My Path to Magic (25 page)

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."

"And reckless magical practices," Locomotive couldn't keep his concerns to himself.

"Naturally!" the coordinator agreed.  "If they don't respect the boundaries of their own nature, why would they limit themselves in the application of the elements?  The insane cannot master the concept of responsibility.  But we'll get them, Conrad; I will prove that we can do that!"

"Are you going to declare the theological threat?" the captain clarified.

Mr. Satal could hardly get back to reality: "No.  Then they will start all over with the same people, but in another place.  And they will take into account the errors made in Redstone.  Do we need that?"

Locomotive did not answer.

"Have you read Redstone's artisans' file?" the coordinator was curious.

Captain Baer nodded: "I took part in the preparation of those materials."

"Then you know that the inquisitors couldn't get the artisans' higher-ups, five-six people that lay low after Nintark.  Our job is to lure them out of their shelter."

Locomotive applauded the idea, but he didn't like that it was planned for Redstone.

"Will you let them frolic in freedom?"

"No!" Mr. Satal resentfully shook his head.  "We will be beating them, but… awkwardly.  We'll win, demonstrating our helplessness, as if by accident.  We'll look ridiculous, as though all that separated them from success was the incompetence of their junior officers."

"Do you think that normal people will buy such nonsense?"

"Do you think that the artisans are normal people?"

Locomotive shrugged: "Well, if we are going to beat them anyway, I am in!"

"I didn't doubt for a second!" Mr. Satal chuckled.  "By the way, you can call me Dan for short, but not before subordinates."

Locomotive was always moved by the ceremoniousness of the dark, often demonstrated at the most inopportune times.   "And I am just Conrad," he suggested placidly.

Chapter 19

How much does a dark mage need in order to be happy?  In fact, quite a lot, but there is some minimum which makes life bearable.  That summer I regarded as successful.

I decorously parted with my family on the platform, three times pledged to Lyuchik to come to his school in winter, and encouragingly patted Joe on the back ("keep an eye on everything while I am away").  Then we barely pulled my suitcase  into the railroad car.

The circumstances of the eventful morning were still settling in my head (to collect thoughts in the presence of Lyuchik was just impossible), so I had to act intuitively.  I checked in the heavy suitcase with deliberate carelessness and took into the compartment only a basket—it was large, see-through, and allowed visual inspection from all sides.  Everyone could see that I didn't carry any ancient artifacts with me.  The train's buffers clanked, and we slowly sailed off through the starting drizzle—Krauhard's summer was over.  My family waved at me from the platform.

There is some benefit to having relatives, especially when they are compassionate.

I sat on the bench, plunging into meditation—not for the sake of spellcasting (it was forbidden for me), but simply to get my thoughts in order.  Not often did I have such a need.

The passing summer was very special: it scared, surprised, angered, and delighted me.  I would have never thought that a dark mage could experience such a diverse range of emotions!  I almost died and was saved, suffered from helplessness and triumphed, was outraged and intrigued.  But in the end I became bigger, wider, and longer.  Something of that kind.  For a magician it is very important to see and perceive the world in all its diversity, and for a dark magician it is also very difficult.  We always impose our own view on reality and dislike accepting objections, so reality intrudes into our lives in one way only: by force and without asking.

In a burst of feelings, I promised myself that I would start a new life.  I would pay greater attention to what happened around me, so that no more enemies could approach me from behind.  I would start thinking not only about myself...  One year left until graduation from the university, but I didn't know any better entertainment than joining Quarters for his pub parties.  It was shameful!  Please understand, I had no desire to make this promise a major life turning point; it was momentary insanity, a second of weakness, born from thoughts about my white family.  Thinking about spiritual perfection, I moved the basket closer to sort out the delicious grub that Mom had put in - there was too much food to finish it at once, anyway. 

That night I didn't dream about alchemical designs.  I saw Redstone, not as always, but in some strange, very alien way.  Everything was colored in dust and dirt; buildings had trembling outlines, as if drawn by a frightened hand, and they were almost indistinguishable from each other.  Acrid smoke, hanging low over the pavement like a ghost, hot stuffiness, and lack of shades: that must be the way a completely feral white mage would perceive a city.  It hurts to think of the white at night!

