章節 7: Chapter 7
When Brannon and Longsdale left the theater, Mr. Farlan greeted them with such a grim expression, as if he expected the building to collapse behind them. The director took the news of the breakdown of the grate without enthusiasm.
An hour later, Brannon was in his office studying the doctor's testimony, which the police obtained from a nearby hospital. He sketched from memory "the bite mark of a strange animal", with a complaint about which one of the patients turned to him. The vampires set their teeth on the townsman on September 2, two days before Farlan approached Longsdale. Now it was already the 9th, and there was only one corpse. Which is understandable, if someone controls the beasts. But who and for what purpose?
Brannon sipped his coffee. The chief will break the ceiling with his head when he find out that for the sake of the investigation, the Commissar will have to return to Breswain and get under the feet of the RSD investigators. Nathan didn't believe in coincidences - the Dorgern ship sank in a hell of a bizarre way, and on what other ship could the vampire have heard Dorgern speech? The Commissar was poorly versed in maritime affairs, but served for three years on the coast of Mazandran and saw several shipwrecks. None were similar to what happened to the Kaiserstern.
"But if the trail leads to Dorgern, then it turns out the actor was an accidental victim. Maybe his body should be returned to the family?"
He had already prepared a form for the return of the body for burial, although he did not like to give the corpses of the victims until the end of the investigation, so that the bumps in the mayor's office would not squeal about the upset feelings of relatives. The Commissar believed that their feelings would be upset much more from the exhumation ... or from the fact that the untimely deceased husband and father scratched out of the grave and go to suck the blood of relatives and friends.
I'll ask Longsdale when he's done defending the theater, Nathan decided and pushed the form aside. But what the hell do the vampires want here?
Why did they follow him? Brennon couldn't figure out what kind of interest he was to the master of the undead. Well, if the creatures had followed Longsdale – then everything would have been clear; but the vampires at all didn't interest in the consultant, the another miracle of nature.
Nathan sighed and pushed the empty cup away. He could not keep his promise to Longsdale - he did not learn anything about who, when and why turned him from a human to an undead hunter. Whom the consultant had been before was also a mystery. Nathan hoped that Redfern's trail from Farenza would lead to a clue - but he was wrong. The venture turned out to be useless, because the trail of the pyromaniac ended on Liganta. And as for the address where Longsdale sent requests for weapons and amulets, it turned out to be a post office near Aventine, from where thousands of parcels, from tiny envelopes to huge boxes, were sent daily to all countries and continents. Of course, without a warrant from the authorities, Brannon did not achieve anything there.
True, there was still a surname that the pyromaniac bore. In Aventine, in the Pontifical Library, the Commissar somehow came to an agreement with the curator, and he found him several books on genealogy and the family tree. There was indeed a certain Angel Redfern; the ancestral nest of the family was also mentioned - the castle of Farna. But, as it follows from the documents, this family was completely suppressed for an unknown reason long before the revolution. Nathan ordered copies and on arrival at Blackwhit gave them to the translator. All this absorbed a very decent amount of money, but did not bring any result - Brennon learned from the text that the Redferns were famous for their extremely termagancy, wealth (of course, unjustly acquired) and complete contempt for moral principles.
...oh, Margaret, Margaret...
Nathan didn't notice any particular termagancy in the pyromaniac, but he completely agreed about moral principles. The disappeared niece of this is confirmation. What will happen to her when Redfern plays enough and throws her away? Where to find her, how to help?
"Sir, Mister Broyd is calling you," the attendant said. Nathan ordered to wash the cup and with heavy foreboding went up to the chief. If you read such reports on an empty stomach, then the ulcer is not far away...
In Chief's office, Brennon, to his surprise, found Byrne, Longsdale, the hound and the witch. And judging by the looks they exchanged, the council had already come to a certain conclusion. The chief, oddly enough, looked pretty peaceful. Brennon was wary.
"Mister Longsdale has added your report," Broyd began without preamble, gave the Commissar a hard look, and asked, "So are you sure we have a Dorgern trail here?"
