Capítulo 15: Chapter 15
Angel turned pale, his lips tightened tightly, his eyes narrowed.
"The Process," Ragnihotri repeated. "I know that the human turns into a consultant if he survives a certain process."
"But you are not one of the consultants?" Margaret asked.
"No, dear Fraulen, I was only able to catch one and do some research. Unfortunately, the specimen escaped from me, but I could not catch the second one. I am surprised that you, highly respected sir, do not know about this."
Angel was silent. "This is what the lack of communication between them and you leads to!" Miss Sheridan thought sadly. "You should have at least corresponded, then we would have pinned this bastard down much earlier than he did us! And you wouldn't be in such a... such.…"
"So, I want to hear from you, for a start, a brief description of all stages of the Process. Let's start with the characteristics of the candidates and their preparation."
Angel was silent.
"If you hint that you will not answer, then I advise you to think three times. As a matter of fact, I am asking you very little."
"But aren't you creating undead obedient to you?" Margaret exclaimed. "What do you need consultants for?"
"Fraulen," Ragnihotri laughed, "but you can produce not only improved human, but also improved... non-human."
Angel flinched almost imperceptibly.
"Oh my God, but why?!" Miss Sheridan cried in despair. Ragnihotri stroked the rosary gently.
"Opportunities," he purred. "Opportunity and power. Isn't that why you are doing magic?"
The girl froze in amazement. That thought had never crossed her mind.
"Power," Redfern said quietly. "You see, Margaret, all these brutes are the same."
"And you, undoubtedly, are fighting only for the idea," the master of the undead replied derisively. "You're so rich. However, you have received a large inheritance - after all your family in a single rush disappeared from the face of the earth. Enough, however." For the first time impatience sounded in Ragnihotri's voice. "We've wasted enough time. Answer."
"What do you know about my family?" Angel asked, giving him a hard look.
"The Process, Herr Redfern, let's get back to The Process. I answered your questions in great detail, now it's your turn."
"What do you know about my family?" Redfern repeated more slowly. His voice became lower with rage.
"Don't," Margaret whispered, in a vain attempt to calm him down.
"I will certainly share my knowledge with you, dear Herr, but only in exchange for yours. In essence, I am only interested in one question so far..."
"You know too little, wretch, about my family," Angel hissed deafly, "and about me too!"
Ragnihotri drummed his fingers on his knee.
"It seems to me that you are not quite aware of your position," he finally said. "Leidner, get on with Fraulen."
The blood drained from Margaret's face, and her heart sank and stopped.
"B-but..." the girl babbled; Leidner grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. "Don't touch me! Angel!"
Three of them rushed to Redfern at once, and Margaret saw nothing more: the vile red snoot obscured everything. The sailor stank unbearably of sweat, tobacco and dirty clothes. From fear and disgust, the girl's legs gave way, she heard Angel's short fierce cry, someone else screamed in pain, and then Leidner pressed his mouth to hers. Margaret felt sick, especially when he shoved his tongue into her mouth. This sour, unbearable taste! She let out a strangled cry and bit the critter's tongue, blindly scratching the filthy snoot. Leidner let out a muffled scream, pushed Miss Sheridan away, and slapped her across the face. Margaret fell to the floor and hurriedly crawled away from the sailor.
Next to her lay a corpse with a crushed larynx, a sailor writhing and howling wildly near him, holding his eyes - blood was flowing thickly from under his fingers, four Dorgernians grabbed Angel, and the bearded Mazandranman calmly watched them from the height of his height. Leidner, spitting bloody saliva, lunged at Margaret and pulled up her skirts.
The girl's face was filled with a burning color of shame and anger. Leidner laughed, pointing to the breeches under her skirts, and pulled Margaret closer, wrapping her hem around his arm. She had never been so disgusted or humiliated, but when the sailor parted her legs with the toe of his boot, Margaret's fear instantly burned out in a blazing rage, and she kicked the critter in the groin with all her might, as Angel had taught her.
