Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 1

Part three

START-UP "WASTED LABOUR"

It is well known that the foundations of Alchemy were laid by black mages. Less well-known is the reason why they undertook such an undertaking. The first discipline of alchemy to take shape was pyrotechnics, and naturally, the first discipline to take shape was pyrotechnics.

From the University of Redstone's Young Alchemist Science Publication

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Chapter 1

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I'm a very kind black mage. I'm a very humble black mage. I'm very, very...

I wonder, after what has happened, if I should be quiet or, on the contrary, be like everyone else. Don't get me wrong. I am, of course, very clever, but acting is not my thing. I can only portray simple and natural reactions convincingly enough, and all sorts of complex behavioral constructs are more the domain of white mages. How am I supposed to behave when I don't know what I know about what I know?

And the question was relevant because Redstone was buzzing like a beehive (phew, phew, bees!). I had no idea how much noise a couple of episodes of my semi-criminal activities could generate, and, as a matter of fact, the public opinion on the subject was diametrically different from that of the authorities. The people clearly did not support the official point of view on recent events. I can imagine how this annoyed the NZAMIPS officials! I was lauded, exemplified, and admired. Blacks are so keen to be flattered! For obvious reasons, the name was not mentioned, but I knew who it was. The only thing that kept me from running through the streets screaming, "It's me! It's me!" - a zombie dog. Knights were knights, but that was a prank no one would forgive me for.

University classes were a really nerve-wracking experience. Quarter looked at me with a sly look (I had the misfortune to show him the bike!). Everywhere blacks gathered, even in threes, there was an immediate discussion about "that very incident". Nothing gets our kin more excited than someone else's fame. And absolutely all my fellow students were convinced that they could do the same thing but cooler. One of them even attempted to get from words to deeds, and Mr. Rakshat beat him up. And very thoroughly - he had to go to the healers. It was clear even to whites that the black one could not be stopped by other measures, so the bratty teacher was not to be punished for it.

It's so scary to live...

Because of such matters, the university organized an overview lecture on otherworldly phenomena, compulsory for all blacks to attend. Those who did not attend were threatened with non-credit. The lecturer was sent from NZAMIPS. A colorless-looking lady, timid and embarrassed, talked about the history of the study of the otherworldly powers, stammering out phrases such as "lethal outcome" and "no witnesses survived". She only came to life during the display of disgusting exhibits, which reeked vilely of formaldehyde in the audience.

And yet I have seen some of these exhibits without any formalin...

After the lecture, it was clear to everyone, even me, that only a well-trained Exorcist, a retired Cleaner, or an elderly Magister looking for a beautiful death could have accomplished all the above feats. The only question was, how had I survived? Logically, I had to assume that either the spirit of St. Salem had incarnated in my body or the lady speaker had been twisting things around a bit.

I have generally been good at taking hints since I was a child, but there was no need for subtlety: my underground business was in jeopardy. It was for the best: how much trouble could I get my neck into? It was true that I had my motorbike payments (five hundred crowns left) and the need to help my family. I couldn't leave them without money - Lucik went to a new school. As a last resort, I could sell my things and get at least a hundred for the same business suit.

It's time to take life more seriously. I will be twenty-one next month, and after that, there will be no more discounts for being a minor. At that age, the right students are looking for an outlet for their future employers and earning experience rather than running around with a magic bag on a motorbike. It was time to decide whether Magic or Alchemy was closer to my heart. Mr. Darkon was right. Most initiated blacks choose combat mages career (it was always easier to earn money by hand than by brains), but I had tried it and found being a cleaner to be rather monotonous. The only bad thing was that I didn't have any leads to the right companies.

And Quarter?

"Hey, Ron, how's our patent going?" I asked my mate.

"Great! If Dad doesn't stop being stingy, I'll cede your invention to Domgari Motors. The old codgers still think a student is some kind of free slave. Fear not! You'll be rich."

"Do you think this patent could be mentioned in my CV?"

"Are you going to be an alchemist?"

"I've always intended to be an alchemist."

