little!”
The driver did not argue with that. The only car in all of Mihandrov rolled along the winding streets, cheerfully sneezing. Not too fast though, as Mr. Clarence had to exchange greetings with all the passers, and there were a lot of them on the eve of Christmas.
“Hello, Mr. Luhmann!… Uncle Barry… Aunt Melons… Happy holidays, Mr. Festor!”
Clarence knew half of Mihandrov’s inhabitants from his childhood, and the other half was related to him. If the only town’s policeman had not worn his famous badge, the trip would have ended almost immediately—he would be required to talk with each passer-by.
“It’s already after 2 p.m.,” the driver tried to reason with his superior (as a civilian employee, he wasn’t paid for overtime). “It’s Christmas Eve. Wouldn’t it be better if we search for our guest tomorrow?”
“You do not understand, Alfred! Dark mages are very quick to take offense. We have not met him at the station, and what if he doesn’t get the room because of his dog?”
“I think, sir, a dark magician can stand for himself.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of!”
The driver tried to hide his heavy sigh in the background noise of the engine; the car reached the intersection, and he had to deaden the engine: he could not afford to drive the wrong way—turning around on the narrow streets was simply not an option.
“Hello, Aunt Tusho!” Mr. Clarence called to a thin elderly woman in a bonnet with ribbons, mincing along the street with a plump parcel in her hands. “Have you seen a stranger with a dog?”
“Yes, yes!” Mrs. Tusho smiled, delighted by the attention of an important person. “They went to the Mrs. Parker’s B&B.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Clarence kindly smiled, and Alfred pressed the gas pedal right away; he didn’t want to waste half an hour, picking neighbors to pieces with the talkative old woman. Vain efforts! By the time they got out of town and reached the comfortable two-story mansion of Mrs. Parker, the guest was not there.
“The young man checked in and left,” said the landlady, a stout middle-aged woman with sparkles in her hair. “He did not say where to. If I knew it was important…”
“Do not worry, madam, our business can wait till tomorrow!” Alfred resolutely took matters into his own hands. Noticing that his boss was ready to object, he quickly added, “Sir, I think the magician is off on a personal matter, and he’ll not like it if we pursue him.”
“Yes, you are right, my friend,” Mr. Clarence gave up. “Nothing can be done today; we will have to come back tomorrow. Madam Parker, I rely on you! Our guest should not feel uncomfortable.”
“Don’t doubt even for a moment. Happy Christmas!” the hostess smiled coquettishly to Alfred and flew off to her own guests—the eldest son had brought her first grandchild for the holidays.
The boarding school of the town of Mihandrov looked impressive: delicately executed decoration on cast-iron gates (beyond comparison to the modern styles), heavily enchanted oil lamps (rare electric bulbs could shine so brightly), large light buildings, its own marina and park that even Quarters’ uncle could not afford in Redstone. From the gate I saw cobbled walks fleeing into the distance, trees of great girth, a strange grove where flowers and fruits quietly grew side by side, a garden of flower beds where everything (absolutely everything) was in bloom. No comparison with Krauhard… I wondered how Joe was able to send Lyuchik to such a place without recommendation. Or had he managed to get some?
I suddenly discovered that I knew little about my stepfather, even less than I knew about my deceased father. For a dark mage such lack of curiosity was normal; but it started annoying me—when I was ready to ask the right questions, something prevented me from finding the answers. I missed my chance to talk to Chief Harlik, for example…
Deep in thought, I entered the gate and stood still with the silliest look; a leopard ending up in antelope paradise by mistake must feel that way. In the square outside the gate people were bustling (probably getting ready for Christmas), and they were all white, every one: students, their teachers, and those parents who decided to spend holidays with their children at school. In fact, educational institutions were recommended to keep the ratio of mages to ordinary people at fifty-fifty, but either the rest of the pupils left for the holidays, or the administration could not scrape enough ordinary children to follow the correct proportion. One way or another, even the porter meeting the guests in a spangled jacket and a cap with a large pink bow was one of the white. That was crazy…
I must say that I had not thought through the moment of my meeting with Lyuchik. At the university, all white mages were adults, and at home the white were my own family. But a crowd of unfamiliar white kids with an unknown degree of sanity was a different story. How should I conduct myself with them? I felt like falling into hysterics! Having made two deep breaths and filled voice with as much honey as my tin student throat could withstand, I approached the porter: “Hello. How can I find Luciano Tamironi?”
Well, at least I had managed to recall his last name, and only because Joe wrote me letters.
The porter looked at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, which usually took place when a guess had not reached one’s consciousness yet but was already scary. Sweet. And I hadn’t done anything yet.
“Thomas!” it was a joyful cry from behind, and at the same moment Lyuchik jumped on my back (he seemed to put on weight).
“Hi, bro!” I said when I managed to regain my balance. “Here I am. Not too late?”
“Right on time! Come on, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” He already turned to the woozy porter, “This is my brother! He came to stay with me for the holidays.”
And Lyuchik pulled me around to scare people.
“This is Ms. Aster, a teacher of botany. My brother came to me for the holidays! Mr. Tanat, a teacher of math. My brother, for the holidays! My classmates. My brother!”
And wherever we went, a tail of shocked silence waved behind us.
“Listen, what did you tell them about me?”
“That you are the best dark mage in Krauhard!”
Hmm. I hoped nobody would choke at the banquet table. The garden and the guests quickly left behind, but Lyuchik pulled me further: “Now we let the directrix know that you’ve come, and then I’ll show you my room!”
Okay, the guests would have time to recover and decide where to run. Well, did I really care about their heart attacks?
Nevertheless, some incidents did happen. We had been searching for the elusive headmistress for a quarter of an hour already (I suspected that she ran after us, but was one turn behind), when a gray-haired, middle-aged white appeared from the depths of the park. The magician wore a slightly old-fashioned frock coat with a handkerchief in the upper pocket. He plodded, deep in thought, without looking around and, obviously, not in the direction of the Christmas party.
Lyuchik’s behavior changed dramatically: he stopped jumping, ceremoniously took my hand, and muttered in a low voice, “This is our assistant principal, Mr. Fox.”
Well, I could understand his timidity before superiors; even I, a fearless dark magician, committed the same sin, for example, in relation to Satal…
We, as cultured people, approached the gray-haired gentleman and politely greeted him.
“Sir,” Lyuchik showed his best manners, “this is my brother, Thomas. I told you about him. He came to celebrate Christmas with us.”
Mr. Fox allowed himself to notice us. His reaction was strange: when he looked at me, his eyes widened, and his face became contorted by a grimace of almost mystical horror—as if he met a speaking ghoul. Though it lasted only for a moment and was hidden by his curly white beard, I did notice his impression of me. The elderly man looked worse than deceased in coffin.