Leidner screamed, bent down in three deaths, hiding behind his hands, and staggered back. Margaret jumped up. Her mentor fought off three sailors, and the fourth suddenly rushed at her from behind and knocked her to the floor. The girl screamed, wriggling furiously, but he leaned on her with his whole body, tore at her blouse - buttons jumped across the floor - and squeezed her breast. As smelly and disgusting as Leidner! Even worse, because he pressed her to the floor with his whole body and crawled his fingers in her bodice. Margaret squirmed under him, hissing chokingly. Leidner barked something hoarsely from above, and the sailor jerked the girl to her knees.
Leidner hobbled closer and kicked her in the ribs. Margaret gasped in pain and hung in the sailor's arms, gasping for air. She was thrown to the floor again, someone grabbed her by the hair and pressed her head to the floor, someone's hand slipped between her legs and squeezed painfully. The switchblade clicked. Margaret gathered the rest of her strength, jerked violently, freed her hand, grabbed the sailor's finger and twisted it so that there was a crunch.
The Dorgernian screamed, and Leidner grabbed the girl's hair and jerked her head up. The knife flashed near her eye, and then there was a loud, imperious shout. Something orange flashed on the side, and the sailors suddenly released Margaret.
She raised on her elbows and lifted her head. Next to the first corpse, a second one was already lying, with its neck broke, and nearby, the Dorgnernian was still howling, crouched and covering his bloody face with his hands. The two remaining critters were barely able to hold Angel in place. The mentor struggled, but fainter and fainter, glowing orange patterns entangled him. Ragnihotri held out his hand to him - the patterns on it, exactly the same, also glowed and moved, rising above the skin.
"Well," the master of the undead said, and lowered his hand. The orange lace is gone; he gave a curt order to the sailors in Darginian, and they released Angel. He dropped to one knee and put his hand on the floor, breathing hard. With a faint groan, Margaret darted towards him, and the mentor pulled her to him. The girl cowered in his arms, trembling, and gave a little sob.
"Don't," Angel whispered. "Not here."
Margaret wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand and gingerly felt him. Thank God he seemed to be intact - no broken bones, only abrasions and bruises.
The sailor's howling died down; soft, almost noiseless footsteps and the rustle of long robes were heard. Ragnihotri stopped in front of Angel. A huge Mazandranman stood nearby.
"Is such vitality really," the master of the undead inquired insinuatingly, "is it also inherited?"
Angel was silent. Margaret also lost her desire to talk, and she only clung closer to her mentor.
"You killed two and ripped out the eyes of a third," Ragnihotri continued, "but fortunately, brahman magic can do a lot. And now you will be convinced of this the hard way."
***
Farlan tugged at the commissar's sleeve and whispered:
"Where is she go?" and, after thinking for a second, added: "Why is she a woman?!"
"Because," the commissar hissed, lay down by the window and carefully looked out. To his unpleasant surprise, the vampires showed the beginnings of tactical thinking and retreated into the rear of the crowd, hiding behind the backs of people. There were sixty or seventy of them in total. They surrounded the store with a dense ring and so far showered it with stones and bricks, which were plentiful in Kintagel.
"They'll kill her!" the director of the theater was indignant in a whisper. "How could you let her go!"
Jen stood in front of the entrance to their hideout, arms crossed over her chest and swaying in her heels. The stones and bricks did not harm her, as they deviated to the sides, as if they feared for their life. Although most likely Jen somehow deflected the blows with an effort of will. Well, Nathan thought, she must be capable of that.
Convinced that the shelling was ineffectual, the crowd roared indignantly and rushed to the attack like the damn Deir infantry - almost step for step. The vampires sat around the tops of the ruins and watched with curiosity. Or did the master pass his will to the damned people through them?
Jen raised her hand; the running people were met by a huge tongue of flame spreading around the house. Farlan gasped and crossed himself with his pistol. Screams of rage were instantly replaced by screams of pain; the first victims fell to the ground and began to roll on it, in vain attempts to bring down the inextinguishable flame.
"Jen!" Brennon snapped, leaping to his feet and rushing to the door. "Don't kill them!"