"I thought you were..."

"And so?"

Quarter shrugged his shoulders and immediately perked up:

"Do you want to earn money?"

"You're asking!"

"I have acquaintances..." Quarter hesitated. "They've organized a business.""

"Do they need a draftsman?"

"They need brains! And a draftsman too. They have a big contract - optimizing the operation of gas generators."

"Shitty barrels, is it?"

Ron chuckled:

"Tom, you have no idea how much money goes into this business! Do you know how much shit this town puts out in a day?"

I snorted. What a start to a career! Why not, though?

"What are the conditions?"

"You're going to love it."

Of course, compared to a black mage's income, it wasn't money, but I was definitely gluttonous. From the student's point of view, it looked pretty damn attractive. And from the point of view of a wanted criminal, it was a great disguise. It wasn't just Quarter who thought an initiated black one had no business being an alchemist.

Yes, a wanted criminal, that's right! First, NZAMIPS officials hinted at a reward for saving people (Yeah, yeah!), then they offered to come and get it (they think I'm an idiot!), and then they offered a reward for information about me (go and question the ghouls). Miss Fiberty had some visitors, but she had a temper and kicked them all out. Gradually the noise died down, but the fact that the black mage, who had been practicing in the county for almost a year, was from Redstone was clear even to the reporters.

* * *

Adan Satal's career as the Senior Regional Coordinator began with a resounding failure and public humiliation. That the three months at his disposal were too little to master the situation was little consolation. Had Satal fallen prey to the ill-fated mage, his sins would have been compounded by torture and murder. But the perpetrator of the outcry was discreetly hiding somewhere.

Taking care of the mental health of those in charge is the direct task of an empath in the civil service. Miss Keweenhari was confident that whatever passions were simmering in the black mage's soul, in two or three weeks of painstaking work she could melt them down into dry pragmatism. If nothing else. So far, the only by-product of the scandal had been the relocation of the NZAMIPS regional office from Gerdana to the suburbs of Redstone.

Ms. Keweenahari made the report on the investigation at Fitzroten Manor to the coordinator in person:

"This time, we were lucky in a sense. He was drawing a pentagram on the ground. But some... dog dug the whole place and pissed on top of it. Having dug around in... this, our best expert... I don't even know such words! In short, all we can say is that the Power channel of our dog is not normal. That's it."

"Maybe I should talk to an expert myself."

"No-no! You'll kill each other. To the death."

Mr. Satal was silent, and even the empath could not tell whether he was thinking about the problem or cherishing his annoyance.

"Shall I report the results to Captain Ber?" Ms. Keweenahari broke the silence.

"No!" said the coordinator.

The empath refrained from commenting, but Mr. Satal sensed something (or it was his teamwork skills that had improved) and therefore felt it necessary to explain:

"Weren't you surprised that he changed transport just as we were setting up the ambush at the train station?"

"Strange," Miss Keweenaharie admitted. "He has used the trains so often before that the stewards have had time to come up with a nickname for him. But Captain Ber is loyal, that's for sure!"

"Who said anything about him? He's got a lot of people working in his office. I don't want to create the conditions for a leak."

The empath reluctantly nodded in acknowledgment of his rightness and immediately perked up:

"Do you think that mage has a support society?"

"Rather unsupport society." Mr. Sattal grimaced. "There's been talk in certain circles about the Artisan again, which means there will be casualties. But I'm not Larkes! I won't tread on anyone's toes. If they come out, I'll blow their heads off!"

Miss Keweenahari shook her head conciliatorily:

"There needs to be some kind of incubation period to revive the community, if there is anything to revive at all. Or do you think they did what happened on the estate?"

"Do you mean Grokk?" The coordinator cocked an eyebrow. "Nonsense! The old ram went into the jaws of the Ghouls to cover his tracks. He's had seven men go missing since he's been on the job, and that's just the ones we know about. He had to prove to everyone that the phenomenon was not so dangerous."

