Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 5

Chapter 5

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I spent the rest of my vacation time at Bionkin writing my first-ever report. I was careful to keep up with my notes, and I didn't dare lie, but I suspected that the truth would seem like the biggest lie of all. And then what? I wasn't about to spend my days in prison for particularly dangerous mages - it was said to be disgusting. On the other hand, there didn't seem to be much reason to go on the run, either.

A normal person, let alone a white mage, would have had a heart attack from such an experience, but all that tormented me was hopeless irritation. It pissed me off that the oversight had figured out my other self so quickly. I should have said no! Do not confess anything, say, I - not me, the bike - mine, and the dog - not mine, but then no one knows how things would have turned out, but this hurt only my self-esteem. I'll get over it. But the strange pliability of the unknown mage brought up the idea of a trap.

Anyway, Captain Behr received the report from me in time, and he didn't even give me a moral lecture. And that was frightening - the policeman could not be unaware of the nature of black mages; the lack of a harsh response disorients us and creates a feeling of permissiveness, practically guaranteeing a relapse. I wondered if they were trying to provoke me into a crime. I decided to act out of spite - not to give in to anything. I would be quiet, polite, and modest, at least until I graduated - it would only take a year. I had plenty of money now, no questions asked about my Acquisition, and nothing else prevented me from concentrating entirely on alchemy. That's all I wanted to do, isn't it? As a bonus, I got four typewritten pages of instructions on "How to Keep a Zombie". It stated that zombies should be periodically given a special mineral broth. It was time to visit my favorite office and steal the necessary chemicals from Johan.

If I'd known what this would entail, I would have given the zombies up to the authorities for experiments.

At the Biokin office, I was met by a discreetly sobbing Bella, a blue-eyed brunette. So what are they up to again? The model seems to be working. Carl and Johan are dancing around it day and night, and my presence is not required. And she wouldn't get wet over a fermenting vat.

I decided to distance myself from the secretary's problems (I had no idea what to do with crying women), but I couldn't. Her sobs were bugging me in every corner of the enormous office and were driving into my brain like red-hot nails. I guessed who was having fun, and for half an hour, I meditated, trying to ward off outside influences. For some otherworldly creature to teach me how to live! It did not work: the place in my being where the Rustle had settled was not yet accessible to conscious influence (after all, I had only been a mage for a year), and the crying even intensified, obscuring all other sounds.

Should I take a break? It was less than two weeks until the end of the conditional quarantine, so if I could lock myself in my apartment and just drink, I'd be fine. But there was a menacing glow of purple under my eyelids, and it occurred to me there was no point in me doing this nonsense because of some stupid girl. I sighed and went to pay attention to my neighbors. Damn.

The girl sat there, carefully covering her tear-red eyes with the palm of her hand.

"What happened?" I muttered, trying to sound friendly.

She didn't answer, turning her face to the window.

"Maybe I can help you?"

"No..."

"How do you know? Do black magicians often offer you help?"

It sounded convincing.

She got to talking quickly. As it turned out, the girl was worried about her fiancé, a guy named Uther. I'd seen him around the office a couple of times. He works as a delivery guy. He was a typical uninitiated black one, unruly and rambunctious but with a sense of humor, which was rare for our kin. Bella's mother was against the black son-in-law. And she demanded that he be "cured" by some doctor she knew, not even an empath, to "fix his temper". The guy was really noisy and prickly, but the girl liked him, and being too stubborn was not a vice. Uther agreed (I couldn't believe it), they went to the clinic together, and Bella watched him sleep after the treatment, all calm. Only it's been two days. Yesterday he was supposed to go home, but he's nowhere. The clinic did not let the girl in and does not want to answer any questions. What to do?!

"What did they mean by treatment?" I got concerned.

The charming secretary didn't know anything about magic. She began to recall the explanations she'd been given, giving up terms like "cutting a contour" and "asserting an axis". I listened carefully, gradually becoming aware of an unpleasant thing. She could say goodbye to her Uther. After the poor girl, biting her lip carefully, outlined the shape of the sign that was present in the "procedure room," all my doubts disappeared.

"So, in fact, they used the Shackles of Deliverance on an uninitiated mage," I summarized. "Your boyfriend's already dead."

Her eyes widened in indignation.

"There's nothing you can do about it, baby. That's life. He's already dead, and the fact that he's breathing is no indication. Any mage will tell you the same thing."

"No, they wouldn't..."

"And that's another question, how they went about it. What kind of healer doesn't know the basics? Did you ask him for his license?"

She was visibly frightened and shook her head uncertainly:

"No, Madame Melones has medical school..."

"School doesn't matter. A healer's license is what's important. Magic is a part of the human being, like the liver or the heart. An initiated mage, after training, can separate his Source. It is like a third hand for him, so it can be cut off. Unpleasant, but not fatal. For an uninitiated person, an attempt to remove the Source is like a hammer to the chest, the mind and personality are left with only debris, and the fact that the body is still breathing is pure physiology. A body without a soul does not live long."

Bella seemed to be starting to make sense of what had happened.