He burst out onto the sagging porch and immediately jumped back, covering his face with his hands: the air around him was so hot that it was impossible even to breathe. Recoiling behind a broken shop window, Nathan blinked, looked out and, dumbfounded, realized that Jen was slowly walking towards people. Golden tongues of transparent fire flowed to her feet from the burning people, poured into her body, and the girl became with each step higher, brighter and less and less like a human. A stream of flame poured from under her hand and spirals around the house, devouring people one by one. An inhuman howl was heard in the crackling fire, the hot air filled with the acrid smell of burnt meat.
"Jen!" Brennon breathed hoarsely. The shop was surrounded by a flaming funnel that rose above its roof. Baobhan Sith darted through the ruins, squealed, but now they were afraid to jump down and go through the fire. The golden-scarlet figure of the witch glided smoothly over the ground, and now the screams of the dying could not be heard: people in her flame flared up like matches and burned out in seconds.
The Commissar had to retreat into the depths of the shop - the air around the building burned like boiling water, the walls began to crackle from the heat, and the smell of burning came from above.
"This way!" Farlan shouted, Nathan turned around - the director crawled behind the miraculously survived counter and waved the pistol from there. The ground began to smoke in the street around the shop, the porch began to melt, and Brennon hurried to take cover behind the counter. The store was already unbearably hot, but it was still possible to breathe. The light of the flame flooded it, as if the house stood in the middle of a huge forge.
"What the hell is this?!" Farlan howled, barely Brennon had settled behind the counter. "Who did you bring here?!"
The crowd ended. The flaming edge of the fiery funnel came close to the Baobhan Sith. The vampires screeched to flee, but the funnel suddenly swayed and with a loud sigh was heard in breadth and sky. The red and gold flames consumed the undead, dyed the patterns on their bodies orange, then brown, then black, and finally squeezed in a hot embrace so that the vampires exploded into clouds of ash.
Brannon jumped to his feet and yelled at the top of his lungs.
"Jen, that's enough! Wake up already! Jen, can you hear me?!"
"She will fry us here!" Farlan shouted. Nathan tore off his coat, threw it over his head and rushed to the door.
"Jen! Stop it! Can you hear me, Jenny?!"
The clothes began to smolder, the commissar suffocated in the scorching air and backed away. There was nothing around but a a blinding scarlet fire funnel, and Nathan could no longer hear himself in the growing roar of the flame. An unbearable heat washed over him from head to toe. Gasping for breath, the commissar scrambled behind the counter and fell on all fours. Fire crept up to them from all sides, burning the air. But when Farlan was already hissing prayer for the dying, the flame suddenly stirred up and died away. The theater director redoubled his efforts in recitation, and Nathan hissed almost audibly:
"Jen?"
His eyes were watering, but it still seemed to him that in the scarlet veil he made out a transparent amber silhouette. The funnel suddenly stretched out to the heavens, shuddered and spilled around, flooding Kintagel with a red-orange wave. Heat hit Brennon's head like a cast-iron skillet, and darkness fell as hot as hell.
...a cool hand lay on Nathan's forehead, and the Commissar could hardly make out Valentina's voice, sounding as if from afar:
"He's already all right. Just a big heatstroke."
"And another?" the low baritone of the consultant came.
"Just fainting. Both are alive and well."
Brannon stirred, blinked, saw through the fog in his eyes Valentina, at a distance - Longsdale, and then a huge red muzzle went over his face with a hot, rough, wet and wide, like a towel, tongue. When the victim groaned and twitched, the hound sat down next to him with a satisfied look, "I did my best." Valentina took his place over Brannon.
"Nathan, how are you feeling? That is, I am sure that you are healthy, but..."
"Where is Jen?"
"Here," Longsdale said. "Don't be afraid for her, this is just an initiation."
"What does she have?" Brennon asked stupidly.
"Growing up. I took care of her when she was a child, and now she's finally grown up."
At the consultant's feet, Nathan finally made out the edge of an ash-strewn crater. The commissar jumped to his feet and rushed towards it, barely noticing that the air had somehow cooled down.
"Nathan!" Valentina shouted.
The hound ran after him. Brannon slid to the bottom of the crater. Jen lay in the middle, dusted with ash, naked, pale gold, with unusually crimson hair. So hot that Nathan burned himself when he barely tried to lift her. The hound grabbed his pant leg with its teeth and pulled him back, but the commissar threw off his coat, somehow wrapped the girl in it, and, hissing from the burns, grabbed her in his arms. Only when he got up did he realize that a fire alarm was ringing in the next street, and hooves and wheels rumbled on the pavement in the distance. Surely the fire brigade...
At the same moment he remembered that not a small part of this ashes around had recently been the townspeople of Blackwhit, and without a word he gave the witch to Longsdale when he, having descended, decided to take it.
"He saw everything," the consultant said.
"What else is he?"
"Master of the undead."
Brannon glanced back at Farlan, who was still unconscious, at the burned-out circle near the shop, and muttered angrily:
"Wonderful. Now I want to see him too. And hurry up!"
***
Ragnihotri extended his hand to the eyeless sailor. Orange patterns flowed down and wrapped around his head. The sailor let out such a cry that Margaret jerked all over. A minute later, the master of the undead retreated, and the blinded sailor fell silent and hesitantly rose to his feet. Orange lights flickered in his eye sockets. Angel let out a sigh.
"Impressive opportunities, right?" Ragnihotri grunted and nodded to Leidner. He grabbed Margaret and pulled her away from Angel. She screamed shrilly and rushed to her mentor. The Mazandranman grabbed Redfern like a rag doll, slung it over his shoulder, and strode into the back of the barn. Leidner dragged the girl after him. The sailors stomped behind them, and Ragnihotri stepped sedately in front of the whole procession. He also lit a fire in another bowl, and the light illuminated some strange device like an inclined bench with belts around the edges.
"My God..." Margaret cringed. This is what Angel saw in the dark, but... what is it?
The mentor suddenly stared into her eyes and did not take his dark, burning gaze from her, while the Mazandranman laid him down on the board, and the blinded sailor tightened the belts. Angel looked at the girl so piercingly, as if he wanted to inspire her with some idea, and Margaret leaned forward to him.
"Maybe cut his clothes," Leidner said. "It'll get dirty..."
"Nothing," Ragnihotri said. "We will limit ourselves to one leg for now. This one."
"What are you going to…" the girl screamed in dismay.
"Quiet!" Angel interrupted her imperiously. Miss Sheridan fell silent. The sailor rolled up Angel's right trouser leg just above the knee.
"I think you are familiar with this device," the master of the undead said; a mocking grin appeared on Redfern's lips. "You will save your Fraulein from an extremely unpleasant sight if you condescend to promise to behave decently, not to kill my employees without any reason, and finally - to a conversation on a topic of interest to me."
Angel stared at him in silence.
"Do you really think you'll endure it with dignity?" Ragnihotri asked mockingly. "You can't even imagine what awaits you."
"You too," Angel replied. The Mazandranman squeezed his leg between two planks and tightened the clamps. Margaret bit her lip nervously. God, let Angel say something!
"Come on, look, whore," Leidner hissed and added a few words that she didn't understand. Rangihotri stepped back and nodded to the Mazandranman. He took up a hammer and a long stake; Margaret lost her breath for a moment, and everything floated in front of her.
"My God, don't touch him!!"
"Silence!" Angel snapped. Then there was a thud, the sound of ripping flesh and the crack of bone, but there was no scream. The smell of blood filled Margaret's nose, she gasped and hung in Leidner's arms. He shook the girl, but it seemed to her that she was fainting, until she again heard a punch and crack. Margaret closed her eyes. She was trembling violently, and her teeth were chattering so hard that she almost bit through her tongue, when she wanted to shout, "Stop, please, please don't touch him!"
She moved her lips numb with fear. Oh Lord, these sounds again! And the smell of blood, so thick that she's going to vomit! Leidner hissed something in her ear, twisted her arms, but the pain reached her slowly, as if her body was far away, not here, and... she did not hear Angel's voice.
"Angel..." Margaret called barely audible, pleadingly, but he did not answer; Lord, why?! What's wrong with him, God, is he really... The girl opened her eyes. Everything blurred and trembled — the Mazandran, and Ragnihotri, and the sailors around, but in the silence that followed, she finally made out a heavy, hoarse breathing. Thank God! Alive!
Of course, alive, you fool, why should they torture a corpse!
But if he is alive and conscious... oh Lord, let him at least not be conscious!
"Come on, Herr Redfern," she heard, "say something already. Shout at least. Indeed, you will feel better!"
Everything went dark in front of Margaret. The feeling that flared in the very depths of her heart was too black for hatred: burning, all-consuming, transparent, like a glow over a fire. Stronger than pain, more than hatred - it burned her from the inside, dried her in an instant, burning everything that no longer mattered without a trace. No pain, no fear, no doubt, no tears - only a fierce, incinerating, wild rage.
"Come on!" Leidner hissed. "Yap it loud! He will answer you!"
There was another hammer banging on wood, a wet chomping sound, a crunch - but Angel was silent. And she also said nothing. She just stared at him, never taking her eyes off him, taking in the scent of blood, remembering the sight of split bones, torn flesh - and each of his tormentors.
"All right," Ragnihotri said after a pause. "Let's try it differently."
The Mazandranman threw the bloody stake to the floor. The blood glistened like varnish, and shards of bone whitened in it. The master of the undead reached out over Angel's shattered leg and hummed something melodiously in Mazandranian. Orange patterns dripped from his palm, entwined the remains of the leg. Redfern exhaled loudly and arched on the bench, pulling on the straps. He was still silent, all that was heard was the crunching of the bone growing together and the chomping of the converging muscles and skin. When it was over, Angel lay flat on the bench. Round bald spots remained in the hair on his leg.
"Not too pleasant without pain reliever, right?" The master of the undead asked. "Now we can do it all over again until you finally condescend to talk."
Angel didn't answer. Ragnihotri drummed his fingers on the bench and walked towards Margaret. She watched his approach from under her brows. He stopped in front of the girl, took her chin, lifted her head and twisted her a little.
"But perhaps young Fraulein will persuade you..."
Margaret stared at Ragnihotri for half a second, and then twisted and dug her teeth into his palm, closer to his thumb.
The master of the undead let out a high-pitched shriek and darted away, but Margaret gritted her teeth harder and harder with vengeful joy, swallowing the blood pouring into her mouth. It's finally hurting him too! It really hurts! She sank her teeth deeper, savoring the squeal of the "mighty teacher." The victim wriggled, Leidner tried to help, his grip loosened, and Margaret broke free. She darted towards Angel and froze behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Blood was still filling her mouth and running down her chin.
Ragnihotri's screams turned into groans with yelps. He backed away from Leidner, cradling his bitten palm, and stared in disbelief at Miss Sheridan. Margaret spat his blood, wiped her lips and smiled.
"Schickse!" Ragnihotri shouted. Angel let out a short, weak laugh.
"What are you screaming like that?" He whispered hoarsely. "Just a small bite."
Margaret wiped sweat from his forehead with her sleeve. Noticing a Mazandranman out of the corner of her eye, she was surprised to find that he was grinning mockingly and contentedly.
Ragnihotri whispered over the bite, patterns wrapped around the wound, and it began to tighten.
"Let's see what you have to say when this fotze replaces you here!" He hissed. "You will become more talkative when in her leg..." he suddenly fell silent, staring into space over Margaret's head with an absent gaze. A confused, almost frightened expression appeared on his face. The owner of the undead shook his head, threw something briefly in Dorgernian and Mazandranian, turned and rushed away. The sailors followed him. Leidner was the last to leave, now and then looking back at Margaret.
"Mad bitch," he muttered goodbye. The girl snorted. The Mazandran giant watched her intently.
"Waju," suddenly he said with authority, looking at Margaret with approval. "Bahadu-ohr waju!*" and disappeared into the darkness of the barn.
* brave virgin
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