"I'm sure there are no such coincidences. The sunken frigate from Dorgern is directly related to what Mr. Longsdale saw and heard."
"Sea, ship, Dorgern speech," the chief repeated. "But you believe that the frigate was the source of the undead, or that it sank because of the undead?"
"I don't know yet. I'll find out on the place."
"Side by side with the guys from the RSD? Do you have any idea that they will skin you if they suspect that you are meddling in their investigation?"
"I understand," the Commissar replied. He also understood that he was unlikely to be able to present them with convincing evidence in his favor. "Our intervention consultant on the other side hypnotized the vampire and saw!.. and also heard!.." Ugh!
"That's why you're not officially going there," Broyd said. "But Mister Longsdale has generously volunteered to sponsor your trip so that you could help him with a personal matter."
The consultant bowed his head in agreement.
"Byrne will fill in for you at this time."
Byrne sighed in quiet sorrow.
"If you weren't chased by vampires, the hell I would haven't agree at all!" the chief's lush mustache swelled militantly.
"But they no longer pursue me. That is, Mister Longsdale killed all three..."
"There may be new ones," Jen said. "I'll stay here and watch."
"Sir, vampires will continue to appear until we find whoever sets them on," Brennon said admonitory. "Someone put patterns on their bodies and covered them with sunscreen powder. It is this root that we need to pull out, and not chop off the processes."
"Yeah, this guy from Dorgern sank the Kaiser frigate with a mysterious purpose."
"I'll find out the purpose too."
"I hope you understand that I'm only agreeing to get you out of Blackwhit before some naked beauty devours you? We will not be able to present anything as proof of these theories."
Jen started up indignantly.
"And hypnosis is not proof, young man," Broyd told her sternly. "Not a word to anyone about vampires, hypnosis, charms and so on. Savvy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then go get ready," the chief ordered. "Don't give the actor's body to anyone yet, or if they beg for it…"
"I'll take care of them," Byrne said, and gave the Commissar a look of mute reproach.
***
"Isn't it dangerous to leave Temple's body unburied?" the Commissar asked, handing Jen his hat and walking stick. The witch was clearly amused by the butler game.
"In this case, there's no danger," Longsdale replied. "I examined the corpse and found no signs of mutation. But just in case, I performed a cleansing ritual. So you can keep it as long as you like, and then fearlessly give it to his relatives."
"I'll settle for that," Brannon said with relief. In general, the "Classification of the Undead" severely ridiculed the "senseless peasant prejudices" about turning into a vampire with one bite, and the Commissar agreed with the unknown author. If this were so, Earth would be full of vampires by now.
"Who wrote The Classification of the Undead?" he asked on the way to the laboratory.
"In the sense - who?" Longsdale was puzzled. "This is a very good, detailed work, and I use it often."
"Well, like this! Who is the author?"
The consultant frowned; the hound below snorted softly, and Nathan again had the feeling that the beast either knew or guessed.
"I wish I could teach him to write!"
"I don't know," Longsdale said finally. "Is this important?"
"Perhaps its author is the same one who turned you into a hunter."
"Again you for your own," Jen grumbled. "As if you can prove it."
"I can't," the Commissar agreed grimly. Longsdale never rebuked him for breaking his promise. When Brannon shared his theories with him and admitted that he couldn't get any further, the consultant thanked him with serious concentration and did not return to it again.
"So," the owner of the house led the Commissar to a table with flasks and a notebook. "We analyzed the composition of the powder. Here, look, I wrote down everything point by point."
Brannon glanced, didn't understand, and coughed.
"If you put everything in short, we will save a lot of time."
"This compound really protects the undead from the sun," Jen said. "In its composition, among other ingredients, there is human fat and crushed human skin, this compound imitating it."
Brannon flinched in disgust. The hound yawned and curled up in a ball by the fireplace.
"The magically processed talcum powder of the noble white variety gives the composition its color. It is mined in large quantities in the southeast of Dorgern. Here," the consultant traced an area on the map with his finger. "And here are the patterns," he moved closer the table with open books, and Nathan recognized the Mazandran interwoven ornament in the captions to the drawings. "It's curious. Patterns of this kind are mehndi, an ancient invention of the priests of Nikhat. Here, for example, what the Mazandran patterns look like. However, they are applied with henna, and in our case, ink with particles of silver that eats into the skin is used."
