Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 3

Chapter 3

* * *

The holiday that had begun so abruptly was getting better - my uncle's potion had ruined my appetite, but it had seriously improved my temper. I'd never known Source's fluctuations to affect my mood so much.

It was very timely, as it allowed me to accept my little sister and little brother without annoyance. No, I didn't mind kids, but three years ago, when we were equals, I hadn't been so bothered by the little ones; their attention had been mostly focused on their parents then. Now little Emmie was teaching me how to recognize flowers - by leading me to a buttercup, pointing at it, and saying:

"That's a chicken boot!"

I was more concerned with zoology than botany: my stepfather had put some kind of spell on the window of my room to ward off bees, but the creatures were taking their toll outside. I hadn't been stung in two days, but I feared my luck would run out.

Lucik was running around, happy and radiant, and talking about everything, that is, literally about everything. It was a real stream of consciousness, the meaning of which I could not grasp, even when I tried to understand something. Unusual behavior for an eight-year-old boy. If the awakening of the white Source had such symptoms, then what did the awakening of the black one look like? I tried to remember what I'd done to those around me when I was his age.

"You know, you were trying to boss everyone around in the early days of your awakening," Joe said at lunch, watching his offspring with an adoring look on his face. "Literally everyone, even the cats. It was so funny..."

It's a good thing these events are not imprinted on my memory.

For two days, I had shown wonders of restraint and self-control; even a very picky empath could not tell that I did not conform in some way to the image of the Genius Big Brother. On the third day, as promised, Uncle Gordon announced an expedition proposal to my kinsmen. We drank tea on the veranda, which was now also under the influence of a spell that repelled bees. The stubborn creatures flew to the edge of the spell and hovered there, humming meaningfully. I sprinkled honey on the pancakes-I didn't like bees, but I liked sweets, and the fact that they were taken from the hated insects and laced with their corpses only made it taste better.

My mother was unenthusiastic about my uncle's suggestion:

Thomas has come for a holiday...

I broke away from the pancakes:

"But, Ma! It's King's Island!"

"Besides, the boy will be able to earn a little money," said his uncle into the cup.

Money? This aspect of the expedition I haven't thought about yet.

"How much do they pay?" Joe wondered.

"Seventeen crowns a week," said my uncle. "Plus three meals a day."

Fifty crowns in three weeks! My eyes must have said it all for me: I had already seen that money, already felt its weight in my hands. Mother sighed heavily.

"Come on, Millie!" Uncle grinned. "It's only a month. You will still have time to enjoy each other's company."

"You're going to the island with the ghosts?" Lucik's eyes rounded.

"Don't be afraid, little one!" I smiled indulgently. "If they show up, your brother will seal them all off."

"There hasn't been anything going on there for ages," my stepfather sided with me.

"But no one has lived there for ages," my mother said meaningfully.

They argued some more, but, as always, I had the last word. Am I black or not? Mum sighed and started packing me up for the trip. Joe was getting in the way, annoying my mother and me alike. One good thing was that it was raining in the valley the day I left, and the bees didn't see me off.

All the way to the coast, my uncle and I drove in silence, but not because we had nothing to say. It was just that the old car was galloping over the bumps like a jerboa, howling uphill and rattling downhill; it might have cost us our tongues to try to communicate in such conditions. The few travelers would turn away at our sight and make frightening signs, the cows would kick, and the horses would buck and holler. Ha, nobody knew where we were going yet!

As far as I know, the island has always been considered forbidden. Under the old authorities, it was home to the worst prison in all of Ingernika. The new ones closed it down out of compassion for the prisoners, but since then, it's been believed that the souls of black mages dwell there after death. A century ago, a chain of beacons appeared around the island, frightening away fishing boats with a mournful chime. Opinions differed as to the reasons for these restrictions: some believed the area was home to an open gateway to the netherworld. Others claimed that the authorities were guarding the tomb of the very King, while others, referring to the legends, hinted that the King was capable of defending himself. The island had never been a tourist destination, interest in it was not encouraged, and I had never encountered any images of it.

All the more surprising was the arrival of the capital's smartasses in Krauhard. What could anyone be looking for in a place where no one had ever lived?

The archaeologists were traveling to the island from a tiny fishing village with a strange name, Dog Beach, which I don't know how anyone associates with corpses and rubbish dumps. My uncle and I were the first to arrive at the village. I was quietly breezing around in a thick knit jumper, hoping that the sea was really as cold as promised.

The hirers turned up when it was past midday. First, a huge truck rolled up to the dock, almost new, judging by the exhausts, followed by a semi-military off-road vehicle (only the army uses diesel engines for such small vehicles). Loaders and guards jumped out of the truck, and our future leadership stepped out of the car, taking their time.

"The fellows are loaded with money," said my uncle thoughtfully.

