Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 7

Chapter 7

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Even a black one gets uncomfortable with such twists of fate, and at the thought of the spell hanging over Mihandrov, my skin itched and itched. I had almost forgotten about the backpack and the boots of my size I'd gotten by miracle, and they were a hideous bright orange color. I had to pretend it was the right thing to do and buy a jersey of the same color. I looked like a semaphore.

I thought again about the possibility of escape, but Lucik would have to be dragged, and the people around him might misinterpret it, and where could be safer than next to a black mage? And we'll use a zombie dog as a guard to surprise the maniac.

In the evening at the boarding house, I tried to pack in my backpack food for three people, socks, a blanket, an exorcist's camping kit (now I can't go anywhere without it), plus a canister of drinking water. Cussing quietly, but scary. And there will be a tent... However, I can brush it off. I will say that the sensations will not be the same. The sky, the stars, romance! The idea of camping didn't seem so brilliant anymore, but it was too late to retreat, besides I needed free time, and how to get it in any other way, I didn't realize. As a last resort, I took my uncle's rosary beads with a couple of student curses.

So we go: me, all wise and prudent, with a bamboo mop handle (like a staff, yes) and two white ones jumping with excitement. Well, they didn't have long to jump...

I'll be honest. I didn't plan the route. Why should I? According to Lieutenant Clarence's map, the terrain in all directions from the lake was exactly the same - hills, followed by steppe, and so for seven days journey in all directions. We got out of the boarding school through a fallen section of fence (which was supposed to be the perimeter of defense) and walked in a generally westward direction. The type of vegetation changed quickly and drastically: instead of the lush green of the park, we were surrounded by gullies, dried grasses, and weeds. The smell was different, even the sensation of the air touching our skin. The wildness of the landscape awakened some ancient instinct that made us tread more carefully and observe silence; the whites were silent, but their excitement sparkled around them. New impressions are good for children's bodies!

I was trying to track the moment when we would go beyond the notorious backlash (Clarence had said it was impossible not to notice it). I wanted to see how it was distributed over the terrain. The perimeters were clear: they followed the line of the signs, but the shields behaved differently - in two directions, along the axis, up to the limit of power. And in black magic, spells of this type existed only as long as the energy of the Source was pumped into them, that is, only in the presence of the sorcerer. As far as I understood, white spells acted differently: they created a kind of distortion of the structure of reality, the time of existence of which depended not so much on the invested energy as on the resistance of nature. An experienced magician could make his creation so natural that its influence would be felt for centuries (the black section of the theory didn't even have formulas for such a case), but it was the change in the environment that made the result of the sorcery so ambiguous.

The attempt to describe the situation in familiar terms made me squirm. It would seem both were magic and yet I couldn't understand it! But, logically speaking, if there is a shield and there is a shadow from the shield, then somewhere in the middle must be the pentagram that created them. If we can find anything that resembles it, we'll be guaranteed the arrival of the Cleaners. All that remains is to figure out where the middle of this thing is...

Three hours into the trip, and after two rest stops, the kids were visibly waning.

"Keep going, guys. It's not much left!"

The terrain sagged hollows, dry weeds were replaced by green grass, and rabbit holes began to appear underfoot. Everything said that there was water ahead. This meant that tea was not to be spared, and the feet could be washed after walking, which was very relaxing. By the moment when the surface of the liquid lake shone ahead, the children were ripe, and I had to set up the camp in silence and proud solitude - the whites fell asleep, barely touching the ground.

Aren't I a genius? No running, no fuss, no energy. Tonight, we have dinner and a good night's sleep, and tomorrow we go back. The next day is a day off. And no bloody jumping rope.

The next thing I found out, I had an outrageously bad attitude toward children. I'd been sent to help people, and I'd spent a week scratching my belly and playing horsey. Great, so we're out of the area of distorted reality. It's just a pity Rustle forgot I don't care about his opinion. Imagine a comedy: an otherworldly being criticizing a black mage for being a slacker. One could agree with him, assuming I was going to work on the holiday. The local Watchdogs had ten years to figure it all out, but no, one poor student has to work for the whole office, ha!

By evening the guys had revived just enough to eat porridge, watch the sunset, say "ah!" and get into their sleeping bags. Sweet. As a final touch, I put a mosquito repellent amulet around Petrik's neck (or else by the end of the hike, my whites would look like leopards) and climbed under the blanket. The coals of the fire smoldered in a neat hole, and the insects did not dare to fly up to me (a very correct position). The zombie dog was guarding the distant borders, and, in general, life was successful.

I realized for the first time I didn't regret becoming a mage. It gave me a certain freedom, a certainty about the future. It was silly to have the Power and not wield it, wasn't it? Now I could forget about everything and wander the vastness of Ingernika without fear of loneliness and darkness, without worrying about funds...

The disgruntled Rustle intervened again. I was bored without him. He told me that all my reflections were nonsense. According to him, it was time for me not to entertain the kids but to do it myself, and if I was going to sleep in nature, then with a curved chick and in the same sleeping bag.