This brief analysis perfectly complemented the image of the bloated and impudent black mage whom Miss Keweenaharie had caught as head of the Department for the Elimination of Otherworldly Phenomena.

"I think I should work with the whites here," the empath decided. }And I should get some information on the Redstone Artisans if they were here."

"Tell the secretary to make a statement. I'll sign..." The coordinator suddenly hesitated. "And one more thing, Miss Keweenahari..."

"Rona, just Rona," the empath smiled.

"Yes?.. That's great! Then... just Dan."

Rona Kewinahari smiled and left the office of the Senior Regional Coordinator, temporarily located in the NZAMIPS office in Redstone.

Today they had passed an important milestone. The move to informal communication meant Satal no longer perceived her as a suspicious spy. The trust had been established! It may turn out for a change that the management did not go wrong with the new coordinator. This black one can hold his own, is compassionate, ready to adapt to teamwork, and excessive aggressiveness in the current situation is more of a plus than a minus. This needs to be reflected in the report!

Miss Kavinahari bowed to Captain Ber in the corridor, noting that the Redstone NZAMIPS chief looked particularly melancholy (he must be hiding something), and hurried off - she had a visit to the university and two review lectures ahead of her today.

Steamtrain gave the empath a bleak look. When he was told that the regional leadership was occupying his office, at first, the captain couldn't believe his ears. Not enough for them to have the complex of buildings taken from the cleaners? The place was as big as a tram. Alas! Had to shake and seal the subordinates because the Senior Coordinator was designed to occupy his, Ber, office, and the captain himself was forced to move into the accounting department. In a sense, the idea was not a bad one - women payroll clerks began to energetically woo the bachelor boss. And among them were such steals that the oh-ho. But it was a shame!

On the other hand, the approval of the documents was carried out at a phenomenal speed.

For example, increased funding for the agent network at the university. Steamtrain was not sure that the coordinator took his arguments seriously, but the logic was ironclad, and Satal did not dare to argue with it - it was easier for him to give money.

No, the captain understood that it was difficult to imagine a rookie as such a successful exorcist. Difficult, but possible! First, according to Steatrain's experts, in all the cases the unknown mage had used the one and only spell - the Fire Seal. It was simply impossible to think of anything simpler. It was another matter of what effect was achieved. Second, they had checked every Redstone mage who matched the description of the Black Knight. And third, who but a student would risk their skin for that kind of money?

"The rookie," the captain whispered confidentially to his superior.

"Student?" the coordinator wrinkled his nose grudgingly as he tried to step away from the massive frame of the Steamtrain. "With skills like that? Three Ghouls at the same time practically with his bare hands, and even impromptu, as if he had scratched his heel! I hate to say it, but there is no personality of such magnitude among the fighters I know."

"Talented student!" Steamtrain hovered over the black one in a big warm cloud.

And Mr. Satal gave up:

"Good. Ask the university professors if they have any aspiring geniuses in mind."

"And a genius with money."

"That's right. We catch him or not, but we'll at least follow him. This guy's gonna need to be recruited."

Recruit! First, we have to find him. The experienced operative's gut felt that everyone would have to make a good run for it first.

But it wasn't the thought of the Black Knight that made Captain Ber wander around the office looking businesslike and without a specific purpose. He was no mage, nor did he possess any Sources, but years of service and life's troubles had taught him to sense trouble approaching, even when all the others found reasons only to have fun. And now Steamtrain was haunted by the feeling that the situation was in the wrong shape.

Logically, there was no way events in the county were going to lead to a black magician's triumph. All the conditions for disaster were in place: a disbanded clean-up crew with a fat idiot at its head, a prolonged disregard by the central office for any requests from the Redstone branch, a young coordinator who did not yet know what was what, and a press determined to make a scandal of it. The situation bore the hallmarks of serious planning, and then an enterprising entrepreneur emerged on the scene, went through the pains spots, and swapped the minus for the plus. And what's particularly bad is that Larkes definitely had a part to play in the play. Captain Behr sensed in his gut that trouble was coming, though it could not be ruled out that it was the change of cabinet.

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