Готовый перевод Житие Мое / Life of Mine: Глава 10

Chapter 10

* * *

The call from the boarding school found me lying under the car. At last, I got to this creaking machine! Of course, Alfred did not immediately let me near the state property. It was preceded by a profound conversation about the advantages of front-wheel drive, the quality of local alcohol, and the prospects of oil engines. Of course, he was not a professional alchemist, but he could not resist my compulsive charm. I started to adjust the carburetor with the feeling with which some people start a prayer, then the matter went more cheerfully, and grace descended on me. The device of aggregates, clear and functional, was such a contrast to the confusion of human existence that tears came to my eyes. I was sacramentally working on the brake actuator (critical in cross-country driving) when I was interrupted.

Clarence showed up.

"Mrs. Hemul called," reported the lieutenant, "and asked you very much to come to the boarding school. She thought there was some witchcraft in the school this morning, and for some reason, it's bothering her a lot."

I almost threw a wrench at him. Can I have a personal life or not?! Who's the city cop? Who's the head of the NZAMIPS? There's a unit of battle mages in town, and they call in a poor errand boy who has a license plate instead of a wizard's seal. Do they have a conscience? Not.

But in the boarding school, Lucik.

I sighed and went to wash the grease off my hands. I'm going to go tell the principal what I think of her. She doesn't know the words I'm going to say to her! Yesterday I called, and she told me not to come, that she didn't want to provoke Fox, but today her buddy's all right. Just when I was getting down to business, he shows up. I hate it!

My ability to control myself was completely gone. Oh, how I understood coordinator Axel's reluctance to send his men here. Claymore and his comrades would lynch him after such a trip. And Satal will be laughing at me when I get back. Like I'm having a good time. However, I was ready to solve the problem with Satal in three hours. Such interesting herbs are growing in the flowerbeds here that Master Tyranidos would be jealous of. A complete herbarium from Toxicology, for sure. I do not argue. Milky Widow blooms beautifully and looks great in the flower beds, but in my opinion, the gardener should have thought better before planting. There are children around! I had already dried half a suitcase of interesting roots, and the thought of how surprised Satal will be when he finds out what he died of put me back in a good mood.

So, when they talk about the intuition of practicing magicians, don't believe anything. The only reason my eyes caught the narrow, velvety leaf was because I'd been looking for something like it all along. Not believing my luck, I picked it up and looked around for the rest of the plant. Alas! Nothing similar was growing on the nearest lawns, and a paltry half a gram was not enough for me. I wonder where the gardeners take the cut grass? The path on which I found the treasure led neither to the park nor to the greenhouse but to the back door of the kitchen, where the cooks were bustling about as dinner time approached. There was no vague excitement in my soul, just these three notions of food-weed-poison arose in my mind at the same time, and I twirled the leaf in my hands and wanted to go on, but my sense of duty prevailed. Perhaps, all this is dope, but the type who killed nine people, according to my deep conviction, was still in the boarding school, and the concept of sanity to the Artificers can be attributed only conditionally...

I pressed the alarm in my pocket (stay awake, assholes, stay awake!) and burst through the kitchen door with a businesslike air, ignoring the bewildered looks and surprised faces, my gaze roaming the tables and finding the remains of chopped greens.

"Where's the rest of it?" I asked dumbly. Maybe I'll have time to dry some more.

The chef started to gather air in his chest for an indignant rebuke, but the stupor ended, and I pulled my temporary ID out of my pocket and poked him in the nose:

"Combat Operation of NZAMIPS. This herb is poisonous. Where did you put it?"

Startled looks shifted toward the large soup pot.

I threw a chromatic curse into the pot, turning the contents a threatening scarlet color - harmless but impressive.

"Who brought this shit in here? Name!"

They didn't know. They just couldn't remember and were horrified to realize it. The typical effect of a masking spell.

"The entire contents of the kitchen-- everything, do you hear me? - has been seized until forensics arrives. I hope no one puts this in their mouths. It's deadly poisonous."

The burly cook turned very pale and clutched her chest.

"Gastric lavage, now! And pray it doesn't get absorbed."