It was with some amazement I realized the undead was interested in sex. He, you know, misses the feeling. That's just creepy! Get out, you filthy animal!

Rustle, gloating, made it clear that at such a time and place - at night, in front of a regular campfire - I had no reason to show off.

Then I will confess to necromancy and end my life in the electric chair!!!!

Rustle retreated frightened, retreating into the inaccessible depths of the mind, indignantly broadcasting lewd images. God, where had he gotten that from? Quater is an amateur, but he does not keep such things in his house... So many people are afraid of this creature to the point of hiccups, and it only has vulgarity on its mind! What am I supposed to do when I do get a chick, sleep in threes?

At night I dreamed of a Rustle in a jar. I remember the jar clearly, but I can't remember how I put him in it.

Needless to say, my whites returned to the boarding school as heroes. Tired, happy, with pockets full of all sorts of trash (pebbles, dead beetles, last year's snake skins), they saw a real fox and found an eagle feather (I said eagle feather). Back we went slower, but without long breaks, so we were there before lunchtime. As we walked, I lied inspiringly about King's Island, about my job at the Watchdog's office, about the evil boss (finally!) who was a real black mage, about the great life in Redstone, which was only unlucky with the weather, and the kids sympathetically groaned and asked hundreds of meaningless questions. We purposely made a detour to enter through the main gate, and I handed the kids into Fox's arms and breathed a sigh of relief. They'd have enough to talk about for a week!

"You've stirred up the whole school," said Mrs. Hemul, but she did not look displeased.

There's more to come!

"You better fix the fence; a few sections in the back have toppled over," I advised cordially. "You'd have to close the perimeter, and it wouldn't work."

She thanked me profusely. Luchik organized a rally in the square, and even the high school students came. Fox took Petrik to wash up, and I thought about going to bed, but I went to town. It was time to do something the kids didn't need to know about. Let's do something nice for Rustle!

The lieutenant was found in an office. The enterprising magician was drawing propaganda posters based on illustrations in Krowhardian brochures. It was even more impressive than the original. And what is characteristic: no kickback is taken by someone like him.

"Office, get ready!" I announced on the doorstep. "Let's go collect evidence."

He scurried around the office like a scared rabbit.

"Freeze! Do you have a cart in mind? We can't take your car. It's de-masking us."

"My nephew has a two-wheeler."

"It's okay! Pick it up, and let's go."

A horse is not an automobile; it takes half an hour to harness it. By the time the disgruntled Alfred returned with the carriage, Clarence had stuffed his suitcase with an entire traveling laboratory, from a magnifying glass to a spork, and the purpose of half of it was a mystery to me. We climbed into the seat and pretended that it was normal for a black man, filthy after a two-day hike, and a respected authority figure to go somewhere together on business.

"We need to get to the boarding school from the park. Can we do that?"

"There's no road there, but I'll give it a try."

The crooked road had hardly passed the hills surrounding the lake, bent in a steep loop, and disappeared in the middle of a clear field, and then all hope was only in the strength of the axle. The two-horse bounced on bumps, skulked between thorn bushes, and blindly struck some holes and stones hidden in the grass. I held the suitcase in my lap, trying to absorb the shocks and blows, not out of altruism - otherwise, I would have had to steer the horse.

"How much farther?" Clarence asked through gritted teeth.

"My partner's gonna meet us."

"What?"

"Go on!"

The horse was the first to recognize the zombie's approach - it began to snort alarmingly and lurch from side to side.

"That's it, we're here! Tie up the animal. We'll walk the rest of the way."

"Why don't you tell me what's going on?" The white one grumbled unhappily after I returned the suitcase to him.

I sighed and tried to convey to the provincial policeman the ingenious simplicity of my plan.

"I'll explain once: from this side of the lake, the transition to the rollback zone is very abrupt - we came to the terrain of quite normal appearance in three hours. I mean - wildlife, birds of prey, blood-sucking insects. From the railroad side, this transition is almost undetectable. Take my word for it. Hence the moral: the pentagram that created the shield was somewhere around here."

"We should have taken more people on the search." If a white one starts snapping at you, it means he is in a state of extreme irritation.

"Don't be afraid, Chief! My partner's already had a look around."

Clarence wasn't convinced by my words.

Max appeared from behind the bushes silently, and the long grace of his movements made me want to turn around and run away. You can't hide your nature! The fact that under the shaggy brown hair hides a monster was not visible but felt. And the thorns, thorns in the fur coat, mother dear! White squinted warily and unconsciously rubbed his palm against the pocket of his jacket. Probably he had some amulet there. However, was there any point in hiding from him? We're all in the same boat. That's a fact. I called Max over and introduced him to the lieutenant:

"Meet my partner."

Clarence leaned over to pet the dog.

"He's a zombie," I finished, grabbing the staggered lieutenant by the elbow. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! He's tame."

Max flicked his bangs to the side and glanced at Clarence with an interested, whitish, lifeless eye; the head of Mihandrov NZAMIPS was trying unsuccessfully to regain his breath. And this guy is on the payroll of Cleaning!

"I, of course, knew all black is crazy, but not to this extent!

