Matabar

Book II. Chapter 57 - "Promise me"

Chapter 57

As the Dandy vacated the box, the light in the hall finally dimmed, and Ardi, however briefly, found himself in a wholly different world.

It was a world where, accompanying the first barely-perceptible rays of light cast by the gentle overheard lamps that caught the dust dancing through the air, the brass section began to play.

Barely audible, they somehow embodied the voice of a wind racing through a deep gorge, pulling a melodic, almost wolf-like song along in its wake.

The wind howled and beckoned, and soon, with careful, guarded precision, the string instruments joined in.

They were thick, yet simultaneously resonant and light, gazing into the soul with the kind, welcoming look of a man rejoicing at the arrival of a guest.

And immediately, his heart began to flutter. It made itself known with a measured but fervent, bass-filled gallop amidst the rhythmic percussion, striking somewhere in the distance at first, then coming closer, closer, closer...

The melody swelled, rising like a tide from the orchestra pit where the conductor, eyes closed, dissolved within his own creation.

And the audience, led by these living notes, fell into the boiling melody until, all at once, everything fell silent.

The spotlights flared like sudden stars, their broad beams of illumination crossing upon the heavy, twitching curtain.

It rose slowly, exposing the space hidden by its veil. Behind the drums sat a young man with a low forehead, broad shoulders, and a very small, upturned nose.

His name was Ener Brovsky, he was twenty-two, and he was a native of the southern coastal provinces.

To his right, perched on a bar stool and balancing a guitar on his thigh, was a stately man with an elaborate hairstyle that seemed to contain more wax than hair. Darabor Guvov was always laughing loudly and incapable of holding his liquor.

Beside him, seated at the black, gleaming grand piano, the quick, slight, and perpetually thoughtful Nicolad Armirsky had gone quiet.

Nearby stood his older brother, Adolak Armirsky, who was almost invisible behind his road-weary double bass he’d inherited from his father.

Both were hereditary musicians.

The same could not be said of the tall, sturdily-built man who was forever gazing into the distance, and was always ready to be the first to jump into a fight. He had a murky past but a warm heart and a gaze to match—Lex Schiller, the troupe’s saxophonist and composer.

All the lads, to a man, were dressed in stage attire. They wore brown three-piece suits with a thin blue pinstripe, white patent leather shoes, and cream shirts with high, stiff collars.

The audience swept their gaze over them and immediately fell silent. From the depths of the stage, a girl was coming closer. She was quite short, small, even miniature in some ways.

She had a thin waist, narrow shoulders, and collarbones so high that one could pour water into their hollows and it would not spill onto her chest.

Her heels rang out measuredly in the silence.

Clack-clack.

It sounded as if a thaw was measuring out the drops of spring right in the middle of a capital freezing within autumn’s embrace.

The audience froze, and Ardan froze with them.

Tess had spent many evenings preparing for this premiere. For weeks, she had sewn various outfits for herself, remaking them dozens of times and showing each one to Ardan. Over the past few months, he had learned how to use patterns, deftly handle scissors, pull stitches, pin pleats on a mannequin, and do everything else he could to help his fiancée, however slightly.

Ardan didn’t even know how many kinds of makeup Tess had tried in total… From eyeliners and lipsticks, to powders and blushes, she’d likely tried them all.

They’d bought what their money had allowed them to, and Tess had asked her friends for the rest, as well as the companions of her bandmates. She’d asked Elena for her opinion, and Ardi could swear that she’d even tried some of Milar’s wife’s lipstick.

But now...

She was wearing her ordinary, seasonal shoes, the ones she usually had on when she strolled with Ardi in the evenings.

He had already lost count of how many times he had replaced their heel taps and covered the leather, which was constantly trying to crack, with a special compound.

All those dresses the girl had crafted now remained at home, or in the workshop of Mrs. Okladov’s atelier.

Tess was wearing a light, blue summer dress instead, the one he’d bought for her in Delpas on the eve of their departure.

Simple girls wore such things, sometimes even in Tend and Tendari, where new clothes were acquired only out of strict necessity and, at times, only once a year.

She wore no makeup, and her hair was merely pinned up at the back of her head, letting her red mane cascade in a wavy waterfall along her shoulders.

Only the ruby earrings made of white gold that her grandmother (the mother of Reish Orman) had left her stood out from the otherwise utterly simple image.

But, by the Sleeping Spirits, how beautiful she was. With her small, snub nose, sharply defined cheekbones, full lips, and the oval contour of her almost doll-like face.

Ardi had never met a woman more beautiful than her. No mortal or immortal could compare.

When he looked at Tess, women like Cassara, Allane’Eari, Lady Senhi’Sha, and all the others appeared to be little more than pale shadows, cold and distant. They almost felt like they were hiding somewhere in the darkness of timelessness, because he could not even think about them.

In the absolute silence that followed, as people were afraid to breathe lest they appear rude and brazen by seemingly attempting to violate the harmony of the quiet, Tess stopped at the very edge of the stage.

She was so small and, suddenly, so infinite as well. Her green eyes, calm and bright, suddenly spilled over like the serene Swallow Ocean.

They overflowed their banks, shattering the boundaries of her physical body, and filled the entire surrounding area.

It was as if Tess had looked into everyone’s eyes and peered into the very souls of those who had come to hear her voice. It almost felt like she’d walked between the rows and even smiled at someone.

To another person, she’d whispered something sweet and pleasant. She’d also laughed with someone else and then returned to the stage.

But she had somehow done all of this without making a single gesture, without uttering a single sound, and without ever moving.

And then... she turned and met Ardi’s eyes.

His heart forgot how to beat. The packed Baliero Concert Hall no longer mattered, the hundreds of spectators became irrelevant, the lights faded away, and, as always, it was just him and her.

And when the music began to play, that was exactly how it felt.

Tess sang the song that had already been born, almost half a year ago, beneath the dome of the theater while it was still being built.

And, just as she had back then, in the empty hall, Tess sang it for him. She ignored the hundreds of spectators. This was for Ardan.

Only him.

I’m here with you.

Streetlights flicker on,

And I’m singing this song…

***

The rain rang out merrily against the tired, rusted drainpipes and reddish roofs.

The central districts, usually so elegant and opulent, sometimes hid bare patches of poverty bordering on destitution.

After all, any sort of skin, even the most well-groomed, still had moles that were not the most beautiful, and in a similar vein, here in the center of the capital, there were some corners of “misfortune.”

Ardi and Tess loved to walk through them. Why? They didn’t really know.

Perhaps out here, where one was unlikely to encounter expensive automobiles, and where people, if they smiled, did so sincerely and openly, and not just to “look good,” everything seemed a little more real. Truthful. Not like a playacted, dismal look at an equally-dismal autumn scratching at the window shutters.

Hiding their heads under Ardan’s cloak, he and Tess ducked into the merciful shadow of the nearest alcove. It was a remnant from times when the streets had known no wheels, only the clatter of horseshoes, and hay had been piled in such places for the horses.

Ahead of them, over the Niewa, the sun was still fighting for the right to remain in the world of the Metropolis. However, a gray haze was already stretching out from the west and east, promising dirt, slush and long evenings filled with waiting for the boilers in the basement to start working and hot water to flow through the pipes.

Civilization… In Ardan’s opinion, it had its own undeniable advantages.

“Ardi,” Tess turned to face the embankment, her back to her fiancé, and pressed her whole body against him. “I’ve been meaning to ask—why did you stop wearing hats?”

Ardan, after shaking the cold drops from the hem of his cloak, wrapped it around both of them.

Tess, frowning like a disgruntled kitten, surfaced from this imposed captivity and rested her chin on the crook of his elbow. That is how they stood, like pair of bats lost in a stone forest.

“I made a promise, dear, and I couldn’t keep it,” Ardi replied.

The fate of Lusha’s family and the dead boy himself still gnawed at Ardan from the inside.

Gradually, it was biting off piece after piece, hiding amongst restless words and intrusive thoughts.

“Did it cost you a hat?” Tess asked.

“...Will you help them, Mr. Wizard?

...I swear it on my hat.”

Ardan made a sound like a taciturn owl.

“One?”

“All of them,” Ardan answered with a sigh. “Those that were, and those that will be.”

Tess was silent for a time, and then rubbed her cheek against Ard’s arm.

“Then we shall consider you a progressive fashionista from Baliero, darling.”

“Have they stopped wearing hats there?”

“No, you wish!” Tess laughed in amusement. “On the contrary, there is currently another boom in colored ribbons for fedoras.”

Ardan only smiled. He, too, felt odd without a hat. From the age of twelve, from the very moment the cowboys on Timothy Polsky’s farm had given him his first hat, the youth had not left the house without one covering his head if he could help it.

And now, without one, he felt practically naked.

But he would have felt even worse had he ignored the cost of failing to uphold his word.

“Did something terrible happen there?” Tess pressed closer to him. “On the Dancing Peninsula... Sometimes, you are not yourself when you return from work and... I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t ask such questions so you don’t have to lie to me unnecessarily. But, forgive me, I worry about you.”

Ardan wrapped his arms around his fiancée, pressed them to her stomach, and rested his head atop hers. She was warm and soft.

Maybe this was how Kena felt when she squeezed her teddy bear for hours? As long as she kept holding it… the surrounding world would become insignificant.

It was something that allowed his heart to beat quietly and evenly, and in his head, instead of a swarm of the most varied of thoughts, there was only silence and peace.

Peace.

Yes, if one tried to describe the sensations Ardi experienced every time he held Tess in his arms, cooked dinner with her, walked around the city with her, or simply sat silently with her while the girl read a book and he crafted seals, then the word for it would be peace.

This was not the kind of morning languor you felt when the soft warmth of your bed was so much more appealing than the cold world beyond it.

And not at all the sort of relaxation when, after a hard day’s work, you could finally throw off your suit, kick off your shoes, and melt into a chair for a short while.

No.

This was peace. All-encompassing. Vast as the ocean, and as serene as the autumn river framing the embankment they were both looking at now.

“Yes,” was all Ardi said.

He didn’t want to lie to her, but even more so, he didn’t want to share the details lest he let the darkness that so desperately scuttled beyond the threshold of their home in search of any breach, however small, into the life of his beloved.

Before, Ardi hadn’t understood why Grandfather and Father had never told him anything, leaving only some letters behind.

And even those had been a “just in case” sort of thing. Now Ardan not only understood them, he knew why they had done it.

Because he was doing exactly the same thing himself.

Sometimes, you had to lift a burden onto your shoulders and carry it alone, but not because you didn’t believe anyone could help you.

Rather, it was the opposite. Ardan knew for certain that if he shared everything with Tess, everything down to the very last word, as he had done at the beginning of summer with the history of his family, he would feel lighter.

He would, but she wouldn’t. And Ardan couldn’t force himself to do that to Tess.

His job was to protect her from everything the ruthless world threatened them with, not the other way around.

He did not complain. And he did not lament his fate. He only hugged his fiancée tightly, breathed in the scent of her skin, and wrapped himself in the peace she gave him.

He asked for nothing more. He needed nothing more.

“I love you too, Ardi.”

“Too?”

Tess tilted her head to the side and laid it on his arms.

“In order to say something, dear, one does not always need to say it aloud.”

Yes, perhaps she was right... For some strange reason, Ardan thought of the letter from his mother that had been delivered to him this morning.

He still hadn’t opened it. Not knowing why, he had left it in the kitchen, unable to open it.

Something told him that he would find words that would burn him inside that letter.

Skusty would have said that Ardi had simply begun to “hear the wind better,” while the young man himself attributed it all to his professional deformation.

He and his mother corresponded twice a month, and the letters arrived more or less at about the same time.

But the envelope had appeared in their mailbox almost a week ahead of schedule. Something had happened.

The thick paper itself seemed clean and smooth, not at all crumpled, and it lacked the characteristic grayish streaks that tears might have left.

The stamp had been pasted evenly and along the borders of the top right corner, which meant that it hadn’t been done in a hurry. Some anticipation had likely been involved as well.

So, whatever had happened with Shaia, it was likely good news rather than bad.

Why, then, had Ardan decided to read the letter only after his date with Tess?

Maybe Skusty would have been right, and the youth really was beginning to “hear the wind better...” And along with this, he realized something else about Hector:

“Tess.”

“What is it, dear?”

Ardan closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of spring flowers blooming by the stream. He inhaled it like he’d never get a chance to do so again.

“If I don’t return one day, then… Please, do not wear black for too long. Find someone with whom you will be happy and who will help you move on.”

Tess turned and looked into his eyes. She did so deeply, the way no one else ever had except his forest friends.

Only a person unafraid of the Witch’s Gaze could look so deeply into his eyes. Someone who knew all about it, but was still not afraid at all.

“Alright, Ardi-the-wizard, I will promise you this,” she said firmly, her hot breath washing over the young man’s rain-soaked face. “If you promise me in turn that, if something happens to me... I don’t know, the stage collapses or the wiring starts a fire, then you, too, will not wear both of those rings on your chest for long. You will also find someone who will help you move on.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

According to the tradition of Gales, widows wore black during mourning, and men strung both wedding rings on leather straps and wore them around their neck.

There were no strict time limits for the mourning itself. Everyone chose for themselves.

Ardi, gazing into her sparkling eyes, already knew his answer. Even trying to imagine that he would one day hold another in the same way was hard; that they would share stories of their day excitedly, interrupting each other in the process; that he would laugh until his stomach hurt, bask in the silence, dance until his knees were tired, and wander along the embankment with her, hand in hand… The thought that he would have to learn what another woman loves all over again, what she worries about, what she ponders, and what she dreams of… Ardan simply couldn’t fathom it.

Or maybe he didn’t want to.

Matabar lived by the precepts of all sorts of beasts. And few of them chose a mate for life.

Perhaps it was all because Ardan was young and naive, or perhaps it was because he was the apprentice of a she-wolf, but he knew one thing for sure:

Tess was maybe the second woman in his life, not the first (if one counted Anna), but she was also the last woman in his life. He needed no other.

Not now, nor in the future. And these were not the loud proclamations of a young man in love, but a statement of fact.

It was every bit as true as the fact that the sun was about to rise in the east, and their nighttime walk would come to an end with the first rays of the dawn.

“I cannot promise you that, Tess.”

“Then what makes you think that I can?” The girl narrowed her eyes at him and rested her cheek on his chest. “Let’s dance.”

“In the rain?”

Tess nodded.

Milar had been right. Women really did love little adventures.

Ardi shrugged and, after running across the road, which almost seemed orphaned without any cars, they stopped near the very edge of the embankment.

Ardi leaned his staff against the parapet and extended his right hand. Tess placed her palm in his, and pressed her free hand to her fiancé’s back.

Ardan touched her waist.

They began to whirl to the sounds of a melody audible only to them. A silent one.

The autumn rain kept them company and moved in time with the Niewa.

***

When Ardan was able to perceive reality again, Tess and her band had already finished their set.

They had played only five songs instead of the usual dozen they performed at “Bruce’s.” And the audience... the audience was silent.

As if spellbound, the crowd sat in their seats after the last note faded.

A moment passed, then another, a third… Almost a few seconds passed after Tess stepped away from the Ley-microphone and Schiller moved his saxophone’s mouthpiece away from his lips.

And only then did the audience explode with adulation.

Rising from their seats all at once, hundreds of people applauded. They got louder and louder and louder, until the most frivolous among the crowd on the balconies started screaming and hats flew into the air.

A flushed Tess and the lads from her band shone brighter than polished metal in that moment.

While the curtain was coming down, they bowed and grabbed the flowers that were being thrown directly onto the stage.

And even after the curtain fell and the compere came out to the edge of the stage, people did not let him say a word.

They kept applauding and seemingly trying to remember who they were in order to return from those distant lands where they had found themselves while under the spell of the music and Tess’ voice.

Ardi retrieved his staff and tucked the photograph of the Dandy’s father-in-law into the inner pocket of his jacket, then slipped through the door of the box.

He hurried to congratulate Tess on her clear success.

Navigating more by smell than by relying on his superficial knowledge of the architectural art, Ardan reached the service staircase, and then, by going down it, he ended up in yet another corridor.

It was huge and somehow still cluttered with gigantic rolls of colored paper for scenery, costumes on hangers and mannequins, some dolls as well, the most varied kinds of props, and hooks holding ropes and cables that were supporting high scaffolds.

All of these things undoubtedly had their own names. They’d surely be difficult to explain and equally resistant to intuitive memorization, and Ardan really didn’t remember them.

After going through the corridor, he entered a spacious room from which hallways branched off, leading to other utility rooms and dressing rooms.

But right now, the main action was taking place right here, amidst sheets of music scattered on the floor, jackets thrown onto sofas, and the clinking of glasses filled with sparkling, effervescent wine.

“Hurraaaaah!” Ener Brovsky shouted while deftly pouring the drink into some glasses.

“To our triumph, gentlemen and lady!” Darabor Guvov added exuberantly, jumping onto one of the small sofas.

As always, just one whiff was enough for him to get red in the face and start looking inebriated, which his good-natured and slightly withdrawn wife would later sniff in shame about.

The Armirsky brothers had clasped hands and were jumping around a laughing Tess.

Only Schiller, the saxophonist, was sitting in the corner and, spinning a pencil in his long, thin fingers, was rewriting something on a sheet of music.

“Change this here... a different key would be better here... and rewrite everything here...”

“Ardi!” Tess exclaimed and, slipping out from under the arms of her friends, flew up to the young man.

“Oh, it’s the groom!” Exclaimed the musicians and saluted him with their glasses.

Ardi was not very familiar with the band. He knew them by name and they had dined together a couple of times, but that was it.

Tess hugged him tightly and looked up into his eyes. She was so happy that she was radiating joy bordering on childish delight.

“Did you see?! Did you see how they saw us off?!”

“Of course, dear!” Ardan nodded. “You were incomparable... you were incomparable.”

He uttered that last phrase so quietly that only his fiancée could hear it.

Tess performed with her band, and this was undoubtedly their shared triumph, but... he cared only about her.

“So, gentlemen and lady,” Brovsky, setting the bottle on a glass table, drew himself up and adjusted the suspenders on his trousers. “The journalists will be arriving soon, so try to look inspiring for the public.”

The Armirsky brothers somehow managed to comically puff out their cheeks in a way that ended with them nearly slamming their foreheads together, catching their heels on the edge of the carpet as well.

Guvov, was currently far from even the concept of “sober,” tried to jump off the sofa, but instead, he collapsed like a sack of potatoes right onto the brothers’ heads, while Schiller, after snatching up his sheet of music, waited until the table stopped shaking, and then calmly returned to his previous work.

Brovsky merely shook his head in disappointment and, grumbling something about “hopeless bums,” went over to help the pile of arms and legs that the merry trio of musicians had turned into.

As far as Ardan understood the dynamics in their band, Tess was something of a muse, songwriter, and the face of their ensemble.

Schiller wrote the music and was... a little disconnected, while Ener Brovsky handled all the organizational issues, supported the musicians, took care of everyone, and acted as the unspoken leader of their small organization.

“Journalists,” Tess whispered with venom in her voice. “I can’t stand them... let’s run away?”

“Run away?” Ardan asked in surprise.

“Exactly,” the girl nodded and interlaced their fingers. “We’ll stop by Elena and Boris’ place on the way and go to ‘Bruce’s’ together. We’ll chat all night long, and in the morning, complain that we have to get to our work and classes.”

Tess really didn’t like journalists. This was largely because of how they treated the Orman family, and also because, upon the girl’s arrival in the capital, especially after she had been expelled from the academy, they’d given her no peace.

Ardi didn’t know exactly how, but over time, Reish Orman had ensured that the sharks of the pen didn’t disturb his eldest daughter further.

And yet, however much Ardi wanted to agree to the tempting proposal, he could not afford it.

Neither for himself, nor, especially, for Tess.

Leaning in, Ardan whispered in Tess’ ear:

“This is your day, dear,” he adjusted a stray lock of her hair and ran his thumb over the back of her small, soft hand. “You worked so hard for this... Enjoy it. We can always return to ‘Bruce’s’ later.”

Tess looked into his eyes once more. It was possible that no one else would ever look into them as deeply ever again.

The girl frowned and, rolling her eyes slightly, smiled playfully.

“Then you will owe me, Ardi-the-wizard.”

“Why?!” The young man feigned indignation.

“Because you’re forcing me to bask in the light of my own glory,” Tess clarified jokingly. “So stand here all alone, and I will go shine brightly.”

She tossed her thick, fiery mane and headed back to the band, but did not unclench her fingers, causing their arms to stretch out into a long bridge between them.

Tess let go of Ardi only at the very last moment and, turning back one last time, mouthed: ”I love you.”

And perhaps it was a coincidence, or maybe Ardan simply froze for a while, but after what felt like a mere second, there was a crowd of journalists there.

Bursting into the room like an avalanche, stepping onto each other’s feet and pushing with their shoulders, raising their cameras that emitted snow-white flashes, they shouted the names of their newspapers over one another and, armed with notebooks and pencils, asked the band hundreds of questions.

Ardi, retreating before the crowd, moved farther and farther into the darkness of the corridor until his back was resting against the wall.

He had long since been pushed aside by others, and only thanks to his height, which allowed him to gaze over the swarming and boiling mass of humans, could he still admire Tess.

Together with her band, she was standing in the center of what appeared to be an enraged night sky. Flashes, flashes and more flashes came from everywhere.

Shielding her eyes, Tess, along with Brovsky, tried to answer the journalists.

They asked them about their music, about their plans for the future, and how soon the next, hopefully fully-fledged concert would happen.

Apparently, the performance had shaken the wielders of the pen and typewriter so much that they were betraying their habit of asking sharp and uncomfortable questions.

They did not ask Tess about Shamtur and her father, the Governor-General, nor about anything else. Only about her performance.

A floral rampart was gradually rising up around the girl’s legs because those wishing to pay their respects were breaking through the crowd of journalists and depositing their tokens of appreciation there.

They would throw them at her feet only to be immediately pushed back by journalist elbows somewhere into the depths of the living mass of humanity.

“Rest assured, Ard: not even a couple of years will pass before the whole capital knows about your... friend, and in a few more, the whole country. And you, forgive me for my tactlessness, should prepare for this.”

The Dandy had probably been right. In fact, he’d been mistaken about just one thing—Ardan had nothing to prepare for.

He stood to the side, pushed back by dozens of people, looking at his fiancée, and felt nothing but sincere joy.

Perhaps he didn’t fully understand what it meant to stand on stage, besieged by the expectant gazes of hundreds of people, and share something intimate with them.

This knowledge eluded the young man, hidden under a veil of mysticism unfamiliar of him.

But what Ardan knew well was the fleeting feeling of satisfaction when hard work over the course of many days, months and years filled with nearly frenzied self-dedication finally bore fruit.

Even if only for a couple of seconds. Even if only for a brief moment.

In that moment, you’d feel your heart beating desperately in your chest, the air would suddenly acquire smells you hadn’t even guessed at before, and the world would turn out to not be a dark and dangerous place, but something almost comfortingly bright and all too welcoming.

Something that was ready to open any doors for you and would be invitingly urging you to set off on another journey.

Ardan smiled and, with an effort of will, closed himself off from the roaring flow of emotions, muffling his hearing with the art of the Aean’Hane.

Right now, he didn’t want to hear the world. He only wanted to admire his future wife and-

“She’s lucky to have you, Mr. Egobar.”

Ardan started slightly and turned around. Since he was currently deafened by the flow of others’ emotions, he hadn’t noticed a short woman approach him.

She still had that thick, black hair, those sweeping, bushy eyebrows, high cheekbones, a thin nose, full lips, and that same shining gaze of blue irises framing dark, deep pupils.

“Miss Shpritz,” Ardi greeted her with a nod of his head.

The investigative journalist famous throughout the country was dressed in a fashionable, provocative cocktail dress without a fluffy hem and with a cut along the back.

Her hands were hidden by white, long leather gloves that reached almost to her elbow, and in her fingers, she twirled a lacquered cigarette holder with a currently smoking cigarette within it.

“Many would be jealous,” Taisia pointed the scarlet ember toward Tess, who was glowing from within. “And even more would feel wounded. Men, as you might know, don’t like to be in the shadows and in secondary roles.”

Ardan only shrugged. He didn’t really understand what the journalist was talking about.

Such feelings were not only uncharacteristic for him—he had simply never felt them.

“I didn’t know you were interested in social events,” Ardan said, clearly surprised.

“They really aren’t all that interesting to me, Mr. Investigator,” Taisia pronounced that last word with both an odd sort of intensity and mockery in her voice.

“...There was no tragedy there. But you are right. My father really didn’t return from his mission. He didn’t return alive, at least. His eyes were cut out after he was killed… The Narikhman were blamed......Everyone thought they did it. Back then, they didn’t pay much attention to the fact that the Narikhman work cleanly, but my father... he was mutilated...”

Of course... Taisia Shpritz’s father was killed under mysterious and unexplained circumstances, and his face disfigured. His eyes were also cut out, but it wasn’t done cleanly, as was the Narikhman way.

It wasn’t surprising that she had paid close attention to all such cases, of which, after her father, there had been only two.

One was that retired military man Peter Oglanov had told them about. And the second...

The photograph in the inner pocket of his jacket nearly burned Ard at the realization.

“You-”

“I saw that the Dandy spoke with you,” Taisia immediately interrupted him. “And he was clearly not in the best of spirits. And for all of Mr. Belsky’s unpleasant qualities, he possesses truly impressive self-control. It is not so simple to unsettle him. And so I assume that you, Mr. Egobar, were informed of the mysterious death of his dear father-in-law.”

Ardi wasn’t even surprised to learn that Taisia Shpritz knew about the architect’s death. Even the fact that she was aware of some key details wasn’t shocking to him.

Flashes erupted around them and the shouts of journalists thundered, trying to find out some more details from Tess and Brovsky.

And Ardan stood there, in the shadows, almost in the darkness, next to the smoking journalist, and pondered the blood-soaked bed where the old man had lain with his eyes cut out.

What did this say about him and Tess? Among other things, there was something that Ardi never tired of reminding himself—if not for Tess’ unique upbringing, it was unlikely that their story would have even started, let alone reached this point.

“What do you propose, Miss Shpritz?”

Taisia looked at him cunningly and smiled the way a cat smiles at a mouse before sinking its sharp fangs into it.

“I can see that you are growing up not by the day, but by the hour, Corporal,” she inhaled and exhaled a cloud of acrid, smelly smoke. “Let us not violate our glorious tradition-”

“We have no tradition, Miss Shpritz,” Ardan interrupted her coolly.

“Then this will be its birthday,” the shark of the pen shrugged her shoulders. “An exchange, Mr. Egobar. You give me information about Mr. Navalov, and I give you information about the Hunters’ Guild. I am sure that, after your trip to the Dancing Peninsula, you are now interested in them no less than I am.”

Ardan gripped his staff and nearly allowed himself to form a small seal, but he stopped himself in time.

“Are you following me?”

“What are you saying, Mr. Egobar? I am a decent woman, and to follow an almost-married man...” She snorted and shook her ash right onto the floor. “I didn’t suffer from such things in my youth, and I don’t intend to now. I have enough of your brethren who are ready... The Witch’s Gaze? Last time, that ended badly for you.”

“Last time, you apologized for it.”

“And now I won’t,” Taisia shrugged her shoulders again. “And no, Corporal, I am not following you. You are simply a very noisy young man. Sometimes, the echo of your adventures reaches me and... really, Mr. Egobar... Ad Abar? Are you serious? You might as well have written that you are a relative of Hec Abar right over your mask. I don’t think the Imperial family would be very happy with such revelations.”

“And what does that have to do with this?”

“I’m just…” She pulled her cigarette from its holder, stubbed it out on the wall, and with a flick of her fingers, sent it into someone’s back with the same deftness Milar might’ve exhibited. “Sharing, so to speak, my trump cards with you. You love playing Sevens, don’t you? Consider this me skillfully raising the stakes.”

“I can hear your heart beating, Miss Shpritz.”

Taisia blinked both coquettishly and, to an equal degree, mockingly at him.

“Did you use such beautiful words to charm the daughter of the Governor-General of Shamtur?” Taisia opened her handbag, took out a piece of paper, and quickly wrote something on it with lipstick. “Here, Mr. Investigator. If you become interested in my offer, you can find me here.”

She patted him on the forearm and disappeared into the crowd as quickly as she had appeared. Ardan looked at the address:

“The New City. Intersection of 116th Street and New Time Avenue. House 47, apartment 112.”

Of course. She lived in one of the most expensive places in the Metropolis.

And… Ardi couldn’t really claim that this deal was beneficial to her alone.

Milar certainly wouldn’t be happy...

***

“And what, should I rejoice now or something?” Captain Pnev said with an angry grunt.

They were sitting in the “Eltir” café not far from the Markov Canal. Outside the window, the already familiar, fine rain drummed on the roofs.

It wasn’t the kind of rain that made you rush to hide under a canopy or open an umbrella over your head, but a completely imperceptible drizzle.

And it was all the more unpleasant for it.

“But we have an opportunity to get to the Narikhman.”

“Get to the Narikhman,” Milar repeated mockingly, looking, as always, a little tired, but simultaneously energetic, and in some ways, even optimistic. “I already said that I have an in with the Daggers and that we can use them-”

“Actually, you didn’t say that,” Ardi reminded him. “You remained meaningfully and quite theatrically silent when we asked you what you were talking about before.”

Milar opened his mouth and immediately closed it.

“I didn’t want to give you false hope,” he grumbled barely audibly. “But I never expected that you would immediately climb into the same bed with the Dandy.”

“I didn’t get in any beds with him, Milar.”

The captain waved his cigarette in the air.

“That was figurative, and I am sure you already knew that I didn’t mean it literally.”

Ardan remained silent.

“Alright,” the captain put aside his Times of Politics and Peace newspaper.

On it, in large font, was the scandalous headline “The eldest daughter of the Orman family—a disgrace to the aristocracy, or just a rebel?” and below, there was a close-up photograph of Tess singing at the opening of the Baliero Concert Hall.

“Let’s assume that you have already been given the information related to Mr. Navalov, may the Eternal Angels be merciful to him.”

Ardan nodded and showed him a thin cardboard envelope with several documents in it.

“Did you look at it?”

Continuing to sip his spicy cocoa with cinnamon, Ardi untied the ribbons around it and pushed the envelope toward Milar.

“They’re mostly reports on financial activity and some of the man’s correspondence with various colleagues from the Architects’ Guild,” Ardi had carefully looked through all the papers that had been dropped into his mailbox at “Bruce’s” that morning.

“Any enemies, people who envied him or wanted him gone?” Milar, holding a cigarette at his temple, leafed through the documents and occasionally pulled out letters from the general pile. He paid slightly more attention to them than to everything else.

“The list is about as long as your list of Senior and Grand Magisters who visited those charity evenings for the orphans,” Ardi answered glumly.

“Yeeeeah,” Milar drawled and pushed the envelope away from himself. “And what are your plans?”

“I hoped you would take me to the New City, to an Manish’s firm, and then I will probably try out the underground tram lines and go to the ‘stables’ after that.”

Captain Pnev, as Ardi told him about his immediate plans, opened his eyes wider and wider.

“Listen, Magister, unless I misunderstood things, you have a deal with the Dandy.”

“And you can’t come along,” Ardi pointed a strip of dried bear meat at his partner. “It is unlikely that anyone will want to talk in the presence of one of the Cloaks.”

“A fair few people are aware of you being one by now,” Milar replied.

“That is exactly why, back on the dirigible, I thought about how it would be nice to have some useful spells on hand.” And after saying this, Ardi lightly struck the table with his staff and, in the reflection of the fogged glass, his face was covered with a light haze... before the haze dispersed, changing nothing.

“Damn it... I must have attached the vector incorrectly in the second contour...”

“And what was I supposed to be inspired by just now, Magister?” Milar asked, his tone full of friendly mockery.

“My illusion, one based on the water element,” Ardan hissed and, opening his grimoire, made several broad strokes over the formulas for his Lake Mask spell, which he sometimes worked on as entertainment. “It’s nothing that could deceive even the most negligent of Star Mages, but ordinary people- ”

“The ordinary people can wait,” Milar interrupted him firmly. “You can reduce their brains to mush with your magical tricks later, Ard. I get why you made that deal with Shpritz—I don’t approve of your hopping through so many people’s beds, but both deals, albeit barely, are acceptable. Especially considering the fact that we don’t have much else to work with yet. But how did you, forgive my directness, intend to navigate this investigation alone?”

Ardan, after closing his grimoire and hanging it back on his belt, looked meaningfully at Milar.

It was the same kind of look that Milar had recently given his subordinates on his balcony.

“You won’t kill him?” Milar immediately guessed what or, rather, whom they were talking about.

After all, he was a senior investigator of the first rank with many years of experience.

“Oglanov most likely hasn’t spent the past month and a half sitting on his hands,” Ardi answered him using Skusty’s art.

“You stop it right now with your squirrely... squirrel... Damn it, does that word even work here?”

“Not sure,” Ardan admitted honestly.

“The point is, you are not a squirrel, and I am not a fool, Magister,” Milar said firmly and fished several coins totaling ten kso out of his purse.

In the “Eltir” café, employees of the Second Chancery were fed for free (besides them, no one else went into such establishments), but it was considered good form to leave a tip.

“Don’t dodge the question.”

“I won’t do to him what he did to me,” Ardan assured him.

Milar muttered something unintelligible and extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray.

“So, if I understood you correctly, you intend to investigate the murder of Mr. Navalov alongside Peter Oglanov, after which, the Dandy will lead us to the Narikhman.”

“Yes.”

“Well, what can I say,” Milar shrugged and stood up from the table. “Congratulations on your first independent case, partner.”

Ardan, after also leaving a few coins on the table, hurried after him.

“My first independent case was in Larand, where-”

“Where you blew part of the monastery sky high, which, if I remember correctly, no one asked you to do.”

They went out into the street, where the “Derks”—eternally tired, worn out, and, at times, even somehow sickly—was already waiting for them.

“You are just taking advantage of the fact that you didn’t take part in the Larand investigation!” Ardan said in indignation. “For some reason, you don’t keep reminding me of the Treasury Tower or the Archives.”

“You’re right, Ard. When it comes to the Larand case, I can, thanks to the wonderful concept of hazing, soothe my soul by messing with you.” Milar climbed inside the creaking car that smelled of tobacco.

Ardi, throwing his staff between the seats, sat down next to him. “But seriously, we still don’t know where exactly Driba’s research could have ended up. So, I won’t tell you to stop agreeing to all sorts of murky deals with the likes of Belsky and Shpritz. But keep in mind that I am implying it.”

Ardan turned away to face the window. He genuinely didn’t like the fact that he had to form alliances, albeit temporary ones, with the kind of people whom he would’ve preferred to avoid as much as possible.

“Do you know what worries me the most, Ard?”

“That Elvira will discover all your cigarette stashes?”

Milar grimaced and started the engine, which went into a coughing fit.

“I liked you more when you didn’t understand the concept of human humor...” The captain steered onto the embankment and drove toward the New City. “No, Magister, it worries me that if the Puppeteers have their people literally everywhere—in the Black House, in the Guilds of Hunters and Mages, in the Grand, in the Guard Corps, then it is only logical to assume that they are in Parliament, too.”

“Most likely,” Ardan agreed. “But what does that have to do with us?”

“Because, Ard, in the winter, if you recall, the vote for representatives of the Lower Chamber will happen. That’s just before the Congress, where all those foreign ministers and ambassadors from all over the world will gather. You know, in case you forgot about that.”

“I remember,” Ard nodded. “But I still don’t understand what the Puppeteers can do there.”

“I don’t understand it either, Ard, but my gut tells me that the Congress is our next stop.” Milar opened the glove compartment and fished out a bunch of medallions from its cluttered depths.

These were the same kind he walked around with himself. “So, it would be good to deal with Navalov and the information leak at an Manish’s company before the New Year.”

Silently taking the signal medallions from him, Ardan turned away to face the window again.

Milar had forgotten to mention one more important detail. A little more than a week after the New Year, his wedding would take place.

And before that, he’d have his winter exams. And the finals of the Magical Boxing qualification rounds. And the curse of Allane’Eari. And...

“Maybe we shouldn’t have destroyed Morimer’s device... Manipulating time... how tempting.”

“Did you say something, Ard?”

Ardan, instead of answering him, only sighed sadly.

“Agreed,” Milar nodded.