I waited until all the cooks had left the kitchen and tied the door handles with the first string I could find, just to be safe.

"What going on?"

The principal. I handed her the cursed leaf, and she frowned, trying to identify it. I guess she's not good with poisons!

"It's an Opal Buttercup. Someone slipped it into the kitchen and made sure it got into the soup."

She still didn't understand.

"Have you heard of the Red King's potion? Opal Buttercup, the main ingredient, is harmless, but after heat treatment, it turns into a terrible poison, and there is no antidote."

By the way, making this potion without a license was punishable by three years in prison.

Mrs. Hemul turned very pale:

"But who could...

"I don't know yet, but I've got a guy in mind who's got some explaining to do. Let's go!"

The rapid response team was still reacting. I suspected the town mages had gone to Clarence to get the car (the same one Alfred and I had dismantled) and were now whining. The poor people of Mihandrov!

"But who could?" Mrs. Hemul insisted.

Whites don't handle stress well and are slow to respond to threats because they are trying to get the point across, while blacks don't need it and just punch in the face.

"Now, there is only one employee present in the boarding school who has been working here for more than ten years. I am not saying that he is to blame. I am saying he should explain himself."

There was a glimmer of understanding in the principal' eyes.

Five minutes later, we were already standing in front of the head teacher's office. I knocked, and jerked the handle - it was locked.

"He must have gone away," Mrs. Hemul suggested.

I looked into the keyhole, and a key was inserted from the inside. He's gone, of course!

"Move aside!" In a case like this, the most important thing is not to ask permission.

My leg kicked the lock and part of the jamb (it wasn't me being so strong, it was the curse being so good), and we were able to enter. The room was quite large, with two desks, bookcases, chairs, and a sofa, cozy and modest, not at all like our dean's office or Satal's. On the worn carpet in the center of the room lay a completely dead Mr. Fox face up and an unknown conditioned Petrik face down.

"God!" Mrs. Hemul rushed first to the child. "Little one, what's the matter with you?!"

He's breathing - that's good. While she wailed, professionally checking his pulse and pupils, I frantically searched the room for the cause of death. There were no bloody knives, empty glasses, or smoking smokers in sight, but something had finished off the big man and almost killed the boy! Black debris crunched beneath my foot, my repellent amulet. The realization came like a bolt of lightning.

"It's magic! There's some kind of spell on it. Find it!"

Mrs. Hemul shook her head indignantly:

"Fox was a white mage!"

Was is a very accurate way of putting it.

"Whatever! Find it or let me in."

"You are mistaken," she mumbled through her tears, but the brooch on her sweater was already beginning to glow, "you are deeply mistaken. You have no idea how wrong your idea of white magic is..."

Petty Officer Claymore, no, not bursting in, that would be unprofessional. He peered cautiously through the door. Making sure there was no need to fight anyone right now, he came in, pushing me out of the way a little. He nodded at Fox:

"Is it your work?"

"No, he did it himself. Did you see the kitchen?"

He hummed.

"This kitchen is a necromancer's dream - you could send a whole division to the afterlife. We'll have to throw everything out and re-do the floor. I take it the suspect is dead?"

"Fuck it!" I cared deeply about the accountability of Artrom County.

"I've seen that face somewhere," the cleaner said thoughtfully, "but not from this angle."

I shrugged - somewhere Fox had learned his skills - and made an attempt to leave the room.

"I expect you at the station at seven," the petty officer said to my back.

I nodded silently and went off to find Lucik.

The square in front of the main entrance was filled with frightened whites. Teachers were trying to calm the students, employees, and cooks were whispering, huddled around the fountain, and Gorchik was guarding it all with a grim look. Lucik was sitting nearby on a bench with a very serious look, and it was clear he was there for a reason.

At my appearance, people became agitated.

"Stop!" Gorchik shouted.

"He says, please stay in your seats for your safety," the little brother perked up.

Ah, so he's hooked on the cleaner instead of the interpreter! Gorchik looked at me with gloomy doom, and I smiled at him without any sympathy.

I had business with Lucik.

"Hey, there's no lunch. Why don't we go grab a bite in town?"

"What about Petrik?"

I realized in time that the kids don't need to know the details.

"He'll be fine. Mrs. Hemul is with him now."

The whites from their seats craned their necks and listened. Someone couldn't stand it:

"What happened? What's going on?"

I coughed diplomatically:

"I can't violate the secrecy of the investigation. If you have any questions, you'd better ask Petty Officer Claymore. He's the boss around here. I'm sure he won't mind holding a press conference." The thought of it would make his head spin! "For my part, the danger has been eliminated, but the boarding school is in for a change."

"We've had 'change' all year," one of the teachers muttered.

"You are wrong, nothing has changed for you since the commission started, but it will change now, I am sure for the better."

That's it. If they have brains, they'll get the hint, but if they don't, it's better for them not to know anything from now on.

Lucik, the little show-off, didn't come with me. He decided to stay with his own and support them morally. I made sure the cleaners understood the simple truth: Lucik is my brother, and then I pretended to be a battle-weary warrior and slipped the hell out of there. I can't look at them anymore. I can't! I went back to the garage, and until the evening, I turned the nuts on the famous Mihandrov car. I was as happy as a cat on Valerian. I was half an hour late for my meeting with Claymore.

By the time I arrived, the atmosphere in the Mihandrov branch of NZAMIPS had reached a dangerous degree, and Lieutenant Clarence was nowhere to be seen: either he had run away or gone to work with the population. It was dusk. They would kill him like that and quietly dump him in the water.

"A press conference, then?" the petty officer barked in lieu of a greeting.

It was my turn to stand sideways and look askance. I'm not going to fight him over anything!

"I didn't want to bypass my superior officer."

He thought about it and decided to forgive me.

"Judging by the aura imprint, that dead guy was his work," the Petty Officer magnanimously informed. "And why do crystals only write from black mages?!"

He's too cheerful, which means they found a way to get out of there.

"It's not fair," I agreed.

"Let's drink for it!"

Bottles of newly purchased beer and a pile of lovingly packed snacks appeared from under the table, and my report of events turned smoothly into a drinking party to celebrate the successful completion of the case. It was the first time I'd sat at a table in the company of battle mages, but they didn't confirm their nasty reputation. The normal men are no worse than Quater! We drank, sang a couple of songs from the army repertoire, Rispin told a few fresh anecdotes, Gorchik's eye began to squint, the beer ran out, and we parted peacefully, they to their hotel, I to Madame Parker's guesthouse. The naive petty officer could sleep without back legs, and I could get up at dawn tomorrow - the tooth-crushing intrigue I had spun with a view to their coordinator was entering its final stage.

* * *
The encrypted telegram to Satal had come at the very last moment - the senior coordinator was about to leave for the capital, and he'd been fretting and arguing all morning. Captain Ber took the dispatch to the chief personally to spare his staff's nerves - the text was half a page long, and the sender had not spared on characters. As the coordinator read, his face brightened, and a smug grin appeared on his lips.

"That's a different matter! A priest who performed human sacrifices has been eliminated in Mihandrov. He has been identified in the central card catalog as Sigismund Salaris, the Artificer, wanted for fifteen years."

The Captain gasped:

"The one? Nintark's Confessor?"

"Uh-um." Satal graciously allowed his subordinate to read the cipher. "By the way, your Larkes swore he saw him dead."

"Why our?" Steamtrain took offense.

"He's been sitting here all this time, the untalented parasite, failing things to the point of impossibility!" Black gloomed a little. "And they'll say Axel caught the Artificer."

"That's all right," consoled the chief Steamtrain, "you've caught two whole Artificers."

"Yes, but no one believes them to be Artificers," Satal objected reasonably. "However, I'm sure their center of interest is not Polysanthus. If so, then destroying a living legend of the cult will energize them," the Senior Coordinator rubbed his hands together contentedly, "now they'll be coming at us in droves!"

The steam locomotive imagined the flock of Artificers coming at Redstone in a tight wedge, and he shuddered. Fuck it, fuck it!

* * *

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Переводчики: Camrad_RIP