The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail) (21 page)

In the morning
, full of self pride, I took Fiberti out to show off the gimmick I had found. Ha ha! The entire cemetery was cordoned off by the police, visitors being turned away at the gate.

"
I want to cry at my father's grave!" I tried to break through, but the policemen turned a deaf ear to my indignation. To turn down a dark mage! They were courageous men, this crowd of imbeciles!

Fibe
rti gently took me by the elbow: "Edward, we should leave. I believe they are still looking for you. What if the police use dogs?"

We
slowly turned around and rushed away. The dogs are creatures without fantasy. I myself felt like a dog that lost a sandwich.

"
I need to get there!"

"Pull yourself together
. Soon they will let visitors in again."

"
Do you really think they will let me in with a shovel, a lantern, and a rope?"

"Maybe not
."

"
There should be another entrance to the catacombs. Besides, I feel the place is too small to serve as the shelter, described in
The Word
."

Fiberti
raised her eyebrows, "What are you talking about, Thomas?"

"
I suspect there is an ancient construction deep down, the tip of the World Axis, God damn it!"

"
Promise you'll take me with you when you go there."

"
But Clara…"

"Promise, and
I'll give you a tip."

"
I promise! I swear on my Mom!"

"Get
a map of the aquifers from the municipality. Subsoil waters are a continuous problem of any catacombs."

"It's
a brilliant idea! Thanks!"

Fiberti
went for the required document, as the more charming of the two of us. A roll of thin tracing paper cost us fifteen crowns; I carefully examined it. I searched for places lacking aquifers up to three hundred feet down.

"
Great job, Clara. I found three suitable areas. The first is under the cemetery; the second beneath the city dump, and the biggest of the three is on the territory of the Academy of Empaths."

"
I rummaged through the library and found that previously the Academy was a sanctuary, viewed as an entrance to the Lower World. It was guarded by the Order of Celestial Knights; their emblem was a profile of a soaring bird on a starry background. However, after the abolition of the Order, no gate to the otherworldly was discovered in the Academy."

Clara helped me
again. Since no sane dark would seek treasures under the gaze of curious empaths, I eliminated that way. I would have to climb down through the city dump.

The dump
was surrounded by a forest, which was completely out of place there. Developers didn't dare to build anything (not even industrial warehouses) nearby.

Fiberti
couldn't join me because of her asthma. "Do not be upset, Clara!" I tried to comfort her. "I'll just look around. When access through the cemetery opens up, we will climb down together."

She calmed down a bit.

I took a deep breath and immediately realized my mistake - I needed to breathe very shallowly, through the mouth.
The air acquired a fetid and nasty taste. My work at Biokin hadn't prepared me for what I sensed: STINK hung above the dump. Wind brought fumes in waves, sated crows cawed on branches of trees, but there were no flies - it was winter.

As we approached the
dump, my determination was disappearing. I pondered whether the artisans' secret was worth my suffering. At the end of the road, like an insult to common sense, we came across a chic wrought-iron gate with a polished gold-plated signboard. But the chicness ended right behind the fence. A watchman readily pointed out the direction of the office.

L
ong piles of rotting refuse, shamefully covered with a waxed cloth, stretched along pathways. Despite the winter season, the air was warm (and stinking); whitish liquid manure glittered in shallow ditches. Immediately behind the piles of garbage I saw barns, green from mold, long gas pipes, and cylinders of obsolete fermenting vats.

I paused
before the door into a moldy barn, not daring to touch the handle covered with emerald green stains. The appearance of a local worker saved me - he went out of the door towards me, holding a large tin tray with something white and stirring.

"Good day
!" I greeted him.

"
Really?" he was surprised.

"
Have a bad day, if you wish," I allowed. The staff matched this place well. "How can I find a director?"

"
Over there," he gestured with his tray, almost showering me with its contents.

The
boss of the dump had his nest in a neat brick house. A cheerful pink-cheeked fat man was drinking coffee and eating a sandwich with meat and herbs. I felt sick from looking at him. A Biokin brochure with fermenting vats on the cover lay before him.

"
Are you interested in our products? I was one of the developers of these babies."

The d
irector jumped up and shook my hand (the hand of a dark mage!). He was still holding the sandwich in the other hand.

"
Andrew Flea, at your service! Are they really good?"

"
Yes. An unbeatable design! Be sure to purchase installation and tuning services."

I
wondered how to get permission from the boss to dig into his rotten fiefdom.

"
Are you a representative of Biokin?"

"
No, I'm managing a new project now." It suddenly dawned on me how to get him to help: "It's about the control of odors."

The d
irector's eyebrows went up in surprise. "Is it feasible?"

"
Of course. Our invention is suitable for relatively small spaces. It's not commercially available yet."

Mr.
Flea's eyes began glistening with lust. He was mine now.

"
I can arrange a pilot test here, if you let me do research on your premises."

"
Yes, yes, of course! And how much will it cost?"

"
Free for you, as a bonus for the trouble with the tests." And we shook hands.

I
made initial measurements of dark magic emanations around the director's office and hurried away. As I was halfway to the gate, the dump workers removed a cover from one of the piles and shoveled its contents onto the long carts. An amulet against Sa-Orio poison would be very handy here. Though, the disturbed brown mass generated such thick fumes that the amulet would break from overloading.

Upon s
eeing me, Fiberti slightly frowned. "Please don't take the tram. You stink."

"I don'
t care! My eyes are still watering!"

At the hotel
I foisted all my clothes, desecrated by the dump fumes, on washerwomen. Flea's facility was protected from intrusion by the dark better than the Academy of Empaths: no magician would go there twice. But I had no choice, because the very existence of such a disgusting place was a challenge to me. The smelly dump insulted me by its stink! I started working on the promised invention immediately.

To d
esign a device that could deter odors was twice as complex as to develop an amulet for the military. I pored over the flow diagrams for three days, almost without breaks for sleep and food. Larkes showed up from nowhere and offered his help. I demanded access to the testing ground of the local "cleaners" and immediately received it. Not willing to share my secrets with him, I pretended to be working on an urgent commercial project.

Larkes
probably did not believe a word. Looking at my charts, the senior coordinator casually asked if I was taught multi-contour spells at the university. No, I had never heard of them. Larkes shrugged and walked away, and I checked with
Rustle
if the monster saw anything similar in Axel's library.
Rustle
was very skeptical about my project; however, he found a few helpful books. I realized that the multi-contour spells were used in protective amulets for banks, and if you knew the basics, its creation was amazingly easy. In the past, I thought of them as unbelievably complex. For an average "cleaner" they would be difficult, but for a necromancer it was a mere exercise in concentration. The complexity was in determining the resulting vector of the interacting spells; to a large extent, I guessed it intuitively.

The
amulet and spells were ready in a week. I wasted on them half of the ingredients, stolen from the Kerpan Labs (they would have expired soon, anyway). A pilot test at the dump took half a day, and the result was so great that I wouldn't be ashamed to demonstrate my amulet even to the creators of the
Project
.

The s
ubtle lace of the three-dimensional perimeter twined round the office building. It was barely sensed, harmless for massive bodies, and impenetrable for fine suspensions. It remained to deodorize the inside of the building. I took out of my suitcase a glass tube with absorber. Ten minutes later the air became odor-free. I plugged the tube with a wooden stopper and put it back.

"The
tube is a deodorizer. When the sorbent darkens, wash it with soap and let it dry. Call a magician once a year to check the perimeter."

H
ow much a dark magician would ask for a visit to the dump, I was afraid even to guess.

T
he director could not appreciate the beauty of my magic - he didn't see it. Mr. Flea cautiously sniffed his office, then walked to the window and, with an effort, threw it open. Surely, he opened the window for the first time in many years. Cold tasteless air hit us in the face, but in comparison with the stench of the dump it was a breakthrough.

"
A miracle!" the boss whispered in astonishment.

"
It's just magic," I corrected him. Of course, I did not mention how many people in the Kerpan Labs worked for my small triumph.

He clasped his hands,
"What can I do for you?"

"
I would like to explore your dump, take soil and product samples for studying…"

"
Take all you want!"

And I began
my investigation. The staff was willingly helping me. You bet! The most active helpers I rewarded with a "clothespin" on the nose, eliminating the stench.

As
I feared, the entrance to the catacombs was located under one of the piles. I begged the boss to clean the spot of refuse, saying nonsense about the need to measure the potential fluctuations of fumes. He asked me to wait until the compost ripened. Mr. Flea agreed to everything.

I met t
his year's Christmas alone, waiting for the removal of compost. Fiberti was busy with something. I celebrated it in a snowy whirlwind, watching the townsfolk's attempts to make fireworks. I was bored and ready to disclose my secrets to the senior coordinator in order to obtain access to the catacombs through the cemetery. A message from the dump saved me from shameful capitulation; Mr. Flea informed me that the spot I was interested in was free for research.

My acquaintance
with the
Project
moved to an active phase.

* * *

The Director of Recycling and Recovery of Municipal and Household Waste for Finkaun was in excellent spirits. A basket of homemade pastries and a cup of freshly brewed coffee with a pinch of cardamom waited for him on the desk. The subtlest flavors mingled in the air, making a winter's day brighter and warmer. Until recently he had been chewing his breakfast like a horse its hay, moving his jaws and trying not to sniff!

But a
miracle happened recently: the society finally turned its face to the faithful children. The director was not selfish: abusing his position, he ordered fifty amulet-"clothespins" for his personnel sent to Master Tangor. Mr. Flea did not fear being accused of peculation; the health and well-being of his people justified spending extra money! From now on, the "clothespins" would become an integral part of their safety equipment. His workers voted for the amulet with both hands, and even misers from the city council did not dare to object.

S
ome stir outside distracted the director from his gleeful thoughts: an unexpected visitor stood before the office building, pressing a handkerchief to his face and popping out his glassy eyes. Mr. Flea hastily pulled on his rubber boots, zipped his jacket, and with a habitual gesture set the protective "clothespin" on his nose. It was time to make acquaintance with the guest.

"
Good day, sir. Are you here to see me?" Mr. Flea recognized a dark mage in the visitor.

The stranger's
gaze focused on the director, and Mr. Flea realized that the magician had studied the perimeter set around the house. The dark showed his NZAMIPS badge.