Matabar

Book II. Chapter 38 - Lottery ticket

Just as the Grand Magister had said, the moment Ardan returned to the first floor, two men approached him. One was middle-aged, with temples touched by silver, wearing a green cloak identical to Ardi’s own. The epaulettes on his shoulders signified that he had three and four rays respectively. He had narrow shoulders and short legs, and his skin bore the faint, pitted story of a severe childhood illness.

The second man, shorter but broader and statelier, possessed a warm, almost gentle gaze in his intelligent eyes and a slightly mischievous smile that revealed a row of uneven teeth, crowded together like a broken palisade. A blue cloak rested on his shoulders, and its epaulettes were marked with four, two, and then two more rays.

“I am an Inspector of the Mages’ Guild, Karim Dankov,” the first introduced himself. His voice was a match for his appearance—creaky and brittle, like that of a teenager who had only just grasped the why of pulling girls’ pigtails.

He extended an identification card bearing the Guild’s crest. It was reminiscent of the Grand University’s emblem: an old-fashioned, pointed hat and an open book, but in this case, a staff had been added to the mix.

“Senior Inspector of the Mages’ Guild, Milorad Armirov,” came a soft, honeyed baritone, and a second identification card appeared before Ardan’s face.

“Ard Egobar,” Ardan introduced himself curtly.

“Yes, we know,” Milorad rasped, his eyes lingering on Ardi’s epaulettes with an intensity that was not entirely pleasant. “Seven and nine… Military Faculty?”

“General,” Ardan corrected him, and in order to avoid wasting time, he held out his Spell Market membership card.

Both inspectors studied the document for a moment before nodding in affirmation. Milorad then stepped aside, clearing the path to the exit.

“We need you to come with us to the Guild’s central office, fill out a few papers, and answer a couple of questions, Mr. Egobar.”

Ardan could hear the uneven beat of their hearts. They weren’t lying, but just like Peter Oglanov, they were clearly holding something back as well. Whether it was connected to Ardi’s family name or to his research and the note passed to him by Lukas Krayt—the young man would find out soon enough.

“Of course,” Ardan said, walking calmly toward the exit.

Perhaps, were it not for the black identification card with the Imperial crest in his possession, he might have been unsettled by the way both mages walked behind him, less like an escort, and more like a convoy. But firstly, the passages between the endless shelves and display cases of the Market were narrow, already crowded with other mages, and secondly... If he were being honest, Ardan felt no real threat from these two.

Yes, a Blue Star Mage, even one with a relatively modest number of rays, was still exactly that. And Ardan had no doubt that accumulators were hidden beneath their gloves, which were so ill-suited for the suffocating, hot weather. Perhaps the inspectors even carried artifacts and amulets. Though that was unlikely—such suspicions were more a part of his own professional deformation, a consequence of constant, bloody misadventures.

After all, the inspectors had come here on civilian business to escort a mage who was by no means hiding from the law, so they had no need for any great power.

“If only autumn would hurry up,” the broad-shouldered Milorad sighed, looking as if he might melt under the sun.

“Personally, I’d add a few more degrees, just to warm up before winter,” Karim countered, basking for a moment in the scorching heat.

It was surprising that two wildly different men like these had ended up as partners. Ardan wondered if he and Milar ever gave others the same dissonant impression.

In any case, they descended the stairs, passed the wide parking lane, and stopped beside a long car. A very expensive one, at that. It had a chrome hood painted a delicate turquoise. The tires had white sidewalls around not spokes, but cast alloy wheels. And while the wheels, like the white sidewalls, were a fashion that had drifted over from the race tracks (Ardi had never understood the appeal of not just participating in, but even just watching car races; Boris would often talk about them and had even invited him to an event; Ardi had always refused. Horse racing, though, now that was a different matter entirely), the engineering concept behind them was quite new. It was maybe five or six years old. Again, he’d learned this from Boris, a man who adored not only Magical Boxing, but everything that had to do with speed. It was why he owned an expensive car.

Instead of a leather roof stretched out over several pillars, this model had one of either aluminum or rolled metal that gleamed under the sun. This was another recent trend, and available only to the owners of the most expensive, brand-new models for now. The interior was more spacious than in standard models, and this one even had mounts for staves on the backs of the front seats.

That was precisely where the inspectors stowed their staves, while Ard, as always, had to lay his across his lap. Incidentally, the inspectors’ staves were not made of Ertalain alloy, but wood. Seals had been carved into them, mostly of a domestic nature, with only two being military ones: the standard version of the Green Star’s Universal Shield and the Red Star’s Flash.

Every mage was required to know these, regardless of their specialization. And, if one were to believe Mart Borskov, it was only these two spells that the vast majority of mages with no connection to active service knew how to use effectively.

The journey to the Mages’ Guild main office didn’t take too long. They only had to wait in a small traffic jam on the Crookedwater Canal embankment—as always, a tram had broken down near one of the bridges, blocking the road. All the drivers, as well as the passengers of the other trams, were stuck waiting for the emergency services to arrive with powerful draft horses to tow the tram aside.

Ardi had lost count of how many times he’d wasted time in traffic jams like this, waiting for a chance to get to the central districts. The thing was, the center of the Metropolis was essentially a cluster of many river islands connected by man-made bridges and causeways.

Elena had told him that if you counted them all, there were more than fifty islands in the city, and Saint Vasily’s Island was simply the largest of them.

“If only cars could fly, eh?” Karim drawled, constantly fiddling with a pendant in the shape of a golden triangle—the sacred symbol of the Face of Light.

Generally, Star Mages were not very religious, which, of course, distanced them even further from ordinary folk. The Church, though institutionally separate from the state, played an enormous role in society. And that was more or less a direct quote from a lecture in Star Jurisprudence.

Ardi wasn’t gonna deny the obvious. The churches were usually filled with parishioners on the seventh day. The only difference was in how diligent people were about following the commandments and covenants. For instance, Shaia, Ardi’s mother, considered herself a believer, but aside from her negative attitude toward alcohol, she was not much of an adherent.

And then there was Tess’ colleague from the atelier, a young woman who, like her entire family, was deeply religious. She impeccably observed all the commandments, even those that were quite difficult to follow in the modern world. One such commandment was to rise every day before dawn and immediately perform an ablution with cool river water. As a result of this, the family would collect water from the canal in the evening, boil it to purify it, then add ice and leave it until morning. And this was just one of the many statutes of the Galessian Church of the Face of Light, and there were also representatives of other branches in the Empire...

“Even if they flew, we’d still be stuck in traffic,” Milorad simply waved it off.

“Well, at least the underground lines are open...” It seemed the gaunt Karim was tired of sitting in silence. “By the way, I think it’s Lionel’s department that are in charge of the revisions for the City Transport Company’s documentation regarding the generation section?”

Milorad just smiled broadly, which was something that had seemed impossible to Ard just a few minutes ago. The bulky mage already seemed to be perpetually grinning from ear to ear with his crooked teeth.

“Which one, Karim?” He asked in a not-so-pleasant, slightly mocking manner. “The engineers there rigged up almost eighty generation nodes, if you count the auxiliary ones. And for each node, there are about three documents to deal with.”

For some inexplicable reason, Karim smacked his lips wistfully.

“He snagged such a great project,” he drew out the words, closing his eyes.

Ardan didn’t quite understand how this “Lionel” and his department had gotten lucky. If someone had told Milar that he would need to fill out nearly two hundred and fifty forms, put a stamp on each of them, then have it certified, signed, processed, sent to the secretariat, then receive a notification from the archive, sign and certify that, too, and then head back to the secretariat again, Captain Pnev would have shot himself with his father’s service revolver, which he never parted with.

And Ardi was not exaggerating in the slightest. He himself, having filled out paperwork only a few times now, would have, without a doubt, resigned from his service at the Black House that very same day.

“You think he spent a whole year courting the department of mechanical engineering for nothing?” Milorad’s smile dimmed a little. “He’s a sly one... He’ll gnaw his way through anywhere.”

“Or lick it right between the...” Karim had almost finished that sentence when he noticed Ardi in the rearview mirror. “Damnation! I completely forgot you were in here with us, Mr. Egobar. You’re so quiet it’s like you’re not even here.”

“Yes, I thought it was just the two of us as well,” Milorad straightened up a bit.

Ardan didn’t react to what they’d said. Ergar and Shali would probably have felt a sense of pride that, even after so many years, their student was still difficult to detect.

They completed the rest of the journey in silence. The main office of the Mages’ Guild was located not far from Star Square. It was even visible from the upper floors of the university’s main building, so Ardi knew exactly where they were headed.

And yet, the six-story, opulent, and in some ways, even pompous building, which single-handedly occupied the space between four streets, looked somewhat more impressive up close than from a distance and from above. The plinth cornice, finished with polished marble, shone in the sun as much as any mirror. Brackets in the shape of open grimoires seemed designed to mesmerize with their detailed finishing, where one could distinguish every symbol and detail. Gilded rustication playfully embraced the turquoise facade. Not to mention the pilasters, which looked like a multitude of figures in cloaks. They seemed to be holding staves to their chests and silently gazing at a small square with a fountain and a garden.

However, the fountain was not working at the moment, and the garden was covered with high, wooden scaffolding to protect the rare species of trees that had been brought from the eastern continent. And the square itself was humming and roaring.

Workers streamed up and down the wide ceremonial staircase, carrying out dozens of boxes, crates, pieces of furniture, stacks of paper, and everything else that could be taken off the walls, lifted from the floor, or pulled out of the bottomless archives.

“This move is going to last forever,” Milorad exhaled dejectedly and turned off the engine.

“They’re planning to be done by autumn,” Karim reminded him.

“That’s what I mean when I say forever,” grumbled Senior Inspector Armirov, who’d finally spent the last remnants of his former affability. “Let’s go, Mr. Egobar. The sooner we start, the sooner we can be done with it.”

Ardi was all for it, so he was almost the first to jump out of the stuffy, overheated cabin. He wondered if something could be done with the heat dissipation system of cars, so they could not only produce heat in winter, but also cool you down in summer. However, ordinary mechanics and Star Mechanics remained a mystery to the young man.

In order to install an additional switch in his “stables,” he had spent almost a full day studying blueprints and specialized literature. Even then, he’d still managed to burn almost two coils of Ley-cables. It was as Shali had used to say: you can’t be the best hunter when it comes to all prey, but you can be the best at hunting the one that suits you. And so Ardan wouldn’t try to master all areas of Star-related knowledge.

He’d already known that the Mages’ Guild main office was moving thanks to his History of Magic lectures. The old professor had mentioned several times that they would have a few lab sessions in the new Imperial Museum of Magic next year. And something told Ard, as it did everyone else, that these “lab sessions” would boil down to them having to take part in the actual organization of this very same museum.

This opulent building that the inspectors and Ardan were now heading toward, squeezing past workers and navigating around numerous wooden crates, was where the museum would be located. The main Guild office was moving to the New City, where the bureaucratic apparatus of the association had built itself a skyscraper with its own funds. It was not as large as one might’ve imagined it to be, of course, but twenty-eight floors was still a colossal building even by the standards of the New City’s high-rise constructions.

Although, in this case, the term “own funds” sounded somewhat inappropriate, because all guilds, including the Mages’ Guild, existed thanks to the contributions of its members. Ardan, due to his student status, was exempt from paying guild fees for now, but as soon as he left the walls of the Grand University, he would have to set aside two and a half percent from every check he received in favor of the Guild.

The Guild, in turn, like any other guild, was obliged to protect his rights, represent his interests in Parliament, and provide many other inconspicuous, but sometimes necessary, privileges. On paper. In reality, Ardi, until today, had not felt the presence of this bureaucratic apparatus in his life. And, if Edward was to be believed, he was better off for it.

Lord Aversky, may the Eternal Angels receive him kindly, had mentioned the various conflicts he’d had with the Guild more than once or twice. Nevertheless, this hadn’t stopped him from bequeathing his works to this very same organization, because despite its obvious problems, it also brought considerable benefits to its members.

Inside, the building still hinted at its former luxury. There was a huge atrium, where a massive information desk had once stood, and of which only a light spot on the floor remained. They’d also had numerous pneumatic mail tubes that had extended to various areas and were now simply gaping holes in the walls instead.

On the walls, apart from stucco and paint, there were no longer any paintings, portraits, photographs, or other decorations (their absence was also made clear by a lot of lighter spots). The floor was black marble with gold trim, and on the high ceiling was a painting from the Early Empire period depicting several saints, including the Last Galessian King and the First Emperor of the New Monarchy.

There were also brass wall lamps shaped like various anomalies and... that was it. The Guild had taken everything that hadn’t been nailed down, so to speak. They had even taken the carpets, removed the doors from their hinges, and unscrewed the cornices, complete with their curtains and tulle.

“Let’s go,” Milorad urged them. “Alas, the elevators are no longer working, so we’ll have to walk.”

Ardan didn’t bother to say that, for him, this was not bad news at all, but rather the opposite.

They crossed the atrium and went up a curved staircase, where the railings and banisters looked like... Firstborn being held down by staves. Apparently, a couple of centuries ago, this was how the Aean’Hane vanquished by the power of Star Magic had been depicted.

Ardi didn’t feel even the slightest pang at the sight of such a spectacle. He was well aware of the atrocities that Ectassus had committed against the human kingdoms and principalities under its command. Just as he knew of the atrocities that humans had retaliated with once they’d overthrown the yoke of the Firstborn. Both sides were worthy of each other in absolutely equal measure. This was something that, even now, half a millennium later, was reflected in the existence of the Tavsers and the Conclave.

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The young man was not interested in politics. And he was certainly not in the least bit tempted to delve into the historical intricacies of the bloody feud between these two races.

By the time they reached the fifth floor, both inspectors were out of breath. Ardan had never understood this lack of physical fitness in the vast majority of mages. An ordinary person who walked somewhere every day and spent their entire work shift on their feet would not even have noticed such a climb.

“Damn this move,” Milorad lamented, his breath ragged.

They walked down the barren corridor and stopped at one of the few doors still remaining.

Karim knocked, and only after he heard a dry, “Come in,” did he turn the brass handle.

The room hidden behind the red, lacquered door turned out to be a small office with three desks. At the central, largest one, which was drowning in papers, sat a man who had a very peculiar appearance. Ardi even suspected that this department had not yet finished moving precisely because of this particular mage’s immense love for food.

Wearing a green cloak with epaulettes that showed he had two and one rays respectively, this man surely suffered from the same annoyance Ardi had to deal with when ordering suits and shirts at the atelier. But while in Ardan’s case, the cost would be increased by his height, for this gentleman, the exes went to his waist. It was as if the mage had accidentally swallowed a whole barrel of herring sometime in his childhood and it had taken up residence in his belly.

He even breathed heavily, somehow, and his heart was beating almost to the point of exhaustion. Ardan could barely hear its thudding, so enveloped it was in excess mass.

The mage was fanning himself with a black men’s fan, sitting not on a chair but a small sofa instead, and his fingers, which looked more like sausages, were sorting through some papers. And, judging by where he was actually looking, he was doing it purely for show. Not to mention the fact that Ardan had noticed crumbs on the edge of his chapped lips, several greasy spots on his fourth chin, and the smell of fatty fish sandwiches wafting from a desk drawer.

“This is the head of the initial interview department—Senior Inspector Aurelius Lunsky,” Karim Dankov introduced him in an ingratiating, obsequious tone. “And this is Ard Egobar.”

“The note?” The official asked in a gurgling, roiling voice reminiscent of a drowning man.

He didn’t even greet them or offer them a seat. This was very strange for polite society.

Milorad handed over the letter written by Grand Magister Krayt, after which he and Karim sat down at their desks, while Ardan remained standing.

He had been raised properly, so he did not touch the simple, rickety chair that stood opposite the main desk.

Senior Inspector Lunsky didn’t even glance at the note handed to him.

“Your diploma,” he demanded in a tone that was not so much commanding as it was insolent.

“I don’t have one.”

“You’re working in the engineering field without a diploma?” Interest flickered in his eyes, which were sinking into their sockets. But... it was a strange kind of interest. “That’s interesting, young man... Do you know the fine for such frivolity?”

“I don’t have a diploma because I am still studying,” Ardan clarified. “At the Grand University. I’ve recently finished my first year.”

The interest in those black eyes instantly faded, but the insolence or perhaps arrogance (Ardan hadn’t yet figured out which emotion was more prevalent in Lunsky’s tone) did not disappear from his voice. Rather, it intensified.

“Ah, at the Graaaaand University, is it,” the senior inspector drawled, casting the same disgruntled glance Karim had given him toward Ardan’s epaulettes. “Present a letter of recommendation from the Dean of the Engineering Faculty.”

“I am studying at the Faculty of General Knowledge.”

“Makes no difference to me. Your letter of recommendation, where is it?” Lunsky leaned back in his chair, and Ardan could have sworn he heard the squelch of sweat soaking into the leather backrest. “According to regulation 5, article 127, you must present a cover letter at your initial interview. The fine if you cannot do so is eighteen exes or a month’s salary from the Star Mage’s current place of employment.”

Fortunately, before attempting to sell the Misty Helper at the Spell Market, Ard had done a little research on this procedure. He should have done so before bringing the Water Shroud to the Market, but you can’t turn back time... no matter what Professor Lea Mortimer had believed, may the Eternal Angels be merciful to her.

“That would be the case if this interview were being conducted upon receipt of a diploma.”

“What?”

“I am not graduating, Mr. Luns-”

“Senior Inspector Lunsky!” The official almost shrieked.

“Exactly,” Ardan nodded. “I am not graduating, Senior Inspector Lunsky. You are interviewing me based on the submission of my own research, which has been deemed suitable for dual use. In this case, nothing is required of me other than providing general information. I am prepared to provide it.”

Karim and Milorad exchanged a glance like they were mentally trading words, but Lunsky, oblivious to everything around him, suddenly slammed his hand on his desk.

“Are you going to teach me how to do my job, you whelp?” The official hissed through tightly clenched, small teeth.

Ardan froze for a moment. Not from fear, of course, but from sheer surprise. Why had he used the term “whelp?” It would have been one thing if the official had had a Tavser patch somewhere, but Lunsky, it seemed, couldn’t care less about Ard’s obvious, if partial, connection to the Firstborn.

“I thought I’d go easy on you,” the senior inspector continued to either hiss or suffocate. “Give you some leeway. But you think just because you got lucky with a few rays and landed your ass in the Grand University, you’re better than us? That you’re the smartest? You’re going to suffer, Mr. Egobar,” the official practically spat out the polite address. “You’ll crawl on your knees for a couple of years, kiss my ass, cough up a few hundred exes, and then, maybe, I won’t condemn every single one of your research projects to the military archives after I deem them unfit for civilian sale. Where’s my seal?!”

“Right away, Mr. Senior Inspector,” Karim scrambled, stumbling.

So important just a moment ago, and now as small as he was thin. Not literally, of course, but figuratively.

In cases where a spell or other research had dual properties, an interview was conducted with the mage, based on which the supervisory body would decide whether to leave the research, with the necessary recommendations for implementation, in the civilian sphere, or pass it on for additional review by the military. Unfortunately, if the military got their hands on something, they never gave it back. Which, on the whole, was not difficult to explain.

But the catch there was that the military didn’t pay as generously as the Spell Market. They offered no royalties from sales, and the rate was always fixed. The Misty Helper would have been worth exactly twelve exes to the military, and not a kso more.

While Karim rummaged in the cabinet, Ardan gradually recovered from what he had just heard.

He had practically won the lottery, only in the opposite direction. There were at least a few dozen of these “initial interview” departments in various Guild offices. And he’d had the misfortune of ending up right here.

“You don’t have the ri- ”

“Don’t you tell me about my rights, you brainless upstart,” Lunsky interrupted him, literally starting to shake because... Ardan honestly didn’t understand why. He had met all sorts of humans, Firstborn, and even demons—but never anyone this strange. “You think you’re the first to preach to me about rights or some other nonsense. A real beacon of science, you are. You’re going to pay. Fifty exes for today’s visit. And another twenty for your impertinence.”

And then it finally dawned on Ardan. This was what the phrase “petty corruption of government bodies” that Boris sometimes talked about meant. He wondered how this was any different from what the Six did when they collected fees from their charges so that they wouldn’t have to worry about their shops or small businesses being burned down, looted, or something even worse happening to them.

“You’re just harming scientific progress,” Ardan said, admittedly outraged.

“Oh, believe me, whelp, I’ve heard that one, too. About progress. About red tape. About revenge,” Lunsky smirked smugly. Smugly and imperiously. He looked as if the fate of an entire continent depended on his words. Sleeping Spirits! He was just a petty official! “You know how many have stood here? Promised to deal with me when they got on their feet? Only those feet are so easy to break. A couple of words to a couple of acquaintances… And now your research will never, ever get any further than the military’s storerooms.”

He was just a petty official... And how many hypothetical “Egobars” had passed through his hands? If even one potential Grand Magister had not joined the ranks of the Empire because of him, then...

And all of this because of money? Because he wanted to fill his already overflowing belly even more?

“…Lord Aversky bequeathed his research to the Mages’ Guild…”

“…You are Ard Egobar. An officer of the Empire…”

“…For the glory of the Empire, my dear friend! Farewell…”

“You think I give a damn, whelp? I’ll make your life such hell that you’ll come crawling back to...”

Lunsky was saying something else, but Ardan didn’t hear him. He could only smell the stale air of a smoke-filled laboratory, see the face of the Grand Magister, worn out by endless research and service, and hear the ever-quieter beating of his friend’s heart in his chest… until it stopped altogether.

While the likes of Edward, Krayt, the professors at the Grand University, and hundreds, if not thousands of other Star Mages, offered their very lives at the altar of Star Science, some petty official who had barely managed to graduate from a provincial university and then push his way up within the Guild, who had barely lit a couple of rays...

Ardan felt a sting. Not of resentment. This was something else. Something dark. Truly dark. Simultaneously cold and burning.

Patterns of frost snaked across the glass, and icy clouds escaped from the inspectors’ mouths.

Ardan was angry. Angry on behalf of all the other mages who had stood here, before this wretched, greedy little man, and feared for their future.

He was furious.

He met Lunsky’s gaze.

“I came here to fill out papers regarding my research and to discuss a matter of professional interest,” Ardan’s voice sounded like autumn ice just as it cracks and engulfs a river. “But I see we have other topics to discuss.”

“What are you- ”

Ardan didn’t let him finish. Activating the Black House medallion in his pocket, Ardan unleashed his Witch’s Gaze.

Lunsky’s mind was softer than warm butter. The amulet on his chest flared, but Ardan brushed aside the cheap trinket that served more as a way to alert its owner that someone was making an attempt to breach their mind rather than a means to protect it.

Karim and Milorad, however, realized that something was wrong. The former stopped looking for the seal and reached for his staff, while the latter frantically pulled at a cord near his desk. Perhaps, if not for the move, Ard would have been instantly restrained by a stationary shield, but it had been deactivated so the workers could finish their job as quickly as possible.

Ardan, without breaking eye contact with Lunsky and continuing to press through his sluggish defenses, struck his staff against the ground. The seals flared one after another, and soon both Karim and Milorad were trapped in a modified Ice Wall, which Ardan called the Ice Cage. They could only pound their hands against the cold walls and shout impotently.

Finally, with another effort of will, Ardan broke through Lunsky’s defenses and found himself inside his consciousness. And it was... disgusting. Not scary, like inside the memories of little Lusha, who had survived horrors; not dirty, like inside Lorlov’s mind; and not shameful to Ardi himself, like the time when he’d suppressed the will of the junior librarian Lisa at the Grand University.

No war drums beat here, like in the mind of the Shangra’Ar orc; nor did he feel like the steel wall of Alice Rovnev’s indomitable will had settled on his shoulders like an unbearable weight.

No. Not at all. It was simply disgusting here. It was as if Ardan had touched something rotten, something that had lost all semblance of humanity, leaving behind only a viscous, foul-smelling putrescence saturated with an endless string of cheap amusements and pleasures.

Ardan saw Lunsky pressing his nose to handfuls of Angel Dust; he saw Black Lotus women dancing around him; he saw the delight with which he brought his bribes to the bank and, each time, requested a statement about his account to look at the growing number of symbols. And how he ate. Before, in his childhood and youth, Lunsky had been a slender and even stately young man. Right up until he’d become the personification of one of the commandments of the Face of Light. Or rather, one of the sins—the absence of moderation.

But the most repulsive thing was the sense of self-importance with which Lunsky looked upon the lines of young mages coming to him for interviews. How he reveled in their humiliation as they obsequiously fawned over him. And with what unbearable cruelty he ruined the fates of those who tried to go against his oh so small, and yet so loud, word.

Ardan, who’d known that he would be speaking with the head of an entire department, had wanted to ask him about rumors in the Guild. Maybe he had heard something suspicious. Or maybe he knew something that made him wary.

But Lunsky knew nothing. Everything related to his work, his “service,” was tied to bribes, and discussing who had been lucky enough to get a “better” position, where the bribes were bigger. And even in the car, they had discussed “Lionel’s” department because Lunsky and his cronies had wanted that pie for themselves; they’d wanted to be done with interviews and take a position where the bribes could be bigger.

Ardan saw how, while sitting in a restaurant, Karim, Milorad and Aurelius would mock their colleague, Lionel, for not taking bribes.

They laughed at honest people. Mocked them. Profited from them. They acted like minor deities of their own small, insignificant worlds. They reveled in their positions with no idea about what was happening beyond the walls within which they had placed themselves on imaginary thrones.

And so Ardan did not hold back. He calmly walked the paths of Lunsky’s mind, not caring where or how much damage he caused. The threads of the official’s mind crumbled under his feet while Aurelius himself thrashed in his chair, foamy saliva dripping onto his numerous chins.

And maybe Ard would have gone all the way, turning the official into a vegetable in the process, if his instincts hadn’t screamed at him, forcing the young man to break eye contact.

A spell of the Green Star struck him in the back. The standard model of Lava Burst. They taught this in the third year of the Military Faculty at the Grand University.

The desks and papers burst into flames, consumed by the heat of the stone wrapped in liquid fire, which first crashed into Orlovsky’s discs and then into Ardan’s elemental shield. And after the discs shattered the stone base, the elemental shield smothered the flame with an excess of oxygen, which Ardan was already preparing to use for his next spell. He was about to compress the released gas and direct it toward his attacker, but he realized just in time that doing so would be inappropriate.

Instead, he pulled his black identification card with the silver Imperial crest out of his inner pocket and showed it to the Guild employees who had run in after hearing all the commotion.

“Junior Investigator of the Second Chancery, Corporal Egobar,” he said far more calmly than he had felt a few minutes ago.

Lunsky was still convulsing in his chair, his eyes rolled back, but Karim and Milorad, freed from their icy prison, now paler than the paper scattered on the floor, fearfully shifted their gazes from each other to their boss. Almost in sync, nearly in a panic, they whispered:

“Oh, Face of Light...”

How timely it was for these wretches to remember their god and his commandments now.

Disgusting...

He wanted to wash himself and his clothes.

***

“You really can’t go a single day without me, can you, Magister?”

Milar extended a hand, which Ardan promptly and firmly shook. Besides the captain himself, Alexander and Din also entered the room. Both looked well enough (Ardi hadn’t seen the operatives since they’d parted ways at the vampire’s estate), and Din, true to form, was eating something. This time, an apple.

“Whoa, this is a new one!” Din whistled, surveying the broken, partially-burnt furniture, the scorched walls, the gurgling, drooling Lunsky, the cowering Karim Dankov in the corner, who seemed to be looking for a deep hole to crawl into for his own safety, and Milorad Armirov, who was much calmer and even, to some extent, detached, and the two Green Star Mages who had rushed to their colleagues’ aid.

After Ardan had shown them his identification, they’d put their staves aside, sat on the floor with their hands clasped behind their heads, and had maintained a deathly silence. No one else had entered the office. The floor was practically deserted, and any noise could be attributed to the moving process.

“You got here fast,” Ardi glanced at his watch. Less than ten minutes had passed since he’d sent the signal.

“We were nearby,” Milar glanced toward Din. “And we would have been much farther away if someone hadn’t insisted on stopping at the fruit market.”

“It’s the peak season for Sun Apples,” Din said, taking a noisy bite and wiping juice from his lips. “I got a kilogram for everyone, by the way. You too, Ard. You and Tess can have some after dinner. They’re delicious.”

And he bit into the apple again, while the other Cloaks just exchanged glances and shook their heads grimly. In this instance, it was hard to be angry with the slightly-strange Ralian pathfinder.

Din, despite looking like he wouldn’t be out of place among the shortest and most slender of orcs (who still looked more imposing than the absolute majority of humans), had a very gentle and warm personality. And this was despite the fact that he would, without any hesitation, draw and skillfully use his knives if he had to.

Perhaps that was why he and Plamena got along. She was a girl of such unearthly beauty that when Ardi had first met her, he had briefly been concerned about the possibility that Din Arnson had fallen into the clutches of a Sidhe of Summer. But no. Plamena Arnson was just a simple, gentle, and very caring person. She was not at all spoiled because of her beauty, which, contrary to expectations, did not attract men to her like a magnet, but rather scared them away.

And only the Ralian pathfinder had had the courage and the kind of youthful directness needed to win Plamena’s heart. They loved each other so tenderly and honestly that just being near them made you feel somehow... brighter. Perhaps that was why they turned a blind eye to Din’s antics, because... because he was who he was.

“You really hate filling out documents that much, Magister?” Milar approached Lunsky and waved a hand in front of his face. “Well, I’ve got good news for you—you’ll be filling them out at our place instead. So, I hope you have a good reason.”

One good reason later

“Captain, he’s unlikely to even feel anything,” Alexander reasonably pointed out after he’d already cuffed inspectors Dankov and Armirov.

“Yeah, the new guy overdid it a bit.” Din, in turn, had collected the signed non-disclosure agreements from the still-silent mages who had come running at the noise. They’d have to stay quiet under penalty of demotion and being sent to penal battalions on the Fatian or Armondian border.

Milar frowned, but he did move his revolver away from Lunsky’s kneecap. Ardi didn’t ask the captain why his victims’ kneecaps were always his preferred target, but perhaps there was a good reason for it.

“Alright,” the captain grumbled as bloodthirstily as possible. “Take these two,” the captain nodded at Armirov and Dankov.

“No! We’re willing to cooper-”

“Don’t! We’ll tell you every-”

But neither of them was destined to finish their pleading entreaties.

“Of course you’ll cooperate,” Din said, somehow managing to squeeze the base of Dankov’s throat in such a way that he fell into a deep, slightly rasping sleep after just a couple of twitches.

“Of course you’ll tell us everything,” Alexander said at the same time as he carefully tapped Armirov on the temple.

“And we’ll take Lunsky,” Milar finished. “Maybe Rovnev and the others can get something more out of him.”

A pregnant pause hung in the office. Everyone, including the two witnesses, silently exchanged glances until, finally, Ardan voiced the obvious issue.

“Even Arkar couldn’t lift him.”

Alexander and Din sighed, Milar took his partner’s staff, and the three of them—Ardan, Din and Alexander—somehow managed to drag Lunsky down the corridor and stairs, cursing all the while. Ardi managed to utter a few unpleasant words in the language of the northern elves, the Fae, the steppe orcs, and even the dialect of the Ralian dwarves.

Along the way, Ardan gratefully remembered the games where Guta would place his paw on him, and the little hunter would then have to sweat buckets to somehow manage to lift it and get free. Lunsky, of course, was much smaller than the bear spirit, but he seemed no lighter.

The workers watched the three Cloaks struggle with interested, slightly mocking glances, but immediately looked away if they thought they had been noticed.

When the official, who was muttering something unintelligible and drooling copiously, was finally loaded into Milar’s “Derks,” the car let out a full-throated, metallic screech of indignation and seemed to sag a little on its suspension. Or maybe it was called something else.

Alexander, Din and Ardan, breathing heavily and wiping their foreheads, leaned their backs against the trunk, not even caring how hard the sun-scorched metal burned their skin.

“Why the long faces?” Milar bounded down the steps. “Come on, don’t just stand there like statues, get in the cars...”

Captain Pnev, upon encountering three furious gazes that were far from “okay with a friendly joke,” fell silent and, with a restrained smile, silently got into his car.

Soon, two black cars, their engines rumbling, were rolling along the roads of the Metropolis and toward the Black House.