"That's why they eat into the skin," Jen added. "Silver eats away at the flesh of vampires. But here the amount of silver is very carefully calculated."
"The pattern has been changed to protect the undead from the sun. Someone is very well versed in this kind of magic."
Brannon stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"It seems to me that all this indicates that we are dealing with a human sorcerer. I'm right?"
"Yes," Longsdale said. "Neither undead nor evil spirits will use such things. Making a composition, studying mehndi - they don't need it."
"Tell, such a magician can create undead on purpose? Not look for vampire rookeries and smear with this powder, but... but killing people and turning them into his own tame, specially bred undead?"
The witch stared at him in amazement:
"Who needs it and why the devil?"
The hound narrowed his gleaming eyes.
"Well, in general, from a practical point of view, it makes sense," Brennon said not very confidently. "Soldiers, bodyguards, intelligence. True, I have no idea how to keep them in check. Here is the owner of the vampires - how does he do it?"
"With mehndi's help," Longsdale said immediately. "I would do that. The undead can strip off silver-based Ink only along with their skin. But to create undead on purpose, as a personal guard..." he thought again, and Nathan noticed that this assumption greatly alarmed him. "This is a dangerous thought and a dangerous undertaking, but in principle... this is possible."
"Perhaps," Brannon muttered. "It is not clear only why these mongrels all the time revolve around us. During all this time, the Baobhan Sith devour only one person to death. This means that their owner makes sure that the undead do not give themselves away. But I still can't even guess what the hell they want here."
Longsdale lowered his head and drummed his fingers on the mehndi book.
"I don't want to know," he said at last, "that there's someone who can think of this."
But if there is someone who turns human into consultants, the Commissar thought, then why not someone who turns human into undead?
But he didn't say it out loud. It is possible that Longsdale has already thought about it himself.
"What's the ship got to do with it?" on reflection, the witch asked. "Well, these bloodhounds from Dorgern sailed to you for experience - so what? What does it matter to the owner of Baobhan Sith?"
"So some matter is. Okay," Brennon decided, "I'll pack my things and get to the station. We'll meet there. What train are we going?"
"We're not going by train," the consultant said calmly. "We will follow the mirrored path."
***
When he got home, Nathan frowned with displeasure at the protective signs on the newly painted (with his own hand!) gate. Longsdale had worked on his dwelling so carefully that it was now impossible to step into it without assaulting an amulet or a protective spell. Mrs. Flight, the landlady from whom Brannon had rented this house for eleven years, as the widow of a policeman, treated all life with good-natured calmness. "Handsome gentleman with a fluffy hound" did not embarrass her in the least, and neither did Mrs. van Allen's visit. Nathan saw the widow on a bench, under a rowan tree, which was leaning towards her like a tent. Valentina was drinking tea with Mrs. Flight. Vivene had come to Brannon's home for the first time, and he wondered why she needed it.
"Good afternoon, ma'am," he said. Mrs. Flight hastily gathered up her cup, saucer and plaid and said goodbye, casting a sly glance at Brennon. The commissar snuffled indignantly.
"You rarely visit us," Valentina remarked as he sat down on the edge of the bench.
"You are so busy building that I do not want to bother..."
"You're not bothering us at all. I saw the sign on the gate, and your whole house is shrouded in protective magic. Are you okay?"
"Oh yes, more than that," Nathan muttered in annoyance. Of course, she found out everything. She always finds out when it comes to evil spirits or undead.
"Newcomer undead has appeared in the city," Valentina said, staring at him over her cup.
"Mister Longsdale has already cleared the nest. Unfortunately, victims could not be avoided, but..."
"Why is they watching you, Nathan?"
The Commissar sighed. How can you marry the woman from whom nothing can be hidden?
"I don't know yet," he admitted. "But I'm going to the capital, where I'll find out who runs them."
"Runs?" Mrs. van Allen asked and leaned forward anxiously, squeezing Brennon's hand. From her touch, a pleasant warmth spread throughout his body." But who?"
"Longsdale has identified it to be a human."
Vivene thought for a moment, and suddenly a formidable expression appeared on her face, such as Nathan had never seen.
"If this is a human," she said through set teeth, "then he is the same as your consultant!"
"Why do you think so?" The Commissar asked, unpleasantly surprised at such a coincidence in their thoughts.
"This is a twofold essence, half of which is alive and half is undead," Valentina said coldly, and Nathan almost choked on his tea. "He's strong enough to control the undead. And you trust him so much!"
"But he was a human..." Brannon began indignantly, and immediately bit his tongue. Any undead were once human. But... but...
"Undead will not hunt other undead."
"I don't know why he does it or what makes him," Valentina snapped. "Maybe his guard, this hound, is forcing him, but the existence of such a twofold creature is so unnatural that even the undead are afraid of him. Nathan, think - what if it is his confrere who controls the vampires who hunt you down? Which side will your consultant take then?"
The Commissar was silent.
"Is that why you don't like him so much?" he asked. Valentina sighed.
"I know that you consider him a friend, that you promised to help him, but I cannot do otherwise. This disgusting, abnormal creature, and I can feel it every time he comes too close. And it knows it!" The widow exclaimed with fervor. "Nathan, please, beware, don't trust him!"
"But this man," the commissar replied, looking heavily at the vivene, "is a different person, real — he is still there, in this body, and he asked me to help. He's still here, Valentina, for at least sixty years!"
"But..."
"Maybe for you this is nothing, but for us, humans, it is a whole life. Think - a whole life in such confinement! Doesn't he deserve help? For all that this disgusting creature does for us, alive, almost every day?"
"But how do you know why they did this to him?" Valentina asked quietly. "For what crime is he so punished?"
"Did you immediately decide that he was a criminal?" Brennon said coldly. "He and one hundred twenty-six other hunters like that? Someone turns people into monsters as punishment for crimes? But I know, Valentina, that people sometimes do disgusting things not for revenge or grandiloquent nonsense - but only for pleasure. If I find this bastard... when I find him..." Nathan paused, gritting his teeth. Valentina took his hand with both palms.
"Sorry," she whispered. "This is an instinct that I cannot resist. If you are sure that a person is still alive inside this twofold essence, I promise to help him and you with all I can. But most of all I am worried about you."
"Why worry about me, I'm old now," Brennon replied with a grin, trying to turn everything into a joke. "Maybe they send me at the retirement tomorrow."
"Is that the only thing holding you back?" The widow asked thoughtfully. The commissar jerked. That's not what he meant!
"Uh... well... you loved your husband..." he muttered awkwardly. Valentina looked down. "And then," Nathan continued softly, "I'm already fifty. What will you need me for in just ten years? And in twenty? You will tie yourself to the old man, why?"
"It's all?" She raised her dark blue eyes at him, and the commissar realized that he was about to give up. "Everything that stops you?"
"No, but Valentina, you... you are a goddess, and who am I?" it burst out from him.
"Me? No!" Mrs. van Allen exclaimed with a laugh. "Your distant, half-wild ancestors worshiped being like me, my brothers and sisters, but..."
"And the witch honors you as a goddess even now," the Commissar objected. Valentina paused and smiled sadly.
"Witches and witchers have no soul. What other god needs them?"
"Do you care about them, as well as about everything around?" Nathan nodded at the mountain ash and lush elder bushes, which became one and a half times greener and thicker, while she was sitting here. Vivene touched his face.
"And about you too," she whispered and kissed him. Brannon froze, his heart snapping at first, then pounding furiously, and his arms wrapped themselves around Valentina. It was like kissing a summer afternoon - warm, soft and scented with honey and fresh leaves, but just as elusive - because soon she rose, freeing herself from his embrace.
"I don't want anything to happen to you," Valentina said. "Wear my amulet and return. Don't waste your time if you think you don't have enough."
And she disappeared, leaving the Commissar at the same time surprisingly happy and infinitely unhappy.
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