"So, what," I was insulted, "the bosses allowed it."

"But it's undead!!!"

"Stupid prejudice. A zombie is a reanimated body, not an otherworldly phenomenon. Max is stable, that's the main thing, and he's doing a lot of good! You'll see for yourself."

"You should warn me," muttered the brave officer angrily and pretended he could go himself.

I shrugged and followed Max, with both the suitcase and the white one now hanging on me.

By the way, Clarence was fundamentally wrong about "taking people". It's not just the scale of the search. Our enemy is a mage. That means he can hide the traces of his activity much more reliably than ordinary people. But not from zombies - a dead one will always find a dead one, no matter how you hide him, no matter what you sprinkle on him, no matter what spells you whisper from above. Where a hundred certified detectives would have enough work for a month, Max only had to run back and forth for half an hour - and here he was already merrily stomping on an unremarkable piece of grass in the middle of a clear field, where there was nothing to catch his eye.

"We'll dig here," I concluded with a smart look.

We marked out the site according to the archaeologists' method and began to carefully remove the sod. There was no deep grave. Just twenty centimeters from the surface, my trowel found a skeletonized hand.

"That's it..."

Only the rustle of grass answered. Clarence ran into the nearest bushes, vomiting. The chief of police, for heck's sake... It took me a quarter of an hour to bring the white one to his senses, and then the lieutenant was only long enough to document the find and try a couple or three standard police spells on it.

"Young male. Died three years ago. I can't be more specific. There are traces of some kind of magic. I'm getting a print. Better call forensics next."

"Not yet. They'll send the regular forensics guys to the body, and we need cleaners. I don't think a maniac would drag a dead guy on a ridge this far, and a cart won't get through here. We'll look for the pentagram."

"It's getting dark," the lieutenant objected weakly.

"Whatever! The senses are heightened in the dark."

We split up and followed the widening spiral, Max helping too, but I hadn't counted on his instincts, and I was quite right: Clarence had found the strange thing, not because of the magical background, but for a completely idiotic reason - he didn't like the bushes.

"Mr. Tangor!"

I tried to memorize the spot where I ended my search, eventually spit, and went to the call.

"So?"

"Don't you think they're a little... wrong?"

"Wrong" was a clump of evergreen shrubbery with thorns so big that just looking at them made me feel bad.

"And what's wrong?"

"Too smooth. Thick."

The bushes looked more like sheared hedges, a familiar sight to my eye, but completely uncharacteristic in nature. I gingerly spread the branches with my hands.

"Are we going in?"

White looked around the thorny barrier doubtfully.

"You better get your suitcase, or you'll have to go back," I advised.

Oh, that's where the bamboo staff I left at the station would come in handy! After all, the combat mages of the past were good at what they did. To say we were scratched would be an understatement. One spike cut my arm almost to the bone, and I felt pure and sincere hatred for the bastard who had arranged all this. If I could get at him, I'd maim him!

Beyond the dense circle of branches, the shrubbery abruptly disappeared, revealing an almost empty space four meters in diameter, without any hint of vegetation. The sense of magic intensified, and I sat down, studying the ground.

It may seem that such a flimsy phenomenon as a chalk line should disappear without a trace after the first downpour. Perhaps, with ordinary chalk, it happens so, but if the Power has passed along the lines of the sign, then the effect is stronger than from kindling a fire - nothing grows in this place for a very long time. Even if someone puts on top of the worked pentagram previously removed turf, it will not change anything - the grass will languish, scattered with fine dust, or will be severely depressed. Here and in this place, it dried up but not at once. Besides, it was shaped in circles and triangles. With a penknife, I managed to find traces of chalk in the ground. I stood up, looking at the vaguely visible pattern in the turf.

All right! It doesn't matter if this pentagram is connected with the disappearance of people or if it was used to spell the weather - we have traces of the ritual, a corpse, and the next number of the program will go to combat mages.

"Log it!" I ordered Clarence, smiling predatorily.

The poor lieutenant, already strongly resembling a ghoul, began to take out the necessary tools from his suitcase.

When I returned to town, I drove myself - the white one was still not quite sane. I was not a very good driver, but the horse was eager to go to the stall.

Now you will call Alfred. I don't care if it's night, give him the materials in a sealed envelope and send them by courier with the fourth group of urgency. I'll make up a cover story to make it more scary. They won't go anywhere. They'll come here like clockwork!

"And then what?"

We'll make them search for the remaining eight corpses. Without Max, it will take them at least a month. During this time, we'll have to raise a ruckus, find some journalists from the vacationers or parents of the boarding school pupils, and send an article to the regional press so every line would scream, Artificer. Journalists are not indifferent to this word! It is necessary to turn everything so catching the criminal was a personal challenge for your soldiers, but they could not catch him. And let the experts see how long the shielding effect lasts. If you're lucky, you'll lose one of your positions.

"I don't mind."

"And if we're unlucky, you'll have to hire a private contractor. It wasn't cheap, but you couldn't leave the city without the cover of a black mage - it wasn't a case where you could count on luck."

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