"Yeah, baby, they killed him. I don't know if they did it consciously or not. It was like being stabbed, only there was no blood. If his relatives haven't already reported him to the police, I'd recommend doing it right away before these charlatans kill someone else."

She went very pale and fidgeted, grabbing now for her purse or the phone.

"Go ahead. I'll warn Polak." My generosity knew no bounds. "They've got the central office on Park Road. Tell their headman I sent you.

She sobbed a couple more times, took off and ran away.

Blessed be the silence!

I returned to my desk, rubbed my cup familiarly, warmed my coffee, and prepared to get acquainted with the shape the shit-can had taken in my absence. The pleasure was spoiled by the waves of approval emitted by Rustle. Look at him, an undead with morals. If I had known how I would have killed him. By the way, I need to read the literature. Maybe there is a way.

I couldn't imagine how the brainless creature could find the black mage's only vulnerability. If Rustle had bothered me with visions of flaming cities and walking corpses, I would have only chuckled merrily. But I've been told since I was a little kid that people ought to be helped. Usually, I had more or less ignored unnatural impulses, pretending not to notice anything, but Rustle had ruthlessly poked me in the contradiction between my white upbringing and my black nature. Nightmare.

It's bad enough to be a black one raised in a white family.

I never saw Bella again. The next day she took her things from the office and disappeared forever. Quarter told me that the girl had become an ascetic and was studying to become a healer. A useful thing to do!

However, my forced humanism had consequences.

Watchdogs responded to the girl's inarticulate mutterings with unexpected vigor. By the time the storm troop burst into the dubious clinic, the ill-fated Uther was already dead and ready for cremation, and there were two other blacks, and children, waiting in line for "treatment. The police rounded up everyone from the director to the technician, but most of the professionals were peaceful herbalists who had no idea that the landlady was entertaining illegal hexes. The tabloids ran headlines like "Inquisition Reborn" and "Police Mayhem," but that didn't stop the charges from being filed. The authorities announced that the clinic would be closed and demolished as a building desecrated by sacrifice.

"Just think, I was there," the atypically serious Quater twirled a glass nearly full in his hands, "and I saw that woman."

"You wanted a healing?" I sneered.

"Bite your tongue!" Ron was angry. "It's good for you to say - your folks are far away, and mine nag me every day. My mother was girlfriend with that Meloness; they're organizing a support club there now."

"Who? Bella or Uther?"

"You wouldn't understand," he brushed me off. "She was... well... typical white!"

"White is not synonymous with good," I admonished.

"I know," Quarter grimaced, "but I didn't think it was that bad."

"Get an apartment!" I sincerely advised it. "There's nothing like living without neighbors."

Especially when you have the opportunity to get rid of them.

Uther was buried on the first day of the school year, and not one, not one lousy newspaper wrote a single line about the event! It was an outrage!

Rustle and I were indignant in unison, and the results were scary. I don't know what he was going to do, but I went to the university and asked all the black mages whose names I could remember (there were quite a few) directly if they knew that the white one had killed the black one. And guess what? Absolutely everyone showed a keen interest in the case. That was the first time I heard the strange word "Artificer". The oldest teachers gritted it out with such hatred that I was ready to believe it was a real magical war, and by nightfall, someone had painted a sign on the walls of the main building that read, "Nintark Not Forgotten"! I wonder where that is?

The whites were whispering in the corners about enchanted acquaintances, kidnapped and enslaved. The new freshmen were asking each other about priests, their eyes round with horror and excitement. I was completely out of the loop. It must have been something one learns about in one's family, but I never knew my black father, and my uncle (not to speak ill of the deceased) didn't seem to care to talk about it.

I tried to shake down my classmates, but it didn't work out; no one wanted to go deeper into the subject. And then I remembered who owed me a favor.

Strangely enough, Captain Ber didn't mind the chitchat.

"Remember you promised me an answer to a question?"

"You've got some cheek!"

"Whatever it is. So, does your boss already know about the crystal?"

"Not yet. And what do you want to know?"

"The Artificers."

"This is a closed topic."

"So open it!"

We stared into each other's eyes for a while, and I even began to wonder if Captain Ber was a secret uninitiated black.

"Why do you want it?" he sighed, giving in.

"I want to know about the things that are a threat to me."

"Of course, I won't give you the case, but I can tell you on my word of honor. Is that all right?"

"Okay!"

"Do you know the history of early times?"

I furrowed my brow thoughtfully.

"Okay, never mind, what is Roland the Light famous for?"

"He's a saint." I risked a guess.

"Not only," sighed the captain. "Well, let's try it another way. Imagine, some people in Ingernika still think that black mages are the source of the otherworldly."

"Ha!"

"Did I answer your question?" He raised an eyebrow.

"No, of course."

"Then shut up and listen. You thought Watchdogs has only a problem with black ones? Not at all! White mages are our main contingent. You shouldn't be laughing. Try to imagine what a white mage is like. I don't think you can, but at least try! They feel other people as themselves, and not just people. Both positive and negative emotions, indiscriminately. Do you understand?"

I remembered my experience at the train station and involuntarily cringed. The captain perked up a little:

It's good if the white man is from the countryside. They see how everything happens in nature, and they learn about life. Well, rabbit eats grass, and people eat rabbit. In the sense of cows with their relatives, they do not confuse. And the townsfolk can't slaughter a rabbit. They can't put it in a cage. They say it's bad for it him. Reactions are exacerbated, up to hysteria, and they can't do anything with themselves - that's their nature. Of course, supervision works, and empaths help, but this problem cannot be solved completely/ Common people treat the misunderstanding with the white ones as a joke, a topic for jokes. And for nothing!

The captain raised his finger:

"White takes in all the pain of the world, and the desire to get rid of pain is a very strong incentive. You could give your life for that. The majority somehow adapts. Especially the initiated. They are able to muffle their Source. But some cannot, or do not want to, or the shock they received in childhood was too strong. They begin to wreak havoc - they demand a ban on eating meat, fight for the rights of pets, and take sewer rats under their protection. Or, even worse, they get involved with people, wanting to teach them how to live the "right" way. These latter are our clients."

Too much repetition of the word "white" brought Rustle's jokes to life in my memory, and I decided it was time to end the verbiage:

"What does this have to do with the Artificers?"

"Furthermore! The Artificers and the like are sects that rely on mentally unstable citizens, mostly white. They exploit the legend of the White Halak (you can read it yourself if you want to, it's not a secret topic) and promise to build a world where everyone is happy. The danger of such a thing is beyond the average person's comprehension. It is blacks who are almost impossible to manipulate, they are too independent, but whites are trusting, suggestible, and executive. Before you know it, you are confronted by a mob of fanatics who believe they are fighting for the happiness of all people, and they usually begin by trying to remake or simply destroy all blacks within their reach."

"Nice."

"And it makes no sense. The only way to build a world without suffering is to destroy all those who are capable of suffering, but all these homegrown saviors are simply unable to grasp the simplest of truths - they are scrambling because they are in pain."

So all my visions have some basis, in fact, but I don't know if that's good or bad. However, I had no particular sympathy for abstract whites; abstraction has no eyes. To Rustle them!

"How can such idiots get anything serious?"

The captain shrugged:

"What do people care? In my youth, it was fashionable to believe in good intentions, and the Artificers became almost an official organization. They ended up casting a spell over an entire city, determined to rid its inhabitants of evil thoughts."

"Is that possible?" I was amazed.

"It's possible, but only for a very short time. The real Halak lasted about seventy years, and Nintark lasted only eight months. Forty thousand test subjects and another eight hundred soldiers in the cordon were dead."

"I don't get it. Is that white spell did?"

"No. An unidentified otherworldly phenomenon. White mages are completely helpless against the undead, even more helpless than ordinary people. And visitors from the beyond tend to show up uninvited, no matter what they say. So let's beat these figures, no matter where they show up or what they call themselves. Cry, feel compassion, but beat them. Understand?"

I nodded uncertainly.

"Now tell me," Captain Ber frowned, "did you tell everyone about Uther?"

My shoulders straightened by themselves, and my chin rose belligerently:

"Well, I am!"

"Thanks."

I was even taken aback:

"For what?"

He shrugged:

"We might have missed the case because Madame Melons is a doctor. And the authorities in the capital told us not to panic... Anyway, thank you. That's lucky."

"You're welcome!" I could have done a lot more of those things for them.

I dreamt about White Halak last night, and the fact that I'd never seen it, not even in a picture, didn't bother me at all. People were walking its streets, no different from ghouls, except with red blood. They were like blind men -"see no evil, speak no evil"- because they couldn't imagine that anyone could and had the right to be angry, to yearn, to feel pain, and... to die.

They weren't filled with compassion at all, no. They wanted there to be no suffering, and that was different. Everyone around them had to be healthy and cheerful or not exist at all. The happy zombies did not tolerate the old and the sick in their midst. In the dream, I knew that somewhere far awayб mighty cadavers were protecting the borders of the fairy kingdom-just destroying any creature that tried to cross them. The same cadavers work in the fields and workshops because the inhabitants of Halak are unable to make the effort over themselves to work regularly (when they have to, not when they want to). Why? The thirst for activity can be satisfied in other ways.

They walked, ate, drew strange curls on canvases and reveled in it, produced unnecessary things and sounds, and slept with each other, but did not know what to do with children and often got rid of them even before they were born. What parenting should look like in such a situation I refused to understand. Unless they had cadavers assigned to this case, too. Raising a full-fledged person is hard work, impossible without a certain amount of violence.

Then books will write about the flourishing of the sciences and arts, but in reality, the inhabitants of White Halak were incapable of doing anything that would require creative agony, more or less serious effort, or elaborate training. And they didn't need to - it was an imitation of life, like an excursion to the afterlife.

This strange perversion of human nature didn't strike me as supernaturally terrifying (I wasn't terrified of the real undead, either, by the way), but it looked remarkably disgusting. No, I'd rather have the whites as I used to see them - as harmless fools. They are not so useless, come to think of it. I'll treat them gently (I'm good with Lucik) and protect and pamper them, and they won't cause me any extraordinary problems.

Isn't that idyllic?

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