The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail) (13 page)

Swallowing
hard knots in his throat, Alex pulled the edge of the blood-soaked uniform (he had a feeling that the lower and upper halves of the body were disconnected) and took out of his pocket a "whistle". He pressed the button and started waiting for whichever would come sooner: the ancient guard from the tomb or rescuers from NZAMIPS.

Sounds of a n
on-existent surf pounded into Alex's ears; the faces of murdered coworkers superimposed on one another in his eyes. He promised himself that he wouldn't give up; he would survive and make sure that justice prevailed. Someone knew the tomb was deadly dangerous and condemned to death their entire expedition. They would have to take responsibility for this!

'I'
ve recognized you, teacher!'

Having said farewell to Hemalis, we got on a train to Finkaun to
search of my father's cache. Since my last visit Finkaun became noisier and more crowded. From the train station we went to the city on foot via a long pedestrian bridge. I led Clara by the hand and, with the look of a connoisseur, pointed to the local attractions. She feared heights, and I tried to distract her attention from the trembling floor of the bridge and the locomotives passing beneath. I told her that if she had joined me a few months earlier, she would have had to climb down a thousand-foot mine, in comparison to which this bridge was nothing - just a hundred feet in height. I managed to make Fiberti doubt if her decision to follow me was wise.

To find my father's cache in the
three-dimensional maze of the city, which had been built and rebuilt many times over the last twenty years, was not a trivial task.
Rustle
didn't respond to my requests for help. The Salem Brothers' report mentioned that Toder Tangor's widow lost her belongings in a fire after the funeral. But I saw our Finkaun house during my previous visit: it was never touched by fire – otherwise, centuries-old plane trees that grew close to its front side would have been damaged. And that was the only real estate my father had ever owned, according to the documents.

I decided to collect information about that fire. I
t must have been mentioned somewhere: either in the daily newspapers for that period or in the municipal archives. Naturally, as a dark magician, I could not stoop to work with dusty papers; Clara, as my aide, had to accomplish that feat. I made up a story about being busy; perhaps she saw through me, but didn't refuse to help. In half a day we became the happy owners of the coveted address and immediately went to the place. For the sake of conspiracy, we got off the tram two stops early and walked the last span on foot.

The
block of Linden Street that we were interested in did not have continuous numbering of houses. House number one-three-six perched itself next to number twenty-four; mansion number fifty-eight neighbored number two-hundred-three. The area had long ceased to be a suburb; only a few islands survived from a line of lime trees. All houses were fenced, and their gates were adorned with shiny plaques displaying names of wealthy dark magicians, healers, and functionaries of city hall.

"
Did they mention any landmarks in the newspapers?" I asked with hope.

"
No, they didn't," Clara replied. "How about you? Do you remember anything from your childhood?"

"
I was less than five years old at the time!"

"
We can check with the municipality if the blue prints are still available," Clara proposed.

I winced
, "We'll alert smart-ass officials. Let's book a room in the nearby hotel and walk around this place. We'll waste an extra day or two, but we won't raise unnecessary interest."

No sooner said than done.

One day passed, then another, but we weren't moving forward; the property at thirteen Linden Street remained invisible to us. Even Fiberti lost her usual sense of humor and started asking, "Could the place be hidden magically?"

"I feel
no strong magic here, except for standard aversive signs on the fences," I muttered in reply.

"W
e've checked everywhere…"

"
Not everywhere, if we can't find it. There are houses numbered eleven and fifteen; there should be a thirteenth, too! What if it sits on a panhandle lot? We'll continue tomorrow."

The same evening
a stupid incident happened: somebody stole my diary from the hotel room. Frustrated by a bad day, I went down to the front desk and stared into the eyes of the owner.

"What
happened, sir?" the man became nervous.

"I am missing a thing
," I ushered in a tragic tone. "It's a book. It belonged to my daddy!"

"
Sir, are you sure…"

"
Absolutely!" I let my voice fall to a dramatic whisper. "The book lay on the table, and now it's gone."

"
Sir, my people couldn't enter…"

"
Somebody cleaned my room." Did he take me for an idiot?

The
guy surrendered, "Wait a minute, sir. I'll talk to my wife. She cleaned your room. I am sure she'll explain what happened."

Meanwhile
, Fiberti joined us, demonstrating her extraordinary flair for other people's troubles. I was disguised as a white again and, not knowing how they usually behaved in such situations, I stood speechless, waiting for the owner to finish his investigation. A quarter-hour later, the owner of the hotel reappeared, with angry shouts dragging a boy of thirteen by the ear. The man was short in stature, while the boy was lanky, so as the owner bent down the boy's head was almost to his knee.

"
I'm so ashamed, sir, so ashamed! What a disgrace! My own son debased himself by stealing from our guests!"

"
I would have returned!" the guy whined, trying to wriggle out of his father's clutches.

"Ok
ay, give it to me," I agreed.

"
It caught fi-i-ire! And disappeared!" the young thief cried.

From his sobbing
we learned that he was intrigued by the magic look of my diary - it had a black skull on the cover, and he opened it to find out what was written there. My protective spell had worked well, and the kid was lucky that the fire didn't spread around.

"
It will be a lesson to you," I moralized. "Even a little dishonesty can cause big trouble, no matter how innocent it may seem to you. I hope your dad will teach you good behavior."

The owner
bowed and thanked me, holding his offspring by the ear.

"
Where did you burn my book?" I asked the boy.

"
At the sorcerer's house!"

T
he bells - no, the tocsin - rang in my head.

"
The house of the sorcerer?" Clara immediately joined in the game. "Does a magician live there?"

"He
once lived there." Seeing that we didn't continue the scandal, the owner became very friendly. "The house was burned down long ago. The lot is vacant, because nobody has been able to rebuild the site since then. It's an odd spot; protective signs don't work there, and no one understands why. I'll take you to the place, if you are interested. It's not far…"

"
Do not bother; just explain how to get there," I smiled with angelic sweetness.

A
minute later we walked to the site, which we had passed by no less than ten times before. It turned out that my father's estate was divided into three lots, two of which were built up with houses, and the third one remained undeveloped and had no numbered plaque. The sought-for property at thirteen Linden Street was presented by a short stone skirting, surrounded by lilacs; in the adjacent park (consisting of three paths and two bushes) someone walked a dog. Inside the stone perimeter there was bare land: neither grass, nor bushes grew there. I thought it could be a dark magic effect.

"
Did he make his cache here?" Clara asked me doubtfully.

"
He might have, otherwise the lot would have been built up already."

Perhaps
I should buy this place and do the search without any rush. But first I wanted to get my diary back.

The
young thief activated the Diamond Rune - the spell that I imposed on the diary's cover - and it burned the notebook to ashes, as it was supposed to. To restore the diary, I had to perform another curse, for which I needed special supplies (crayons, colored candles, brass balls). On the way to the hotel, I pondered where I could purchase the supplies, while Clara tried to find out from me the particulars of the restoration curse.

A
large limousine of a conservative blue color cut our way. I was stunned when Coordinator Larkes got out of the cabin and stared at me pointedly. I flushed to the roots of my hair, feeling as if boiling water was poured over my head - he saw me disguised as a white!

"
Hello, Mr. Kitoto," the magician said calmly.

"
Oh!" quick-witted Clara gasped.

Larkes
kept silence for a while, consolidating the achieved advantage, and then nodded in the direction of the limousine, "Climb in, we need to talk."

I
was crushed and demoralized, unable to resist.

"
We have to pick up our luggage from the hotel," Fiberti helped me.

Larkes
agreed, "Okay, let's do it. Then I will take you to the train station, Clara."

All the way to the station the senior c
oordinator kept a meaningful silence, while I deeply suffered. Clara vainly waited for an explanation from Larkes and even tried to rebel, but Larkes was adamant: "I'm sorry, but Johan has to go with me. For very urgent matters. He will contact you later."

I couldn't
talk, let alone argue. By the time I recovered from the shame and embarrassment, the limousine had already left the city and sped along a wide four-lane road, steadily overtaking farm carts and trucks.

"W
here are we going to?"

"You'
ve been drafted," Larkes uttered gravely.

"But I was honorably dismissed
…"

"
As a combat mage. Now you are mobilized as an alchemist."

"
Ingernika is not at war!"

"
When the war starts, it will be too late. Ingernika needs your talent now!"

I felt
sharp déjà vu. Why were all my superiors so pathetic about service to the Motherland!?

At dusk
our limousine stopped at a roadside hotel. Larkes would prefer to drive all night, but the chauffeur needed a rest.

"Y
ou have a couple hours. I hope you'll change your look single-handedly," the senior coordinator reminded me about my problem.

Well, at least
he did not ask me why I was still alive after my death.

Colonel Lavender Kilozo was the only one left alive f
rom a group of sectarians who miraculously escaped NZAMIPS in Septonville. She knew that the rest quietly passed away - artisans didn't need followers, who were spotted by NZAMIPS. Sometimes she grieved that she didn't try to open their eyes, call for resistance. But their rebellion in the manor, surrounded by a triple row of enchanted guards, would have been easily suppressed. She decided to stick to the image of Ms. Tabret and wait.

On one sunny day
Lavender sat in the courtyard, watching a flutter of multicolored dragonflies and little birds, when she noticed an old man approaching her. Lavender suppressed all her emotions, calmly trying to figure out the scale of the nearing problem. Maneuvering on a narrow path, a good-looking, bearded man was coming toward her, and Lavender immediately recognized him: his pictures followed her all her life. Leon Haino was the most experienced and respectful professor of the Academy of Empaths.

'
His sagacity became legendary before I was born!' Lavender started feeling uneasy. Maitre Haino was a prominent public figure, a powerful white magician, the leader of the white community, famous for his fight against the vestiges of the Inquisition.

"
I saw you sitting alone," the revived Lavender's nightmare gently smiled. "Your friends are away. May I replace them to you?"

The woman
shyly smiled and moved a little on the bench, freeing more space for the artisan. She feared he would see through her, but her pride did not let her halt the spy game.

And
a strange confrontation began: the most skillful hypocrite collided with the most insightful empath. Lavender was spared from immediate failure because Maitre Haino wasn't aware of their ongoing duel, and not for a single moment did he doubt that she shared his views. The white patriarch was no better than Derik in arguing for his ideas, but he used more skillfully non-verbal methods of persuasion.

'
What a brain wash!' Colonel Kilozo was often angered after their "innocent" get-togethers over gingerbread.

For a
month or so their meetings entertained her, but then they became tiresome. In contrast to the deceased Derik, Maitre Haino didn't doubt, didn't retreat, didn't ease his pressure, and didn't let his new acquaintance get out of sight. Lavender feared his tight supervision. But she couldn't flee without solid evidence; otherwise, it would be the word of an army colonel against his word of a respected and credible member of government.

"
I'll have to catch him red-handed. But he did nothing wrong in my presence; the enchanted guards are servants of the Evergreens, and sectarians from Septonville cannot witness - they are no longer alive. I'll have to keep my patience and wait for a lucky chance."

A few
months passed; one shelter was followed by another; one season replaced another. Lavender had no regular access to newspapers and did not communicate with anybody outside the sect. In moments of weakness, she really believed that she lived her entire life in quiet Septonville, and a military career was just her daydream. She needed an accomplice to stay sane and thought of recruiting a like-minded person among disoriented and deceived cultists.

In early spring Hain
o suddenly departed and took with him several trusted sectarians and red-haired Gertani (in Lavender's view, Gertani replaced Derik). While they were away, she felt safer and began to look for an aide. The scout selected two candidates: an old alchemist named Chon Adarik, a gloomy and unsociable man, and Sam, a young white, a frivolous guy. A new custom introduced by Haino had simplified Lavender's work: they started gathering for a joint pastime in the evening. So, whom of the two to choose? She had little time for careful probing into their backgrounds. Adarik's gloom could be caused by his disappointment in the artisan's mission; Sam's jokes weren't sincere - sometimes the scout saw disgust in the eyes of the white boy. Both of them looked queer, but it didn't matter to her.

Once, a
t their evening gathering, Adarik became excited after reading a newspaper. He started running around the room and shouting something incomprehensible. His uncontrolled emotions scared Lavender off.

"
Relax, Choni," Sam said indulgently and returned to his occupation - embroidery.

Lavender picked up
the torn newspaper to read the news that agitated the artisan. Sam came up to her, straightened the crumpled sheet, and pointed his finger to the article about public debates - in which Minister Michelson ridiculed the critique of his ministry by the public commission and the ministerial circle.

"
Haino is a member of both the commission and the ministerial circle, and the proposition to cut the budget for Michelson's ministry came from him," he explained to Lavender and went back to his embroidery.

So, Choni Adarik
naturally dropped off; only Sam remained. Next day Lavender seated herself next to Sam.

The guy rolled
up his eyes, "Don't you have anything else to do?"

"
I'm done for today," the white timidly replied.

"
Go help Milena with goats!"

Lavender
resentfully pouted her lips: "They don't like me!"

When Sam go
t back to his embroidery, a great idea visited the scout, "Please teach me this!"

"
No, I'm not patient enough."

"Please, please
, please." What a pity that she couldn't play a cute pussy cat with him - she was disguised as fifty-year-old Ms. Tabret. In real life, she looked no more than twenty-five, much younger than ordinary people of her age.

Sam
resisted for three days, but eventually yielded to her. Lavender was handed a tambour, calico, threads, and patterns.

"
You create such beauty," the scout urgently needed to earn the guy's confidence. They sat alone in the living room.

"
I hate embroidery and don't care about beauty!" Sam growled.

"
Then why…" the white was taken aback.

"
When I'm busy, no one bothers me. Got it?"

Lavender
finally found a renegade among members of the sect! It remained to figure out why he was still alive and convince him of her friendliness. But she didn't move far ahead with this for a whole week. Sam looked at her in disbelief, as if she was a dog that suddenly said "meow".

Then
Haino returned, followed by two bodyguards, who carried a small trunk. After an hour of mindless chatter in the living room, Lavender was called by an enchanted servant - the teacher wanted to talk to her.

Hain
o managed to take a bath and change clothes; feverish brilliance disappeared from his eyes; the magician completely controlled himself. Seven glass discs with a metal decoration lay on the table in front of him; some of them bore brown spots. Lavender quickly swallowed - she wasn't used to the sight of blood.

"
Look at it, Kasia! Can you guess what this is?"

"
No," the white smiled apologetically.

"These are the
Keys! If used correctly, they'll send a signal that will stop the work of a very ancient device. No one knows about the device, except a handful of people. Its parts are scattered around the world, being hidden in inaccessible places. Man-made monsters protect these places from invasion. Nothing more powerful has ever existed in the world! Thousands of combat curses are just a glimmer of a candle compared to its might. And the Keys are a backdoor, which the creators left for themselves to block the work of the artifact just in case."

Lavender understood that Haino finally entrusted her with the innermost secret; fo
r this alone she could give her life.

"The d
amn device, when active, is a gate between our world and the Other World. When we block it, the supernatural will lose access to our world. We've been searching for the Keys for centuries, and finally they are here - right before you. Are you happy?" the patriarch shed a tear.

Lavender became speechless and just nodded, agreeing.
Yeah, it would be the end of the world as she knew it.

Any white
would sacrifice his or her life to save the world from the supernatural, and she was no exception! But the scout remembered Haino's talk with Derik and what Haino said when his aide could no longer hear him. The otherworldly was present in the teacher's plans and played some important role. So, either the device didn't work as Haino described, or it performed something else that the artisan needed. The scout couldn't completely hide her doubts from the empath, and she needed to find some fallacy in his speech at any cost, in order to stay alive.

"
I do not understand, Teacher. If this artifact calls on the supernatural, why did the ancients create it? They were from our world, after all!"

"
These villains lusted for power."

"
Surely, such enormous might cannot be created by a single psychopath. If they made this device, they were well aware of the otherworldly. Society knowing how to control multiple worlds can't be crazy." Lavender tried to grab the tail of an important point, "Maybe this thing is doing something else?"

Maitre Hain
o threw a lustreless glance at his interlocutor. The artisan didn't look like an enthusiastic and self-righteous fighter anymore…Lavender barely kept herself from trembling. But the moment of doubt had passed for him; to Lavender's luck, he was still confident in his power and did not view her as a threat.

"
What else do you think it can do?" he smiled sadly. "Not all of the ancients were marked with wisdom."

For the rest of the day Lavender
helped the gardener, trying to calm her nerves and accustom the guards to seeing her near the fence. When she moved the furthest from the mansion garden plot, she found Sam lurking in the bushes.

The
young artisan stared at her strangely - with some envy. "If you say anything like this again, he will kill you," he said. "Don't think he is good-natured."

"
You are right," Lavender shrugged. "What about you? Do you think you're safe?"

"
What difference does it make?" the guy sighed sadly and left without saying goodbye.

N
ext day Lavender waylaid Sam after breakfast. She crept up from behind and grabbed his elbow. "What's up, kid? Let's go for a walk!" she chirped merrily.

"
No, I don't want to," Sam vainly tried to detach himself from the importunate woman.

"
Don't be stupid," Lavender continued in the same tone, and with a firm hand led the young man to the place she considered safe - the overgrown alley between the pond and compost heaps.

"W
hat's between you and Haino?" she whispered, pushing her victim into the bushes.

Sam
angrily shrugged, "I am his descendant in some way. And he closely watches his offspring now."

Lavender whistled in
surprise. It didn't fit Ms. Tabret's image, but she wasn't going to keep her masquerade up before the boy.

Sam
misunderstood her surprise and continued, "For four hundred years only powerful white magicians were born to his clan, as if he bred bulls. And then I was born - without any trace of magic abilities. Isn't it funny?"

Lavender shook h
er head in sympathy. Such things happened often, especially among the dark: an ordinary child could be born to a family of the gifted, and a talented one - to a family of the ordinary. In white families a child was less likely to lack magic abilities. The scout had a sudden thought: "Are you helping him of your own free will?"

Sam almost choked with laughter.
"You are something! He doesn't accept 'no' for an answer," he finally replied.

"
Do you want to say 'no'?" the white insisted.

"
Now I do," Sam became serious again, "only it's too late."

"
Maybe not. We'll see!" Lavender said cheekily and disappeared.

She
found an aide and a witness at the same time. It remained to obtain evidence and run away with Sam. But fate prepared a surprise for her again.

Lavender was
awakened at night by a modified guard (the white almost wet her bed from the suddenness of his appearance).

"
The teacher ordered you to pack up some clothes and join him at the gazebo by the pond. Keep silence."

Lavender
obeyed, frantically trying to figure out whether she would get the required evidence now or a six-foot apartment underground.

Awaken
ed by the guards, sectarians gathered at the pond. There were a dozen of them all together. Lights were off, but the scout easily oriented herself in the predawn twilight - she had learned the garden like the back of her hand. The gazebo's floor was lifted up, opening the mouth of an underground passage; artisans disappeared in there.