I liked the feeling I experienced during a night dream; it had a sort of gentle exotic touch.  Funny what kind of brains one must have to imagine buildings with inclined side walls.  Houses could not stand that way, after all.  And strange orange stench...  Fireplaces in residential areas were stocked with pressed briquettes, and they gave off a bluish, slightly tart smoke with scent of straw and manure.  The closest things I had ever seen in real life were the yellowish acidic evaporations of smithy and leather workshops in the southeastern outskirts of Redstone.  Only a white was capable of confusing the blue smoke with the red one.  In a burst of rare complacency, I tried to make the image more realistic by running cars and trams along the streets of my dream.  I spent the rest of the night doing just that.

And then the night dream continued in reality.

I stood silently on the platform, hugging my suitcase with the basket, and realizing that I did not recognize the station where I had been plenty of times.  It was a completely strange place now.  I didn't forget the details; I just did not see them.  Normal daily life seethed around me, but the crowd seemed to look strange now: people were replaced with some kind of blurred contours that flashed iridescently with unnamed colors (either shades of emotions or reflections of intents).  No, the contours did not merge, did not lose individuality, but I couldn't say what those people wore even under pain of death.

Did I eat something poisonous?

All moved and stirred, exchanged momentum, lit up, and faded.  My eyes caught two almost monochromatic figures among the iridescent sea of complex natures: one of them came off my train and another awaited the first one at the end of the platform.  For some reason I thought it would be unwise to look at them.

What was going on, eh?  I seemed to know which tricks those were.  Too soon had I rejoiced that
Rustle
hadn't touched me!  I thought I dreamed those interesting dreams, but it was
Rustle
, picking up the key to me.  Now I understood behavior of patients at the Trunk Bay hospital—things like that could really make you lose your mind.  I shouldn't panic—the train station itself did not change a bit, and where the exit was one could guess by the direction of the crowd's traffic.  I ought to stick together with all the people...

Then I noticed a vividly pulsating silhouette heading straight toward me.  I did not have a lot of friends of such stature, to be precise—I knew just one.

"What's up, lad!" the silhouette said with Captain Baer's voice.

"Hello, sir," the effort required to pronounce the words allowed me to focus and pull myself together.

It took a few seconds for the familiar shapes of buildings and platforms to stand out of the veil of strange beings.  I felt better.

"I heard you had a problem," the chief of Redstone's NZAMIPS noted genially.

He came to the train station wearing his posh uniform.

"There were some," I did not argue.

"Let me give you a lift!" he proposed generously.

Very well!  I guessed I was about to get sent straight into a madhouse.  With a dark mage who did not understand where he was, they would deal shortly.

He took my suitcase by the handle and went forward, pointing the way, and the crowd parted before him like waves before a ship.  I stomped after, carefully freeing my consciousness of the stranger's influence.  I sensed that what was happening had something to do with my promise to think of others.  Not without reason had I dreamt of white mages all night!  If they saw the world halfway like that, then how they could survive at all?  However, all that could just be an illusion, charmed by
Rustle
because of its mean nature. 

I ought to keep myself in hand!  Forty days had not passed yet; it seemed that the most interesting would be ahead.

When we left the station, only a slight tremor of my right eyelid reminded me of the strange visions.

Captain Baer ignored a line of cabs and headed to the parking lot.  I expected to see a striped police car, but he brought his own auto.

I felt like I was kicked in the stomach, just thinking that he owned a car.

"Get in!" the chief of NZAMIPS clicked the lock and took my basket, not paying attention to the fact that I was morally destroyed.

Oh, that was a real car!  Of course, not a black limo, but still quite impressive: big, bright, conservative blue, without a single scratch on the mirrored polished body.  Captain Baer effortlessly lifted my suitcase and put it into a roomy trunk, onto some neat terry rug.  Not wasting any time, I got inside.  Leather seats!  The back ones were like a sofa bed, with enough space to comfortably sleep; in the middle there was a little extra strap, probably for children.  Subtle echoes of cleaning spells suggested that they were used here on a regular basis.  Not a cheap thing, by the way.  I was impressed; no, I was shocked.  Someone else owned my dream.  NZAMIPS wasn't, of course, a poor institution, but I always felt that government officials were supposed to look and behave like humble gray mice.  What a surprise...

I squirmed in my seat, trying to soak into my skin the flavor of the luxurious leather.  Yes, my motorcycle was also quite stylish, but of incomparable comfort.  And no one around was surprised that the chief of Redstone NZAMIPS loaded my luggage; probably, the townsfolk took his clothes for a certain type of driver's uniform.  For a moment, I imagined that was true: my own car, my private chauffeur—I felt good!  The captain finished with the basket and took the driver's seat.

"Do you know where to?"