Matabar

Book II. Chapter 64 - Short business trip

Chapter 64

Ardi had already raised his staff to summon a shield, and as he did so, he was weighing who could be behind the sudden stop. All sorts of wild scenarios clamored in his mind. From the unknown culprits of the Little Viroeira massacre, the Tazidahian mutants, to Driba’s colleagues (his staff and grimoire were still at the “Stables”), Night folksand possibly other minions of the Puppeteers—all of it tangled together into one dense, bloody snarl of half-formed visions.

“Again...” Tess breathed out calmly, almost resigned to her fate.

Ardan felt as though a bucket of icy water had been thrown over him. Normally, something like that wouldn’t have much effect on him, beyond a bit of surprise. And in fact, it was that very same emotion—utter astonishment—that overtook Ardan now.

“What’s happening?”

“Terrorists again?”

“Damn it! I have a hair appointment today—I can’t die now!”

“And I left dumplings on the stove. I forgot to turn it off.”

All sorts of exclamations rang out through the tram car… yet the number of people speaking out loud didn’t exceed the number of fingers on two hands, with the majority of people displaying truly heroic composure.

“Don’t worry, Ardi,” Tess said, gently stroking his hand as always. “It’s only-”

She was interrupted by a rasping ley-speaker that was situated somewhere in the middle of the ceiling. A muffled, distant voice announced: “Please, do not wor...ry... Remain ca...lm. The track gener...tor has malfunc...oned. It will be fi...xed soon, and we will res...ume our journey.”

With another crackling click, the speaker fell silent, and the anxious passengers of the underground tram relaxed a bit.

“Such things sometimes happen,” Tess added. “The first and, actually, only time I rode from the New City to Niewsky Prospect, I nearly surrendered my soul to the angels when everything went dark and stopped.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Ardan asked.

Ardi’s eyes, which were far better in the dark than any human’s, caught Tess giving him a small smile—not quite sad, more sentimental—as she directed her unfocused gaze toward where she believed his face to be.

“Would you have come down here even once if I had told you?”

“No,” Ardan answered immediately, without a second thought.

“Which is exactly why I didn’t mention it,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder. “Sometimes, Ardi-the-wizard, it seems like a locked closet frightens you more than all the things you face working for the Black House.”

Of course, Tess didn’t know even half—no, not even a fifth—of everything that went on in that part of Ardan’s life that was tied to the blood and horrors of the Empire and the world at large. But Tess was a clever, perceptive girl who’d been raised in the family of Shamtur’s Governor-General, where there had been horrors and blood aplenty as well.

“I can’t help it,” Ardi sighed. With almost anyone else, he’d have hurried to change the subject, but with Tess, he never felt awkward discussing his fears and worries. “I’d take anything over an elevator, or a closet, or a cellar, or...”

Ardan fell silent, swallowing the words “underground tram lines.”

“Then why did you suggest we do this?” Tess asked, her tone free of reproach or any hurt mixed with indignation—there was only genuine curiosity and equally genuine concern.

“We agreed that we should give it a try,” Ardan answered honestly. “And I was hoping it wouldn’t be so scary down here, and that I could handle it.”

“And how’s that going for you?”

Ardan listened to his body. It felt like he was suffocating, and everything around him was closing in faster with each passing second. Any moment now—just one more heartbeat, one more instant—and the walls would collapse and crush him, entombing him beneath tons of rock and dozens of meters of stone oblivion.

“Not so well, dear.”

Tess squeezed his hand a little tighter.

“Then, darling, either we’ll have to think about getting an automobile someday, or else we’ll slowly end up in a ridiculous situation where, whenever we travel somewhere together, we spend most of the day hopping from one tram transfer to another.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Metropolis authorities have refused to expand the surface tram lines,” Tess explained. She was far more familiar with the everyday happenings of the city than Ardi. “They announced that the funds for His Imperial Majesty’s Transportation Reform have been completely spent and allocated to the underground lines. They also said that surface transport, especially in Old Town, has reached the limits of its development.”

“Even the mechanical omnibuses they have in the New City? They won’t be coming to Old Town either?”

Tess nodded, then immediately laughed. “Oh, I just nodded, but it’s so dark that you couldn’t see that... wait. You can actually see, right?”

Ardan nodded, and then he burst into laughter.

“You just nodded, didn’t you?” Tess asked with a smile.

“Mm-hm.”

They both laughed again, which drew some disapproving whispers from the passengers around them.

All in all, what Tess had just said made perfect sense. Yes, at first glance, the underground tram lines cost only a little, but if you did the math, a round trip came to twenty-eight kso per day, and eight and a half exes per month. If you took out weekends and counted only weekdays, that was still about six exes and some change.

Yes, for now, that was more expensive than above-ground transport, but considering the number of transfers, their general speed, and the fact that the Old Town and New City transit passes only applied to their specific areas, the underground lines ended up being much cheaper overall.

And so, in every respect, it would be more profitable for the city to expand the underground tram lines. Despite the unbelievable cost of building each station and, presumably, maintaining the whole system, the benefits were plain to see.

“Thank you,” Ardi said. He didn’t specify that he was referring to Tess’ tactful decision to not mention the fact that she could contribute to solving the problem.

After all, it was unlikely that the Dandy, who was eager to hold on to the future star of the Imperial stage and her musicians, had skimped on the number of zeroes in the contract he’d offered her. But Tess was pretending that nothing of the sort had ever happened.

“Everything will be alright, love,” was all she said in response, laying her head on his shoulder.

Ardan didn’t want to admit it, but what the Dandy had told him at the beginning of the summer had been all too true. He really did need to brace himself for what awaited him and Tess.

At last, the ley-lamps flickered, then returned to their bright glow. With a soft, vibrating hum, the tram jolted and, slowly at first, but steadily picking up speed, hurtled off into the dimly-lit tunnel.

***

They parted ways at the exit of the “Highpoint” station—so named, unsurprisingly, because it stood amid plenty of giant buildings reaching thirty, almost forty stories into the sky. The immense towers of glass, synthetic stone and steel seemed to be vying with one another to see which of them could touch the clouds first.

The station itself looked just as good as the one they’d boarded at, but owing to his anxiety that still clung to Ardan after the breakdown during their short journey, he didn’t remember the décor at all—in fact, he hardly even remembered how he’d made it to the company building.

“Good afternoon, Mister Egobar,” said a smiling doorman by the name of Jakob.

“Good day, Mister Jakob,” Ardan greeted him respectfully. At first, he had tried to learn the doorman’s surname, but Jakob had refused to share such personal information with him and had instead asked to be addressed by his first name. “How are your children?”

“Could be better, Mister Egobar,” Jakob answered with a sigh. “Even so, thank the Light that it’s nothing too serious. Just a seasonal, mild cold and some fatigue. Nothing that tea with lemon and a little syrup from the pharmacy can’t fix. The price is sadly disheartening, but what can you do. Such is life.”

Jakob, on the whole, never turned down a bit of conversation. One workday, when Ardi had slipped out on break to go to a café to read one of the works on the reading list given to him by Grand Magister Lucas Krayt (the same one who worked as a seal appraiser in the central branch of the Spell Market), he and Jakob had gotten so carried away while talking that Ardi had never even reached the café. But he’d definitely walked away with a broader understanding of how ordinary laborers lived. Medicine, as Mart Borskov had once aptly observed, was indeed at the very top of their list of priorities.

The Tend and Tendari weren’t the best places for keeping one’s body intact, so people there fell ill often, and in great numbers. The child mortality rate there remained among the highest not only in the city, but in the entire country.

So if Bazhen and Ardi wanted to “find their audience,” they needed to look precisely there. Moreover, people who earned very little were far more likely to agree to endure the hardships of an arduous journey to a poorly-located pharmacy than rich folks were. Of course, this was all assuming that Ardan could find some way to overcome the two hundred and fifty meters of river that were in the way…

“It’s sad to hear that, Mister Jakob,” Ardan said with genuine sympathy. “Light be with you.”

“Thank you, Mister Egobar, but we’re managing,” Jakob replied with a beaming smile.

It was curious: why did Ardi unfailingly find the most “light-filled” people amongst those who had the hardest lives, rather than the other way around? Atta’nha would have simply said that such was the dream of the Sleeping Spirits, and Ardi would likely have agreed.

He made a motion as if to tip his hat, but instead simply smoothed his hair that was held in place with lacquer and stepped inside the lobby. Since it was the start of the workday for Ley-companies, and the middle of the day for everyone else, the firm Garilov, Nelgs and an Manish was practically overflowing with clients.

On the first floor, every meeting room was occupied, and some people were sitting on sofas, discussing details with salespeople and department heads. The industrial boom fueled by the Transportation Reform and hefty infusions of Treasury funds into the military—especially the navy—was affecting companies like this one as well.

Ardan spotted Brant waving to him. Brant was standing with Adakiy and the supervisor of their department—the older and rather taciturn Senior Magister Idrad Radov. Adakiy had mentioned that once upon a time, Radov had been a wiry, energetic man who’d loved to joke, but in a startlingly short time, he had “softened up” and developed a pronounced sweet tooth.

This reminded Ardi a bit of the Colonel, who until recently had appeared stately and even somewhat trim, but was now rapidly growing portly. Still, all those musings were for another day.

The young man headed toward the meeting room, where the three mages had been joined by a company salesman and a client from an automobile firm, when Anila suddenly appeared in his path.

She was the first floor secretary about whom all sorts of rumors floated around the company. Ardan paid them no mind, but even he’d heard that Anila was hunting for a husband—very actively, and by any means she could muster.

They even said that Anila had specifically taken the job here to snag either a wealthy client or an equally well-off Star Engineer.

“Mister Egobar,” the black-haired secretary greeted him with a smile. “May I take your coat?”

She looked at him in such a way that Ardan felt heat bloom in his cheeks. He wasn’t used to being the focus of anyone’s overtly feminine attention—apart from Tess, of course. Typically, women paid him no attention whatsoever.

For some reason, whenever Ardan said as much to Tess, Boris or Elena, they all laughed aloud (Tess loudest of all). Ardi never understood what they found so amusing.

“I... um... thank you, Miss Verskaya,” Ardan mumbled. He removed his coat and slung it over his shoulder instead of handing it to her. “We’ll be heading out to the site soon and... have a good day.”

Due to an old habit that, ever since his days working on Polskih’s farm, had done a great job of repelling any overly chatty person, Ardan smiled wide enough to bare his canines. Alas, Anila only gave him an exaggeratedly slow flutter of her long lashes in response and struck a pose that made it impossible not to notice all of her curves, which were accentuated by her corset.

Ardan snapped his head away and hastened off toward the meeting room. Behind him, he could already hear her cooing:

“Oh, Mister Endgel, I’m so happy to see you. You’re as gallant as ever and you smell wonderful. Allow me to take your coat?”

It was no wonder that the usually courteous Professor an Manish always managed to slip a jab at Anila into his never-ending stream of compliments. Ardi, of course, never judged anyone, but he had no intention of becoming part of someone else’s circus. And certainly not without getting paid for it.

Lately, with his upcoming wedding and move on the horizon, he wasn’t likely to lift a finger unless he got paid for it. Preferably upfront.

Easing the door open quietly, Ardi caught a snippet of Brant’s speech:

“...at least three matroids, Mr. Inakov,” Brant was saying as he sketched a complex diagram connecting several sets of them on a small graphite board. “And even if, for the first pair, we add in the parameters of the Senior Seal for the main shield contour as the matroid’s carrier, and even with the family of nonempty subsets that, in the cycle, will take on the conditions you need—ultimately, we’ll still require a fourth matroid, because if we treat the first two as a cycle, then the third is purely the proper closure. And their combination…”

Brant set aside the chalk with which he had densely filled the board in fine, spiky writing, dusted off his hands, and sat down at the table.

The salesman was furiously scribbling notes down on a sheet of paper, Adakiy had his eyes rolled upward, gazing in exasperation at the ceiling, and Senior Magister Idrad Radov—slightly stout and perpetually smelling of sweet tea—was nodding with respectful understanding.

Apparently, only Ardi, who had slipped in quietly, and Mr. Lashim Inakov (chief designer and sole owner of “Lashim Motors”) hadn’t understood a thing. Granted, Ardan had grasped the gist of the term “Senior Seal” (that was the term for the main element within a construct that combined several seals into one, though that topic was at least at the Blue Star level and Ardi hadn’t gotten to it yet), but the designer likely hadn’t caught even that much. Inakov drummed the fingers of one hand, which were stained from cigarettes and graphite, on his notes, while with the other hand, he rubbed his chin, which was as sharp as a knife. Indeed, despite his fame as the former lead designer at the “Derks” company and the rather sizable fortune he’d inherited from his noble forebears, Inakov looked downright sickly and was very gaunt and pale.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Because of that, he reminded Ardan of Grand Magister Aversky and Professor Kovertsky. In truth, he was akin to all those fanatics of their craft who gladly traded proper meals and sunlight for the four walls of their laboratories.

“Could you please put that in plain terms?” he asked. His voice was soft and rich, like fresh milk being poured into a cup.

“Yes, Mr. Inakov, of course,” replied the spry fellow with the coarse and uncommon name of Odurdod Nudsky. Despite working in the company as a salesman, he understood Ley Engineering at the level of a good university graduate… because that was exactly what he was. “Our engineer, Magister Brant Und, was just saying that your idea will require a complex combination of multiple seals merged into one.”

He didn’t wear any regalia or carry a staff because, by his own admission, he wouldn’t be able to cast even a simple Shield anymore—he’d forgotten it all. His work lay in a somewhat different field now.

“Is that such a problem?” Inakov turned away from Odurdod to address Brant.

Magister Brant Und, who was also the senior engineer in their department, had already popped open his cigarette case and lit up.

“Calculating even a single base for a Pink Star matroid is no less than a month of work, Mr. Inakov,” Brant said. His hand trembled slightly. Ardan had learned that this was a sign of his intense excitement and simultaneous anxiety. “And here, we’re talking about four of them, not to mention combining them. And given your requirement for the reactionary functions of the passive shield, we’re delving into acyclic subset territory. And there, it’s not just matroids of rune connections that are needed, but vector graphs as well. It all starts to tangle together, everything interpenetrating in the calculations. You understand?”

“No,” Inakov answered honestly. “Just as you, Magister, would hardly understand it if I were to start discussing the theoretical ideas behind designing a hydraulic transmission with you.”

“Most likely not,” Brant nodded.

Inakov turned to the salesman who was technically the head of their department, even though those laurels realistically belonged to Senior Magister Radov, who, at the moment, was quietly sipping his tea. Ardi even got the impression that the client meeting didn’t interest Radov at all, for whatever reason.

“How much will it cost?” Inakov asked, finally voicing the key question.

The salesman opened the service catalog, armed himself with an arithmometer, and after a few lightning-quick clicks of its levers and keys, he pronounced a staggering sum:

“The cost to design, calculate and develop a composite seal of the highest class, including four Pink Star matroids and up to ten paired combinations of bipartite graphs, also of the Pink Star level, comes out to two thousand, one hundred and thirty exes,” Odurdod declared. “That’s with the discount, since you paid half the cost of the initial project up front.”

Ardan suddenly found it hard to breathe. This wasn’t even the total cost of the entire project to fully connect the workshop to the Ley-equipment and erect the stationary shields—it was just a single add-on to the design!

“Mr. Odurdod, include the maintenance costs as well, please,” Adakiy requested.

The salesman nodded and clicked away on the arithmometer again.

“With such a significant complication added to the project, the monthly fee for servicing, fine-tuning, and keeping the seals active...” Odurdod had to pause and cough after leaning back from his well-worn arithmometer. “...will be three hundred and seventy-five exes per month.”

Ardi felt as if he were back underground. Or in an elevator. Or maybe even in that crevice he’d fallen into as a child while playing with Shali. The sum was beyond insane and plainly impossible for the vast majority of the Empire’s citizens to even countenance.

And not just its citizens—most small businesses and companies, too.

“Alright,” Inakov agreed suddenly, plunging the room into a ringing silence for a moment. “Let’s add that calculation to the final estimate. Are there any other points to discuss?”

The engineers exchanged glances with Odurdod, who only gave them a brief shrug. Considering that even Ardan’s modest knowledge was enough to figure out that, in the coming months, Brant, Adakiy and Senior Magister Radov, who still seemed indifferent to all of this, were in for some extremely busy days—days spent hunched over arithmometers and endless calculations, experiments, revisions, and everything else that comes with such complex projects—there was nothing else to discuss at the moment.

“Then let’s head to the site, gentlemen,” Inakov said, bracing himself on the table as he rose from his chair. He glanced at an expensive watch, which Ardi recognized because a timepiece of that same make, a Liniri Irika, sat on his own wrist. “The day is nearly over, and we haven’t inspected a thing yet.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Magisters Und and Landyshev will go with you,” the salesman chimed in.

“We’ll take the intern as well,” Brant Und added, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray and grabbing his coat and cloak from the rack.

“Intern?” It really seemed like Inakov had just now noticed the extra person who’d slipped into the meeting room. “Ah, Mr. Egobar, of course. Why not?”

Casting a glance at Ardi’s wrist and arching an eyebrow slightly in surprise, the former “Derks” designer and now owner of his own company bowed to everyone and stepped out the door.

“Senior Magister Radov?” Adakiy addressed the elderly mage.

Radov saluted him with his favorite teacup.

“Go on without me,” Radov replied in a calm, velvety voice as sweet as the tea itself. “I’ve seen enough products of industrialization in my day. I prefer old-fashioned cabs and horses rather than these soulless automobiles.”

Considering the fact that Radov was past fifty, he truly did remember the fairly recent days when horse-drawn carriages had still traversed the city. And he remembered them well, having witnessed the first great transportation boom as a young man.

“As you wish, Senior Magister,” Adakiy nodded.

Radov was well-respected in the company. True, he was nowhere near an Manish’s level, and his Stars, which had three, three and four rays, didn’t inspire much awe. But… Idrad Radov was a scrupulous, meticulous, thoughtful mage who, most importantly, lacked any sort of inflated ego. He simply loved his matrix equations for the displacement of rune connections, which had earned him the medallion of Senior Magister. He seemed to love tea and his granddaughter just as much. He’d even brought her to the company twice since Ardan had started working there.

He’d loved showing her the testing grounds and the Ley-equipment. The giggling girl with the cute pigtails who’d always worn a dress, knee socks and patent leather shoes had laughed with delight and constantly tried to play with the “glowing gizmos.”

“Let’s go, Ard,” Brant called out, now with his hat perched on his head.

“Wait for me!” Odurdod Nudsky yelped and, as he rose from his seat… he nearly smacked right into Ardi’s belt.

Considering that Odurdod wore glasses with slightly cloudy lenses that didn’t distort his facial features, Ardi had long since concluded that Odurdod had a bit of dwarf blood in him. Maybe not directly—perhaps from a generation back or so—but it was there. And he was rather embarrassed about it. And so Ardan never brought up the topic.

The four of them crossed through the foyer, where Anila was already cooing at yet another engineer. He looked to be from the Ley-mechanics department, who were, at the moment, assembling, calibrating and fine-tuning the generators for Mr. Inakov’s project.

Outside, they cut through the crowd and, ducking into a side alley, piled into Brant’s automobile.

“I still don’t understand how you can live on the border with the Tend, my friend…” Adakiy said as he plopped into the seat beside the car’s owner. He suffered from an intense seasickness that, inexplicably, extended even to traveling by car. Only the front seat kept the motion sickness at bay. “…and yet you drive a ‘Natir.’”

“Natir” was a brand of outrageously expensive automobiles favored by the nobility. They weren’t as flashy as the models popular among the fashionistas and wealthy of Baliero, but they boasted the highest build quality and an interior as comfortable as a hotel suite.

“What, you want me to switch to a ‘Shvenlik?’” Brant grunted, turning the ignition key.

Ardi was more familiar with the “Shvenlik” model—it was one tier above a “Derks”—than with any other car make, since that was what the Orcish Jackets had once bought in bulk, and whenever they upgraded their “wheels,” they stayed loyal to that first choice.

“And furthermore, Adakiy, a lovely lady will see my regalia first, then my face, then my car, and only at the very end will she care about where I’m taking off her unmentionables. Whether it’s out by the border with the Tend or over on New Time Avenue doesn’t matter at that point.”

“Brant!” Adakiy and Odurdod exclaimed together.

“Oh, pardon me, my married gentlemen and…” Brant glanced into the rearview mirror and winked at Ardi, “...almost-married gentleman, for troubling your ears with the details of a wonderful, obligation-free, no-crying-or-scolding-included bachelor life.”

“Respectable girls won’t even look at your regalia, Brant—and certainly not at your car,” Odurdod huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“You can tell that to your old folks, Mr. Nudsky,” Brant shot back, pulling out into traffic and speeding off toward Tendari. “About those days when, before marriage, only loose women or courtesans would share a bed with you. Nowadays, it’s perfectly normal. Some even live together without church or marriage papers.”

“What filth… I personally see nothing normal in that,” Odurdod groused.

Brant just shrugged and lit a cigarette. As if on cue, Adakiy and Odurdod took out their own cigarettes, while Ardi lowered his window and let the cool, if not exactly fresh, New City air wash over his face.

“Urbanization, Odurdod,” Adakiy observed, exhaling a plume of smoke and half-closing his eyes. “Girls from villages and little towns move to the capital. Same with the lads. And over here, you’ve got so many people and so few busybodies. No one’s peeking over your fence or telling the whole town who came into your house and when, because in each building, there are hundreds of people, each with their own concerns. So the young—and not so young,” he nodded toward Brant at the wheel, “can indulge in those pleasures people only whispered about back in your day.”

“We weren’t whispering about anything,” Odurdod protested. “And anyway, let’s change the subject, gentlemen. Otherwise, I’ll have to wash out my ears and take something for my heart so I don’t end up mourning your lost generation ahead of time.”

“If our generation is lost, then what does that make Mr. Egobar’s?” Brant said, and as they stopped at a light, he lifted a hand from the wheel to gesture toward Ardi.

“Not even a demon could sort that out,” Odurdod boomed with laughter. “By the way, what do you make of the latest news?”

“You mean what all the papers have been droning on about for the past two weeks?” Adakiy clarified. “About Tazidah unpegging its currency from Ertalain?”

“Mm-hm.”

“What’s even left to say, Odurdod? We’ve already said it all a dozen times,” Brant interjected as he turned onto a broad avenue—Ardi didn’t catch its name—and drove calmly toward the cluster of looming factories ahead. “The world is cyclical. The last big war was ages ago. For us, it was the Mercenaries’ War. On the Eastern Continent, Selkado and Castilia are fighting over the Anachreon Gulf. Everyone’s economies are fattening up. The Confederation of Free Cities is unhappy that the ex is the reserve currency when it comes to Shallow Sea trade, and they’re trying to puff up their own exchange to push the ex off the throne. So... there will be war.”

“War, you say?” Odurdod looked dubious.

“Sooner or later,” Brant nodded. “That’s how cycles work. First, there’s a big war. Then a time of peace. Then some small war in one region. Then a bunch of small wars in various regions. Then another big war. And so on, round and round. A typical cycle.”

As if to confirm Brant’s words, they drove past an Imperial Army recruiting station. In addition to the regular draft, which was conducted like a lottery, the army was also taking volunteers. And each year, more and more young people volunteered for a very simple reason.

Ardan glanced at a poster of Pavel IV, depicted in an officer’s uniform astride a horse, and below it, a slogan:

“Join the ranks of the Empire’s valiant army. Stand beside your brothers!

Monthly pay for a third-rank private: 15 exes, 15 kso.

Monthly pay for a lieutenant: 45 exes, 45 kso.”

Of course, the poster didn’t show the entire pay scale—only the lowest enlisted rank and the lowest officer rank. But even so, Ardi distinctly remembered that last year, there had not only been fewer of these posters, but the figures on them had been much more modest.

Nowadays, the average young man really had to think: was spending several years after school learning a trade and living who-knows-how and where worth it? After all, they could always sign a contract with the Army, which, besides a salary, promised plenty of benefits, including housing of all things.

“The real world isn’t a scientific experiment, Mr. Und,” Odurdod insisted.

“Oh? Then what would you say about what’s happening on the Fatian border right now and, to a lesser extent, the Armondian border?” Brant asked, also opening his window and casually resting an elbow on the door—an utterly foppish way to drive. “Even our dear Principality of Taia on our southern border has already built two naval bases. And that’s despite the fact that, because of the Mercenaries’ War treaty, they don’t—and can’t—have a fleet of their own. So who are those bases for, then?”

“Well, they’re allowed to build bases if they want…”

“To what end? So seagulls and dolphins can frolic there?” Brant retorted a shade more sharply than before. “They don’t need coastal fortresses to go for a swim.”

“And they’d still need a pretext,” Adakiy added suddenly. “A casus belli doesn’t just invent itself.”

“They’ll come up with any old excuse, Adakiy, and without any help from us. Maybe something like that recent explosion outside the Tazidahian embassy,” Brant said with a sour expression, and Ardan involuntarily cleared his throat. “It’s like two conflicting seals in a compound spell. You can add as many other seals around them as you want, but there will still be a few strongest ones. And those few will clash until one devours all the others.”

“I know the principle of parent and child objects,” Odurdod interjected.

Ardan didn’t know anything about that principle, but he kept the torrent of questions to himself. He didn’t want to interrupt the flow of conversation.

“Then look at it this way: we have the Empire, with an enormous wealth of resources and the largest internal market on the planet,” Brant enumerated. “We are, as they say, both our own farmers and our own builders. There’s the Confederation, which survives solely by controlling the sea routes. There’s Selkado, which, by every metric, is basically a miniature Empire. And there’s Tazidahian which... what’s it doing? Right. Forcing everyone around it to their knees because it’s trying to claim the same place in the sun that we and Selkado have. Only it doesn’t have the resources, or the arable land, or the market size.”

“So?” Odurdod tapped some ash into the ashtray that slid out from the central armrest at the press of a button. “Aside from the Mercenaries’ War, the only time we and Selkado ever fought side by side was during the intervention against the Dark Lord’s uprising. And everyone and their mother jumped into that one. Of course, they all ended up buried. On our soil, no less.”

“Sure,” Brant nodded. “But you’re bringing up ancient history. That was back when even our dear Senior Magister’s beloved coaches didn’t exist yet. Those were the days of crossbows and plate armor. Arquebuses and mortars were the cutting edge of tech. Shipping an army across the Swallow Ocean or the Shallow Seas was a logistical nightmare, and considering the fact that it was wooden ships with a couple hundred soldiers each—virtually impossible. But iron steamships, where each of them can carry thousands of troops across the water—that’s a different story.”

“I get it, Brant. But I still don’t see the motive.”

“What motive do you need, Odurdod, besides greed? Not the kind poets go on about, either. I’m talking about the greed that is at the heart of every conflict,” Brant said as he turned down a side street, and soon, they were cruising alongside the high fences of an industrial district. “The greed for money. For power. For making sure it’s your view of the world, your country, or you yourself who can impose your will on others. And also the greedy desire to live more comfortably, more lavishly, more sweetly than everyone else.”

“So greed is eternal. Yet there’s no war at the moment.”

“Because there’s also fear,” Brant countered immediately. “And when fear outweighs greed, you get peace and quiet. Because when you’re afraid, you hide your fists instead of shoving them under everyone’s nose. But then, when things stay calm for too long, the fear grows smaller and smaller until—pow! Greed takes the throne. And then comes war. Mark my words, Odurdod: before twenty years are out, the Fatian Massacre will seem like a silly, absurd little scuffle to us.”

For a moment, a silence—cheap, perhaps, but nonetheless tense—filled the cabin of the expensive automobile.

“You speak rather coldly about all these horrors, my dear Mr. Und,” Odurdod said with a shiver. “It seems to me like only someone far from the front lines can talk so calmly about war.”

“As if you yourself, my dear Mr. Nudsky, are any closer to them,” Brant retorted.

“I participated in the Fatian Massacre!” Odurdod huffed.

“You delivered generators to an officers’ rear post!” Brant and Adakiy chorused like they’d heard this tale many times before.

“I have a scar from shrap-”

“You fell off a horse!” The two engineers bellowed in unison again. “Spare us!”

“That doesn’t count,” Brant said, snuffing out his cigarette and easing off the accelerator. It seemed like they were nearly there. “And I’m speaking calmly because it’s not coming soon. Not in my lifetime, or yours, either. And mages over fifty aren’t taken to the front. See, it’s Mr. Egobar here who should be worried. Me, I’ve got nothing to fret about.”

They finally stopped by a pristine concrete wall topped with a web of barbed wire. Unlike the others, this fence had yet to be stained with soot, oil or grime. Even the approach to its gates—gleaming with fresh paint—was smooth, brand-new asphalt rather than a churned mess of gravel and mud.

This was a brand new, if very small, factory. Ardan, eyeing the brick smokestacks and the steel-paneled roofs of the workshops and warehouses beyond the fence, couldn’t shake the thought that he and Bazhen were going to be dealing with far more expenses than they’d planned. Or perhaps it was simply the fact that, next to someone else’s enterprise where hundreds of exes were tossed about as lightly as he and Bazhen dealt in tens of them, everything of his looked modest.

“What interests me a lot more right now, gentlemen,” Brant said, pulling out a fresh cigarette, “is why Inakov is so nervous and on edge.” Ardi was pretty sure that only agents of the Second Chancery smoked more than engineers.

“He’s worried?” Ardi spoke up for the first time during the ride.

“Ah...” Brant began, then smacked himself on the forehead. “You probably didn’t catch a thing that was said, did you, Mr. Egobar?”

“That’s right,” Ardi confirmed.

“Adakiy, would you enlighten our clever but still undereducated temporary colleague, please.”

“It’s really not that complicated, Ard,” Adakiy said, turning toward the young man as he lit a second cigarette. “What Inakov is requesting for his Ley-workshop is the absolute highest class of protection. Those kinds of elaborate systems are usually installed at big financial institutions, or the homes of aristocrats with a bad case of paranoia.”

Ardan could swear he heard something click in his mind. All this time—almost three weeks now—he’d been searching within an Manish’s company for anything that stood out. But no matter how much he’d listened or watched, the engineering company’s routine had seemed… just that. Routine.

Nothing unexpected, out-of-the-ordinary or strange had happened. Until today.

“What about factories?” Ardi asked.

“Never!” All three of his colleagues answered at once, and Adakiy continued, “For a setup like that, Ard, you need a dedicated Pink Star generator. That alone costs as much as an entire workshop at some factories. And then there’s debugging, maintenance, consumables... keeping a shield like that running could eat up half the profit margins of a small enterprise.”

“And you think it’s strange that Inakov has that kind of money?” Ardi asked, being as careful as a hunter on the Alcadian trails while slowly stalking toward the heart of the matter.

“He’s got plenty of money,” Odurdod said, leaning forward as he pressed the button to send the ashtray slinking back into the armrest. “There’s his inheritance from his noble family, plus the shares of “Derks” that he sold off. That’s more than sufficient to make him rich. It’s something else that’s odd, Ard.”

“What?”

“It’s this, Mr. Egobar,” Brant broke in again, a bit aggressively. He tended to get fired up during long conversations and could, out of nowhere, start spitting venom—that was just the kind of person he was. “Our department has never handled such an order. It’s way too large and complex. That sort of thing, you see, is what Grand Magister Garilov’s department works on under his personal supervision. But no—the request came to us. A year ago, Inakov specifically asked for our team.”

“Not us specifically,” Adakiy corrected him. “He asked for Mr. Radov. But you get the idea, Ard. So yes, it’s odd. A little. But as you know, the rich have their quirks.”

“They certainly do,” Odurdod agreed, patting the seat. “For us, the main thing is that we get our bonuses on time. And our cut of the deal.”

“And in order to earn that coveted percentage, gentlemen, let’s get a move on,” Brant said as he leaped out of the car. “We still have to measure the entire workshop, draft a plan, lay out the wiring, and run the calculations. And I’d like to finish before nightfall.”

As Ardan climbed out and retrieved his staff from its special compartment, he felt a prickling on his skin—he had finally stumbled onto a thread. He didn’t yet know where it would lead him, but he had no intention of letting go.