I didn't support the conversation - the hangover from the antimagic potion was surprisingly nasty.

"I won't give it to you again," my uncle said when he left, "it causes hallucinations and schizophrenic episodes after long periods of use."

I almost choked.

"Why didn't you warn me?"

"Did you have a choice?" my uncle reasonably objected. "We won't draw attention to it. The elixir will wear off in two days. Then we'll start training. I warn you. I'm not much of a teacher, so don't count on me much! Your task is not to cast spells, as Koy Gorgun. Just learn how to confidently call and release the Source you do not need special intelligence. Do you know what I mean? Gotcha?"

I nodded; I didn't have a headache at the time. The idea of making money, seeing the forbidden island, and learning a little more magic seemed appealing. Who knew I was going to be so sick?

Apart from us, three other laborers were going to the island, not locals, as far as clothes were concerned. I mean, no one wears short-sleeved clothes in Krauhard, even in summer - health is more important. The fellows did not try to get acquainted with us. I guessed that all of them were students, either from the capital or from some other part of the country. They were drinking the contents of a large leather flask and laughing. They seemed to have a very rough idea of what King's Island was all about. I was already painting in my mind the picture of a bunch of cabinet scientists on a budget trip to historic sites when this not-quite civilian truck pulled up. A pile of bales, crates, and barrels was rapidly growing on the jetty. A couple of burly men in identical overalls were taking on the cargo and shooing prying eyes away. One of them had a police baton on his belt, and the other had a knife behind the ankle of his high boot. On the boat, which was languishing in the water not far from the shore, the couples were getting ready.

I tried to push nausea away and think straight. The car, the boat, and the guards all meant that the expedition management not only had money but also knew the right places. I began to wonder:

"What are we looking for?"

The uncle only grinned in response:

"I didn't ask! Don't worry, nephew. We'll just be more careful."

The students murmured as they welcomed the expedition leader, a short, thin, and remarkably unattractive woman. It was a case where no amount of white magic could save the situation. With regular features and clear ivory skin, she flaunted the drooping eyelids of a heavy drinker and a sardonic smile that would have honored a crocodile. Behind her followed a man a head taller than she, dressed in a deliberately civil manner and with the telltale signs of a black mage.

No doubt it's a very wise decision to bring a specialist in otherworldly phenomena to the island, but we all know how much military-grade black mages cost.

"Gentlemen," the crocodile lady began her greeting, addressing mainly my uncle and me, "I am your king and god for the next four weeks, and you must address me as Mrs. Clements and nothing else. I also tell you that no drunkenness will be tolerated during the period of our collaboration," she glanced at me for some reason, though the flask was in the hands of the students, "and I warn you that everything you see or find on the island is the exclusive property of the expedition. Understood? Those who don't agree should stay ashore."

"I understand, Mrs. Clements!" Uncle chanted in the tone one uses when grooming a stubborn mare.

The crocodile lady cocked her head in a very horse-like manner, but the man behind her coughed, and there was no scandal.

"Mr. Smith is with me," she gritted through her teeth, "our safety expert. Given the specifics of the site, I demand that you report any oddities or unusual occurrences to him immediately!"

Everyone nodded agreeably, but I was a little disappointed. What, no one would be allowed to tell anyone about the island? It's a bit schizophrenic, isn't it?

A dinghy with a crackling alcohol engine came off the boat. The local fishermen on the shore were watching with interest to see if it would stall or not. If the spirit is local, it will stall for sure. I've checked it many times on my scooter. Either our climate is too humid, or the sellers are too shameless, but I failed to make the engine work steadily. What a joy it would be to be stuck between heaven and earth.

But in dry weather, the dinghy looked good and didn't float on the waves - it flew.

"Roll call!" Mrs. Clements has my attention again. "Pierre Auclairan..."

The students readily raised their hands. Mr. Smith and two guards were also counted, and one Mermer was marked as being on the ship. Last on the list were my uncle and me.

"Gordon Ferro..."

"There is one!"

"...and Thomas Tangor."

"Here," I raised my hand for clarity. Mr. Smith gave me an interesting look.

"Load up, everyone!"

She was being a bit hasty when she said "everyone" - there were four people and a couple of crates in the dinghy at a time. Mrs. Clements and the students were the first to leave, but I was not jealous; the three of them had the expedition's possessions to load and set up. On the shore, my uncle managed to maneuver the load so that everyone, including the guards and the chauffeur of the truck, took part in the loading. Naturally, we managed faster. The last boat (already without the crates) took those who had been delayed ashore to the ship. Mr. Smith sat opposite me and regarded me rather unceremoniously.

"Why did you join this expedition, Mr. Tangor?" he finally asked.

"The money, sir!" I smiled broadly. A universal excuse.

"And you, Mr. Ferro?"

"Well, someone has to look after my nephew."

"Hm..."

"Why are you going there, Mr. Smith?" I couldn't help myself.

He twitched an eyebrow in surprise. I wondered what he was expecting, starting a conversation with a black one.

"My job is to secure this shitty event!" with unexpected sincerity, he confessed.

"I can only sympathize with you," my uncle shook his head.

But Mr. Smith shook his head stubbornly:

"Everything is under control! There won't be any problems."

As they say, let us pray, brethren.

However, maybe this is an example of a rational approach based on knowledge rather than local superstition. I've been told to learn safety rules since I was five years old; I know enough about the otherworldly now to lecture at university, but nothing like what the old-timers tell me has ever happened in our valley. There were a few louts, of course... A few beasts rampaging about at night... But against the backdrop of Krowhard's sinister reputation, it was like a Lilliputian show. Perhaps the dangers of the island are exaggerated. Such things happen!

It took us about a day to reach the place. We could have sailed faster, but no one was willing to land on the island in complete darkness. I had a good night's sleep with the quiet whistle of the steam turbine, the nausea was gone, and the mood was better than ever. It was time to look around and see where I was going.

The boat slowly and carefully made its way through the fog, not as thick as on land and smelling faintly of the sea. There were no birds. The only sources of sound were the boat and the surf rustling gently nearby. We had passed the line of lighthouses in the night, and there was now a scattering of rocks and boulders on our starboard side, protruding from the sea like defensive lines. I watched idly as seaweed and fins scampered about in the foam between the rocky jaggies and guessed carefully at the shape of the wrecked dinghy in the debris. Those members of the expedition who were not struck down by seasickness awoke and began to make their way on deck. It was the moment the island chose to surprise us.

The coastal cliffs pressed against the ground, revealing a large cleft: water and wind had eaten away at the rock, the mountain had split open like a sore tooth, and there was a metal lock in the inner cavity. I could see it as the palm of my hand. My jaw even dropped. Slabs of metal, almost untouched by rust, covered the outside of the structure, and where the stones overcame the metal, layers of interior tiers and a mishmash of steel structures were visible. The years had taken away all that was superfluous, and what had survived belonged to centuries, to millennia, to eternity. It was as if the castle had had enough of solitude and peered out of the mountain to look at us with the black yawn of a failure. Just below, a debris-strewn ledge protruded from the shore, and underneath its sheer edge, we could see powerful steel trusses. It looked as if the mountains were a sham, lined with stone and hollow on the inside.

"This place is great!" I couldn't help but burst out. Yes, if they had taken just one picture, no lighthouse would have kept people away.

"The two-foot-thick plates of armor breathed with such reliability, such power, that you just wanted to bite into them. Was there anything left inside?"

"Fuck you! Such ugliness" breathed out one of the students.

I raised an eyebrow involuntarily. I thought the boy was so pale because he was seasick. Was he really scared here?

"Oh," I realized, "white one, right? That makes sense."

"What makes?" resented his companion.

"Nervousness," I shrugged.

My uncle came out of the hold and rubbed his palms together involuntarily as he looked at the shore.

"Ooh, it's delicious! What's inside?" he asked Mrs. Clements.

"None of your business!" she declared coldly. "These ruins are protected by the state, and you will not go near them."

Such a naughty woman... Uncle was visibly saddened.

The mysterious structures were quickly left behind, and I was still scratching my head, trying to figure out in what era our ancestors could have built something like that. As an alchemist, I knew how much a slab like that weighed, and I couldn't figure out how they had managed to make such a big pile, not from the outside but from the inside. I was not good at history, but I had always thought that in earlier times people had lived in a simpler way.

The situation was becoming intriguing - it wasn't just the whites on King's Island who were in for a surprise.

* * *
"You know I don't like hiring locals!" Mrs Clements carefully stirred a spoonful of white powder into a quarter of a glass of water and swallowed the mixture in one gulp. The taste of the medical stuff made her shudder again.

Her companion mumbled something lazily from his bunk.

"Plus the rowdy drunks." She hid the box of medicine in the leather case. "They weren't much use, but they would be more trouble than they were worth."

"Don't jump to conclusions. They weren't drunk." Mr. Smith raised himself on an elbow. "And as for being rowdy... Both are black, which is a great stroke of luck. Hiring them in the capital would eat up our entire budget, and here they'll work for us for next to nothing. Just leave the dealing with them to me, okay?"

"No problem!" Mrs. Clements agreed easily. "I don't think we'll need their skills at all. The last commission worked on the island three years ago, and the feedback was positive. There is still a caretaker living in the fortress. NZAMIPS would not allow such a thing if they had any doubts."

"Three years... Those three years have been too strange," Mr. Smith sighed. "But I hope you're right. It's better for everyone."

* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP