Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 4

Chapter 4

* * *

The window of Conrad Ber's office faced west, which meant that when the sun went down, it looked directly into it. In summer, an old tree protected the room from the harsh light, but now its leafless branches only added to the chaos, leaving bizarre reticulated shadows on the wall. However, the master of the office did not close the curtains - it was to his advantage to add a certain uneasiness to the atmosphere. When a policeman nicknamed "Steamtrain" manages to rise to the rank of captain, he willy-nilly develops little tricks.

A Senior Regional Coordinator arrived in Redstone from the capital. A different one, not Larkes, to whom Steamtrain had managed to grow accustomed. Larkes, it was explained, had been given another position, and it was unclear whether this was a promotion or whether the former leader had been sent to King's Island to chase Rustler. Rumor had it that the new coordinator was skilled in black magic, young, and pathologically active. Arriving in town by the five o'clock express, he demanded an emergency meeting by six o'clock. None of his mages to the meeting captain did invite (too much trouble), but the suit of higher protection was put on (just in case), and the secretary replaced the quick guy from the guard (no need to delay at work, mother of three children). The senior analyst, the head of the investigation team, and the patrol officer on duty were summoned to the office.

It remains to be seen what the bosses have got into their heads.

The young, perhaps even too young, Senior Coordinator did not come to the meeting alone: with him but carefully keeping her distance, came a young woman of inconspicuous appearance, dressed much like a filing clerk but with a stunningly penetrating look of green eyes. Steamtrain made a simpler face. His appearance allows this. It was not the first time he had met an empath, and something told him that this girl with epaulets in ability resembled a walking X-ray.

Well, the coordinator made that move for nothing: Conrad Ber is not the son of a glazier. But here's the question: what made the black mage work in tandem with the white one? Strange winds must be blowing on the peaks...

"Senior Coordinator Satal, Miss Keweenahari," the Captain introduced the entrants, "Mr. Vosker, Inspector Stoss, Lieutenant Hamirson. What can we do for you?"

The coordinator looked around the office with obvious displeasure: having had plenty of experience with the black mages who made up a quarter of his subordinates, Captain Ber had arranged the furniture in advance so that the capital guest could not infiltrate the place of the master of the office. And he doesn't care how strange it looks! If the black one's instinctive advances were not suppressed at the outset, he would have to fight him all the way to find out who was the boss.

The guest hesitated for a few seconds but did not venture through the pile of chairs. His companion smiled faintly and sat down in the chair assigned to her.

"The reason for our visit was the disturbing reports coming from around Redstone..."

"...and the management has decided to grant our request for staffing?" Ber continued for him.

Mr. Sattal twitched his shoulder irritably:

"It's about the lawlessness going on in Redstone County!"

The coordinator said the magic word 'county', and the captain relaxed a little. Officially his authority ended at the outskirts of the town, and the county office had not sent any inquiries lately.

"Something specific?"

It was not a simple matter. Steamtrain could name a dozen incidents that could be characterized as malfeasance in office. But he did not want to drown the NZAMIPS District Chief - the old man deserved his honorable retirement.

"Illegal practices. At least five episodes!"

The captain instantly knew what he was talking about. No, he had no agents of his own in the district, but most of the Ber family lived in the countryside, so regular visits from cousins and aunts were enough to keep him up to date on all the gossip. There was no point in denying a well-known fact, and the captain allowed himself to correct the coordinator cautiously:

"More like two dozen or so."

Mr. Satal's mind went up:

"So, do you know what is going on?"

"Just a rumor, sir. The county is out of my jurisdiction."

The coordinator pondered for some time, and Steamtrain waited patiently for the continuation. He was surprised at the speed with which the news reached the capital - usually, it took a year and a half to take the most immediate action. He had the impression that the messengers had met in the middle. In the sense that a surveillance agent was already at work somewhere in the area, and the information had gone directly to his superiors.

"And what do you know?" Ms. Keweenahari spoke up.

The captain shrugged:

"Rumour has it that you can solve your problems without having to deal with Cleaners. Fast, cheap, and with a guarantee."

And that's not to mention the fact that the unknown black mage was polite in his communication and gave discounts to families with many children.

"The question of certificate and license is simply not asked," sighed the captain.

"Do you consider this normal?"

Steamtrain shrugged again.

"Someone must do the case!"

Nor did Steamtrain want, or rather take the risk of stabbing the county Clean-up Coordinator. These two would leave, and he would have to live here. He was no stranger to the problem. Townspeople confronted by the boorishness of the county authorities often complained to Captain Ber, and he and old Yudter had to put on a whole show to get the cleaners to move their asses at least a little. Alas, their paramilitary status allowed the Office of Otherworldly Phenomena Removal, as the cleaning service was officially called, to ignore the opinion of the civilian chief of NZAMIPS. Which the cleaners did regularly and happily.

"You have a point," Mr. Satal admitted abruptly. "Everyone who's approached this mage has an explicit or implicit written waiver from the County Office of Otherworldly Phenomena Removal. There's an Internal Affairs team working there now, and I can guarantee heads will roll. They're running an almshouse on the taxpayers' dime, you know!"

There was the answer: the capital's superiors were about to instill fear in the cleaners and immediately stumbled upon a suspicious mage. Steamboat remembered Colonel Grokk's ugly face and cheered up - it was high time the head of the cleaning department a scolding!

Mr. Satal switched back to a business-like tone:

"I hope I don't need to explain what we have to do?"

"Give this guy a medal?" The captain suggested.

"Give, but not a medal!" the coordinator exploded. "The man is insane with greed. He performs exorcism rituals at intervals of five or six days. He has no time for basic regeneration. We must stop him before he destroys himself and those around him!"

Steamtrain nodded sadly. Yes, blacks are essential all the same. You loosen the reins a little, and they go berserk. It would have been strange if the crook who'd been sneaking around under the nose of the county NZAMIPS had been of a different kind. Well, get to the point!

"Do we have any statements?"

And then Mr. Satal's face literally turned black. The captain was even frightened. The only thing he needed was a psychotic boss...

"We will act pre-emptively," Ms. Keweenahari quickly intervened in the conversation. "There's no need to wait for the situation to end in disaster."

Steamtrain nodded eagerly - preventive is preventive! He was in no mood to find out if the protective suit was reliable.

"We have no statements," said the coordinator, pulling himself together, "no certified witness statements either. It's time to start a conspiracy case!"

Ber imagined the words of greeting to the NZAMIPS agents by the villagers who had suffered from the cleaners and silently sympathized with the coordinator. It was unpleasant to do one's duty and feel spit on from head to toe. It remained to be seen how they were going to find the mage, with no statement or witness statements.

"And we don't have an imprint of his aura either," Miss Keweenaharie added, very appropriately. "He uses a portable altar, uses only the simplest spells, and always carefully destroys traces of his witchcraft. Even if we get a search warrant, it's unlikely we'll find anything concrete."

"Prudent son of a bitch," Mr Satal sighed.

"And also a good psychologist." The empath seemed amused by the difficulties awaiting her colleagues. "That is a very rare quality for a black one! No one saw him without a black cloak, lacquered shoes and a valise, and then there was the cane as well. These garish attributes of the profession attracted all the attention: witnesses who agreed to talk to us could not describe his facial features and were even confused about the colour of his hair."

"Could there have been more than one participant?" Steamtrain cautiously suggested.

"How do you imagine a team of black mages working together?" snickered the coordinator. "No, his image is unique precisely because of its elusiveness. He doesn't just work with magic. He works with people. He says what they want him to say, does what they expect him to do. He is so convincing in his role that even white ones don't sense falsity. On the contrary, they are more likely to doubt the policeman's words. You can't imagine how difficult it is for a black one to achieve that!"

Captain Ber understands.

"So," he concluded, "you can only catch him red-handed."

"Exactly. The county office is now working to identify contacts."

Steamtrain thought and decided that Mr. Satal would wait a long time for results from old Yudter. The chief of the NZAMIPS district office, due to his advanced age, was not afraid of retirement and had been criticizing the policy of the capital authorities for a long time, and in foul language. He will have to talk to the old man personally - they are obliged to prevent a bloody conclusion of this story. And that it would be bloody, the captain did not doubt for a second. Then he could petition the court for leniency and even hire the enterprising lad, but first, he should just be found.

"Do you have anything in particular yet?" The captain inquired.

Ms. Keweenahari took the floor again:

"We were able to establish that our enterprising friend uses public transport in his movements. Analysis shows that the starting point of his route is most likely Redstone. In addition, there is a certain periodicity in his actions: for example, he never arrives at clients on Wednesdays. One can, of course, assume some superstition, but it is more likely that he is busy at that time at his official job."

Redstone! That's why they came to him. Steamtrain tried to work out which of his charges might have been involved in such a venture and shook his head:

"Redstone is a big city, there are a lot of black mages here, and it's also where our university is located. And this guy just needs to change his clothes to blend in with the townspeople."

Mr. Satal nodded grudgingly:

"There is a chance of tracking him down at the train station - a man in a black cloak, carrying a cane and a valise should be conspicuous."

"How many people do you intend to involve in the surveillance?" Captain Ber asked without enthusiasm, mentally assessing his options.

"Two," Miss Keweenaharie reassured him. "It would be strange for me to be sitting at the station alone, without a companion."

Within a quarter of an hour, the operation had been planned. Steamtrain couldn't help but admit that an ambush involving an empath was the surest way to solve the problem. The coordinator himself had no intention of participating in the ambush (praise be to the ancestors!) - his eyes burned with eagerness for activity, and the black one was eager to fight. Captain Ber had hoped that the District Cleansing Service would be the target of the attack. A soldier on duty at the secretary's place summoned a car, and the ferocious leadership was successfully escorted to the hotel.

As the thick cabinet doors closed behind his guests, Mr. Vosker exhaled noisily. The senior analyst at Redstone Watchdog was a nervous man, and the phrase "black mage" usually made him look very pale. How he tolerated Larkes's regular "tea-time" visits, God only knew. A meeting with his new superiors made the poor man despondent.

Inspector Stoss coughed:

"Hm. Active man."

Captain Ber only grinned:

"To shake up Grokk, that's it. He turned to Hamirson, and the lieutenant raised an eyebrow melancholy in response. Don't take anything from the county cleaners, and tell your people not to do them any favors as a friend right now. You'll have to go through me. Requests need a signature, amd documents need a visa. That goes for the rest of us, too."

The subordinates nodded understandably.

"Grokk will be twitching like a strangled man on a rope now. Don't let drag us down with him," summed up the captain.

* * *
The NZAMIPS office in the evening was empty and quiet. Mr. Satal strode proudly towards the exit, squinting disapprovingly at the ficus tubs and flowerpots while his companion maintained an impenetrable silence. The coordinator was the first to break the silence.

"Such a disgusting fellow," he gritted through his teeth. "I can't believe they make officers with faces like that!"

Miss Keweenahari smiled wryly, but her voice sounded serious and reserved:

"Konrad Ber has been working in Watchdogs longer than I have lived, has a perfect record, eliminated the incident in Nintark, and has been twice presented with an award. A skillful and responsible supervisor."

"And how does his current behavior fit in with his experience of the Nintark Massacre?" snorted the coordinator.

"He hasn't shown any enthusiasm," the empath admitted, "but to say he doesn't understand the problem is impossible. It's more likely that the captain is choosing the lesser evil. Apparently, the situation is so serious that he's willing to pay for twenty successful exorcisms with one failed one, which would kill the mage and those around him."

"Batard..."

"Cynical," the empath acknowledged, "prone to manipulating those around him, but dedicated. Looking for our figure, he will."

"I bet."

"I would like to draw your attention to the fact that the mention of the cleaning department elicits an inadequate reaction from all those interviewed."

"Of course!" Mr. Sattal almost spat in anger. "I'll be damned if any of these scum are going to stay in service!!!"

"It's the center's fault," Miss Keweenaharie reminded him. "It was understandable that ten years of tranquillity would be bad for a collective made up entirely of black mages."

"Over the past three years, they have had a lot of fun."

The empath did not argue. Mr. Satal lingered on the steps of the porch, staring out into the street as if expecting to see a man in a cloak and a cane in front of him.

"I haven't been here since graduation," he said quietly. "Nothing has changed! The province."

"Is there anything you would like to change?" Ms. Keweenahari shook her head.

The senior coordinator hesitated to answer. A tram rolled down the next street, rattling and jingling, and soft music came from the bar on the corner. Late employees of NZAMIPS were relieved to be leaving the office, discussing something animatedly - it was Friday.

"I don't want to," the mage said very seriously.

They did not discuss the matter any further.

* * *

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Переведено на Нотабеноиде
http://notabenoid.org/book/85505/549583

Переводчики: Camrad_RIP