《The Impossible Magic》 PART ONE BRIDGEPORT AND CORRUPTED MAGICAL KINGDOM Absolute Curse THE IMPOSSIBLE MAGIC by Alvi Chanti PART ONE BRIDGEPORT AND CORRUPTED MAGICAL KINGDOM Chapter One THE ABSOLUTE CURSE I had ridden my motorcycle about two hundred miles away from Bridgeport. The wide asphalt highway had long since turned into a simple gravel road. With potholes and dents, where remnants of yesterdays rain gathered in murky puddles. Just like home! In Ukraine. Near Kharkov. Civilization from Bridgeport apparently, hadnt reached this place yet. And I doubted it ever would. The mines and worker settlements were on the other side of the city, closer to the mountain range in the North. Here, in the wilderness, there were only cornfields and feudal lords castles, whose subjects tilled the land in the old ways, on horses and oxen. Bridgeport Technical Corporation had no business here. It seemed the hatred that the magical part of the world harbored for it reached even these parts. Sure, they tried to sell tractors to the local peasants, but they refused. No idea why. Maybe a religious factor. Though the religions here are admittedly strange. Very different from ours on old Earth, to put it mildly. How about the belief in Saint Murdakar? The great mute beggar with a tree growing out of his head. Naturally, also sacred. Its fruits supposedly endow mere mortals with divine power and immortality. Or the belief in a great blue spider, also a wish-granter. Understandably, for the tormented, half-starved inhabitants of the magical world, this is a prerequisite for the popularity of widespread religious myths. Or strange sects searching for the Things of the Lost God, which, when fully assembled, will bring about the Great End of the World and rebirth a new one. And no one could explain to me what The Great End of the World means. Are there lesser ends of the world? In short, its mind-boggling. I turned at a sign reading Doruv onto an even more disgusting road. Pure dirt track, and along a thin strip of forest, I drove towards the lake. The cornfields approached right up to its edge. At a small dock with a couple of tethered wooden flat-bottomed boats, a boy of about ten or eleven was fishing. He was in a white, worn shirt and shorts, much like our breeches. Cornfields edged up right to it. I decided to ask for directions and at the same time make another attempt to get rid of the coin. Although it was probably a waste of time. I had already convinced myself at least a hundred times that it was impossible. Still, theres no harm in trying. Maybe the lake has some magical power that could lift the curse? Such things happen here. In this magical world, unlike ours, you can count on miracles. Pulling up right at the dock, I turned off the engine of my Indian Chief C a motorcycle in the style of the thirties C so luxurious and shiny, completely out of place in the surrounding uncivilized provincial wilderness. The chrome details and red leather seat with golden fringe C all won at a Bridgeport shooting contest C were bound to make an unforgettable impression on the boy, I thought. Although, Ive hated this motorcycle since yesterday. Its brought nothing but trouble! What was I thinking, going to those competitions? Showing off! Damn, sniper! Mentally scolding myself, I asked the boy in a forced cheerful tone, What are we catching? The boy looked at me with interest. For a few seconds, he didnt respond to my question. He didnt even glance at the motorcycle. Strange behavior. Well, my jacket and hat arent exactly shining here either. Shani, my landlord and also a savior, sewed them personally for me, to my description and in the style of the thirties. But Im not that a good-looking guy. An unusual behavior for a young provincial boy from the medieval countryside. Pikes, replied the boy, boldly examining me, and then he remarked without any trace of tact, You have blue eyes, mister. Ah, that! Yes, blue eyes are a rarity here. In this local world, its out of standards. Although theyre not blue, more like, grayish. But still, locals only have yellow, green, or brown eyes. The Drawlers, though, have grayish ones. But Drawlers arent humans. Listen, I continued, ignoring his comment about my eyes. Have you heard of Master Kulu-Kulu? A wizard. A specialist in ancient curses. I was told he lives around here somewhere. Ive heard of him, the boy responded, sniffling and pointing in the opposite direction from where I had come. You took a wrong turn, mister. Want to take a ride? I offered, with a little hope. The boy grimaced, Nah. Damn! Whats with kids these days? I rummaged in my pockets, found a quarter of a real, and pulled it out, showing him the shiny profile of Engineer First, the great King of Engineer Kingdom. Five, the boy said phlegmatically, barely glancing at the coin. I suddenly got suspicious about the origin of that boy. Are you from the city? I asked. Not from the countryside? Yeah. Came to stay with my aunty for the holidays. How did you guess, mister? I cursed again, to myself. Guessing? Damned commerce! Whats happening to us in this fantasy world? Every snotty kid trying to rob you, is given the chance. Have you heard of Zingaru of Hariya? The port owner? The millionaire? Hes, actually, a billionaire, but thats not the point here. Youll outdo him soon, I grumbled, pulling out my wallet. Wandering another two hours looking for the wizards house did not appeal to me. Time was more precious than anything at the moment. My precious! Not the ring, time! Get on the motorcycle, Ill be right back, I told the boy, handing over the money. The kid grinned. Probably, he liked my joke about the billions hell possess someday in the future. He quickly reeled in his fishing line and climbed onto the back seat, now examining and touching my iron horse with some interest. Meanwhile, I walked to the very edge of the dock and swung fiercely. The coin arched through the air, glinted in the sun, disappeared, and... ...And it was back in my pocket again. In the upper breast pocket, more precisely speaking. A heavy, pentagonal copper coin. Where did they even get it? I pulled it out again, clenched it in my fist, and threw it into the lakes smooth surface, not as hard this time. The result was the same. The next time, I found it in my jacket pocket. At first, I tried to figure out how it returns. Is there any sequence to it? But the first disenchanter I found C a specialist in removing curses C quickly cooled my experimental fever: If you take off your clothes, Master Max, and try to throw away the curse, it will most likely end up in your mouth, probably behind your cheek. But if the mage who cast the curse has a bad sense of humor, it could end up in your stomach or even your intestines. Better to let it return the conventional way. The disenchanter was no help at all. Such powerful curses cant be lifted. Theres even a special section in magic books dedicated to them, The Absolute Curses of Dan-Dan-Flors. There are entire academic theses by local luminaries C professors of magic C explaining the impossibility of lifting absolute enchantments. I ran all over Bridgeport, spending almost all my savings trying to remove this stupid curse. In vain! And the worst part, these scoundrel disenchanter mages C they took money for consultations, fully aware they couldnt help. Just like lawyers back home. Bastards, in short! Master Kulu-Kulu was my last hope. His address was given to me by the last disenchanter in Bridgeport, who had extracted a whopping two hundred reals for a brief consultation. Though, the address sounded more like to the village of Grandfather, Grandfather Kulu-Kulu. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The coin flew into the lake again. I closed my eyes, trying to catch it, to feel the moment when it returned. Thump! A slight weight in my breast pocket. Whats happening with you, mister? I opened my eyes. The boy was standing next to me. Nothing, I replied. You cant help me with this, unfortunately. Lets go. I silently climbed onto the seat and started the motorcycle. The fishing boy saved me a lot of time. The masters house was not where I had been looking for it. I had missed it by at least five miles. As soon as I approached, I slowed down and released my young guide. He ran off joyfully. No wonder! He got a ride and earned five reals. Not every day you get such luck. And meet such a fool as well. The masters house was decent. Two-storied. Made of red brick with beautiful bushes, resembling our ivy, climbing up the wall to the very eaves of the tiled roof, red petals blossoming. Behind the iron gate of welded rebar was a neat and well-kept garden. On the gate hung a bronze lions head, the size of a fist, and a bronze knocker on a chain, with a short handle that barely fit in my palm. Master Kulu-Kulu didnt fancy the modern electric doorbells from the capital. I reached for the knocker. Suddenly, the lions head came to life. It began to speak in a human voice, moving its copper muscles as if it were not metal but living flesh: Hey, hey! Drop the hammer, you fool! Do you think its funny? Hitting me on the head with this thing? How would you like it if someone smacked you like that? Would you enjoy it? I wasnt surprised. A frankly boring prank of the local mages. Like those old telephone answering machine messages, some people record: ''Sorry, our answering machine is broken, so youre speaking to the refrigerator, please leave a message after the beep!'' Magicians loved those types of jokes. Just a fantastic sense of humor. Though that one was a bit worn out here. Probably as old as Bridgeport itself. My name is Max Light. Im here to see the master about a curse, I said, ignoring the stream of curses and outrage from the lions head. The head suddenly changed its voice tone to a pleasant female one. Please come in, Master Light. This was now the voice of a secretary, stern and well-modulated. A lady met me at the threshold. Elderly, wearing glasses, in a strict black outfit with a chest cutout. ''Most likely a witch. A real one, I thought, as I ascended the stairs to meet her. Do you have something in your pants, or do you just like me that much? she asked sternly, tilting her head and simultaneously looking over her glasses. I was embarrassed. I had completely forgotten about the revolver. She must be a witch! On top of that a high-level one! And not only in her professional sense. I pulled out the weapon. Apologized. Sorry, I completely forgot about it. Been running around since yesterday. She didnt respond, pulled out a box from somewhere, and threw my weapon into it, holding it by the barrel with two fingers, as if touching something slimy and poisonous. Mages dont like firearms. