Chương 9: Chapter 9
Brannon gazed thoughtfully at the Home Office building, gray in the gloom. The commissar kept to himself his thoughts about what would happen if they were caught to himself, and the hound and Longsdale were almost childishly enthusiastic about the idea. Fortunately, they were not going to burst into the minister's personal office - only in the western wing, where the RSD was located.
"Surely qualify as high treason," Brannon estimated as he studied the west wing through the openwork grating of the gate. "I wonder if the internal intelligence knows anything about the other side and everything else?"
"How do you feel about levitation?" The consultant whispered.
"About what?"
Longsdale explained and Brannon replied sharply:
"Like hell! Do not even try! The guards will see us immediately."
"We'll cover ourselves with invisibility, that's all."
"Ahh, invisibility," the Commissar muttered. "Sure, not a problem. As I myself did not guess."
Or maybe this is still nonsense? he thought. I'm lying on a bed in some madhouse right now and I'm entertaining the orderlies with fantastic stories. Maybe they already take excursions to me as to attractions?
"Okay, then let's start with invisibility!" Longsdale said enthusiastically, unbuttoning the bag at his waist and pulling out three drawstring pendants. "Put it on!"
"I thought there would be a spell," Nathan grumbled, snapping the clasp on the hound's thick neck. The animal immediately scratched indignantly with its paw, snorted, but resigned itself.
"This way there is less risk of reaction between spells. Now give me your hand." Longsdale squeezed Snappish's scruff. "Relax. I won't drop you."
"Oh my God," Brannon said, suppressing the shameful urge to cross. "I trust you completely."
The flight was painless. When they landed in the bushes near the west wing, Nathan even regretted that it was over so quickly. Oh, if that something flying would replace all those damnable pelvis crawling across the seas!
On the other hand, if you fall - and there will be nothing left. With a ship at least there is a chance to swim out...
"This is what confuses me," Brennon whispered. "After all, not a single survivor! Has the master of the undead turned all sailors and passengers into these beasts?"
"Or he turned part of it, and used some for complementary foods," the consultant responded. "In any case, there are no witnesses."
"But doesn't that mean that the master is a very powerful... uh... sorcerer? He could not have learned this by accident. This means that he has knowledge and great opportunities."
"What are you driving at?"
"We have two options. Either the master managed to successfully subdue evil spirits smaller than ifrit and uses its power; or it is one of you."
The hound bowed its maned head and snorted. Longsdale pursed his lips and turned away.
"You see, it cannot be that we are dealing with another irradiated from the spontaneous portal," Brennon said softly. "Look, it took Redfern two hundred and thirty years to reach such heights. And an ordinary person..."
"You greatly underestimate ordinary people," the consultant replied coldly. "I could teach even you primitive spells, and if a person is ready to practice for years, the result can be very impressive."
The commissar fell silent in amazement. It had never even occurred to him that magic could simply be learned. It seemed to him that it was impossible to do without selling the soul to the devil or some other act. Although Redfern said that he was teaching Margaret magic, and then Brennon saw the results of her studies with his own eyes, then he thought that there was some catch - an ordinary fey girl couldn't take it and learn like that...
The hound poked his hand with a wet nose, and the commissar woke up from his thoughts. The watchful guards at all the doors stared stubbornly into the darkness as Longsdale silently cut out the grate on the nearest window before their very eyes.
"Secrets of the homeland, damn it," the Commissar cautiously got out of the bushes. The guards didn't even blink an eye. The hound walked calmly beside him.
"There should be no trace of our visit," Nathan reminded the consultant.
"I will return everything as it was. Get in."
The commissar scrambled onto the windowsill and, after a short manipulation of the latches, raised the window. Longsdale climbed in next, the last one, puffing angrily, was the hound. In an office filled with filing cabinets, it immediately buried its nose on the floor and trotted to the door. Having restored the original view of the window, the consultant followed the hound, Brennon was the last. Snappish led them down the corridor to a heavy, metal-paneled door, beyond which a stone staircase to the basement began, lost in the darkness. Longsdale jabbed the flashlight into Brennon's hand.
"Come on, try it. Concentrate will, desire and imagination to fire it, and enclose them in the word "Lumia"."
The hound snorted impatiently. Pedagogical fervor always seized the consultant at the wrong time, but this time Nathan decided to try it in earnest. What if he really can learn? He imagined a light lit up in a flashlight, concentrated, tensed, gathered his will into a fist, shook the lantern and whispered:
"Lumia."
The light fluttered weakly and went out.
"Lumia!"
The flashlight lit up. Brannon stared at him, stunned. The hound rumbled forth respectfully and was the first to go down the stairs. A long corridor with doors on either side stretched before them. The beast sniffed air noisily and suddenly growled softly. Its fur on the back of Its neck stood on end, eyes flashed.
"What is there, Snappish?" Brannon pulled out a revolver.
"There..." whispered the consultant. "There they are again!" and rushed down the corridor after the hound, leaving the commissar far behind. Nathan froze for a moment in surprise, and then rushed after - to another door covered with metal. Longsdale shouted something in Elladian (Brannon already knew languages by ear), the door flew open, and immediately a sadly familiar voice snapped:
"Aperiam te!"
The amulet around the Commissar's neck sneezed a cloud of smoke and died. Nathan burst inside. Redfern sat on the edge of the table and played with a mahogany pendant, while Peggy... Peggy!
"Peggy!" the commissar howled. The niece shuddered. She stood between the hound and the pyromaniac and aimed her revolver at Longsdale's stomach.
"U-uncle?" The girl stammered. Nathan's heart skipped a beat.
"Margaret," he whispered, and lowered his weapon. "How are you, girl? Are you safe? Are you healthy? Didn't he do anything to you?"
Redfern snorted disdainfully. The hound growled. Margaret lowered her revolver too.
"Come on," the pyromaniac said impatiently, and the girl with an indistinct exclamation threw herself on Nathan's neck. He swayed in surprise, hugged Peggy and immediately noticed that she not only became heavier, but also gave up the corset. Brannon was a little embarrassed, especially when his niece, in a fit of feelings, clung to him with her whole body and fervently kissed him on the cheek three times.
"I missed!" She gasped. "I wrote every month, but I missed you so much!"
"Peggy, you'll drive us crazy," Brennon said fondly. "How could you! He forces you to do something..."
"Doesn't force," the pyromaniac said sharply. "She's still a virgin, if that's the only thing you care about."
The hound let out a low rumbling growl. Longsdale grabbed it by the back of its neck. Nathan hugged Peggy and glared at Redfern.
"You," the commissar began, "a filthy bastard..."
"Let's go later," the pyromaniac interrupted him and jumped off the table. "I think we have a common cause here, and we all want to get out of here before the start of the working day."
He grabbed the canvas hanging from the table by the edge and pulled it back. Peggy slipped out of Nathan's arms, holstered her revolver, and began to roll up the coverlet, revealing one by one the wreckage of the ship. Longsdale lit a glowing ball, the hound, bypassing Redfern in an arc, stood on its hind legs, rested its front legs on the table and began to sniff.
"Why the hell are you here?" The commissar hissed through clenched teeth. The pyromaniac raised an eyebrow.
"And you? The RSD officials refused to cooperate with you, and is that why you crept in at night, like a thief?"
"You've sunk eighty people and you're admiring the result of your efforts, aren't you?"
"Imagine it's not me," Redfern snapped. "I am not responsible for all the evil in this world!"
"Angel," Margaret said softly. "Uncle. Mister Longsdale, I'm sorry, please. I didn't mean to shoot you. This is from surprise."
"Not worth mentioning, miss," the consultant replied gallantly.
Out of surprise, Brennon thought bitterly. Out of surprise, girls are supposed to scream, not grab a revolver!
Redfern put his pendant around his neck. It was a hieroglyph - the commissar saw similar ones when he took part in an expedition to the north of Mazandran, where inaccessible mountains rise, and the inhabitants of those places, even by their skin color and eye shape, do not look like Mazandrans. It was this little thing that forced the hound to stay away from the pyromaniac.
"Well," Redfern said suddenly, rather dryly and with an air of being doing the greatest favor, "I admit you have cause for displeasure. But we have more important things to do now." He nodded at the table. "Everything here is filled with the rubble of the Kaiserstern. It's time, finally, to deal with them."
Longsdale began to move the trihedron over the pieces of planking. The hound grabbed the rest of the steering wheel with its paw and buried its nose in it. Margaret, on the other table side, viewed the wreckage through a square mirror.
"Okay," Brannon croaked. "Let's start with what you are doing here."
"And you?"
The Commissar inhaled and exhaled several times. It is clear that they will not go far like this: Redfern drilled him with an irritated look from under his brows, in which, however, Nathan did not notice any dislike or anger. More like wariness and annoyance. In the end, someone will have to give in first to get them move from the sticking point.
"A pack of Baobhan Sith has appeared in Blackwhit," Brennon muttered. "They followed me and attacked me on the train as we — myself and Broyd — were returning from Breswain, where we were to meet a delegation of our colleagues from Dorgern. Which floated on this leaky trough."
The pyromaniac's eyes widened in amazement. Margaret looked up from her mirror and exclaimed:
"Angel, because then it turns out..." and spoke fluently in Ilarian. Brannon felt suddenly heavy. What the hell is the point in that?! The girl clearly and definitely made it clear where now she belongs and with whom she wants to be near. If neither the thought of family, nor worries about her reputation stopped her...
Angel briefly answered something - in two weeks in Ilara, Nathan learned only a few phrases and understood only a few words - and said already in Riadian:
"Some guy, probably from Dorgern, has taken an unhealthy interest in us for some time now. He controls the Baobhan Sith, and a couple of days ago his mercenaries tried to kidnap me."
The hound stared at the pyromaniac, and Longsdale stopped poking his dagger into the piece of the mast.
"You?" Brennon asked in surprise. "But why on earth... So. Let's take it in order. Start at the beginning - when did you first notice it?"
***
The Commissar scratched his beard. After exchanging valuable information, both sides looked puzzled and unpleasantly surprised.
If the master of the undead set out to pursue both the pyromaniac (he was already trying to steal he, like a Mazandran virgin), and me - then by what the hell did he unite us? Brannon thought. We have nothing in common... except our acquaintance with Longsdale. But it is the consultant that the damned bastard is not interested in at all! What is this guy trying to achieve?
"Vampires," Peggy said. "Baobhan Sith on the train behaved almost the same as those who found me in the library. But what does their master want from us all?"
"I'm more worried about how this bastard even knew about our existence," Redfern muttered. "I don't talk about my job at every damn corner. Unlike some consultants."
The hound poked Brennon with a paw. Longsdale coughed.
"It seems to me that this person is a kind of hunter. Maybe he's hunted down anything to do with magic, and the events at Blackwhit might well have caught his attention."
"It's illogical," the Commissar the commissar objected. "What, there is nothing otherworldly happening in the whole world? Only in Blackwhit? Yes, of course."
Snapper grabbed him by the trouser leg and yanked it violently several times. After getting Nathan's attention, the hound sat down in front of Longsdale and pointed a paw at him accusatory.
"I think," Redfern said with a sneer, "the animal is hinting at something."
Brannon stared at the hound, looked at Longsdale, put two and two together, and asked abruptly:
"How many people know about the existence of consultants?"
"And what have I to do with it?" Longsdale responded in amazement. "He's not after me."
"Maybe the hunt for you is too scary. But you are the only thing that binds us two." Brannon nodded at the pyromaniac. "Because I don't know anything about magic, and I have no idea why this breeder of undead could be interested in me."
The consultant pondered.
"And you?" The Commissar turned to Redfern. "Could you have a problem with the supply of any hunter items? If the master of the vampires found out that someone was stamping amulets at the factory - of course he would be interested."
"I could," the pyromaniac admitted reluctantly. "I send orders all over the world. It is impossible to monitor confidentiality at all stages."
"And now imagine how happy such a tough would be to learn about your capabilities. Surely asleep and sees how to establish factory production of all kinds of carrion."
Judging by how sour Redfer's face had become, this idea did not please him.
"We will not study the ship anymore?" Margaret asked displeasedly. "All this, after all, can be discussed later."
"By the way, he didn't answer your question," Redfern added venomously. "To how many people did he blabbed it out the same as to you?"
The hound bared his teeth; Longsdale looked resentfully at the pyromaniac and said rather sharply:
"I do not divulge this to the first person I meet. But people turn to me when otherworldly interference becomes apparent. Of course, they tell friends and acquaintances..."
Redfern snorted, pulled a piece of the anchor chain close to him, took a magnifying glass from the bag on the table, and bent over the broken link.
"Don't make excuses," the Commissar said quietly to Longsdale. "I meant how many people you've told about yourself. After all, over sixty years there could have been a lot of them."
"So many to nobody," the consultant replied, and Brennon felt flattered for a moment.
"It was bitten off," said the pyromaniac. "The anchor chain is bitten. Margaret, take the dental casts."
The girl obediently buried herself in her bag while the Commissar digested what he heard in surprise.
"Bitten?" He repeated. "But why? This also means that the anchor was lowered, but why... Snappish, find the anchor," the hound disappeared into the darkness. "Why would they drop anchor somewhere on the high seas?"
"Not necessarily on sea," Longsdale said. "The frigate could have been attacked while staying in the port. It's a shame we don't know where he stopped on the way to Breswain. All documents were lost at sea."
"Who could bite off the anchor? Are there undead that size?"
"Oh God," Redfern winced painfully. "In addition to undead and evil spirits, there are krakens, sea snakes, harpies, gorgons, hydras, ice hounds..."
Brannon shuddered and immediately asked:
"Which of these creatures could the master of the undead raise in the Kaiserstern's hold, feeding the sailors and passengers?"
"They're too big to the hold, but they could follow the frigate in the water," Longsdale replied. "And the loss of people would surely have worried the captain."
"Exactly. If because of this the captain decided to seek help from the authorities in some port, then this is the reason for the destruction of the ship," Brennon concluded. "But what the devil is the master of the undead up to? What's his motive?"
"To the hell motive," Redfern said irritably. "The motives of these bastards are always the same. I'm more interested in what he did on this ship and why on earth would he come after me... and you. Not him," the pyromaniac nodded at the consultant.
"To be honest, I don't understand why he destroyed the ship," Margaret remarked, taking casts of teeth from the chain. "So he turned half of the sailors and passengers into undead, and half fed to them. Why destroy a frigate, which already won't sail anywhere? And where, excuse me, did they all go from this frigate?"
"Well, this one, like it - teleportation..." the commissar murmured.
"Margarita is right," Redfern replied. "The portal needs preparation, and it is very serious. You cannot travel through space simply by snapping your fingers. For the destination, strictly defined points of exit and entry are required, moreover, fixed, that is, this spell will not work on a sailing ship. You cannot lead a crowd of undead along a mirror path - the more bodies, the higher the energy consumption for the transition. The person simply does not have the strength to do it."
Brannon rubbed his beard. He did not want to produce imaginary entities, but...
"Another ship. The easiest. The master of the undead had another ship, to which he transferred his herd. He turned people into undead, moved with her to another pelvis, and the frigate..." here Nathan's thought stopped. "But he could have simply burned it!"
"He couldn't if it was in the port," Longsdale objected. "The fire will attract too much attention."
"It doesn't matter! He would take the vessel out into the open sea and burn it there. What the hell could stop him? But no, he sent the frigate to the place of delivery, like a parcel, as if... he wanted to attract attention," Brennon fell silent: now this assumption did not seem so wild to him. Redfern looked at him intently, and the Commissar thought with annoyance that it seemed that their thoughts coincided in some way.
"Whose attention, Nathan?" The pyromaniac asked. "Mine or yours?"
The Commissar winced. He was annoyed at being called by his first name by this man. It wasn't even familiarly, but, damn it, condescending!
"Our common. The easiest way is to lure the victim out by forcing him to give himself away by some action. I think the master of the creatures knew who would sail to the Kaiserstern and chose this ship on purpose."
"I wonder why the Kaiser police would want to study your invaluable Blackwhit experience, eh, Nathan?" Redfern inquired insinuatingly. What a serpent! But Brannon did not answer such a provocative question - because he did not yet know.
A hound emerged from the darkness, walked over to Nathan and shook his head.
"No anchor," Longsdale translated. "Apparently, the monster tore him off."
Redfern dropped the box on the floor, prodded it with his heel, and muttered a spell. The box instantly rose to the chest, and the pyromaniac threw back the lid.
"Fill it with wreckage," he ordered, "and wait outside for me."
Brannon nearly suffocated.
"Are you going to steal evidence from here?!"
"How else do you think I can reconstruct the last hours of the ship? Not here to do this, there is not enough space."
"Where are you going?" Margaret asked curiously and anxiously.
"To the office of the head of the RSD," Redfern's eyes flashed recklessly. "I know where to get the Kaiserstern manifest."
Tình trạng nguồn điện hàng tuần
-- Xếp hạng
Quyền lực 
-- Đá
Quyền lực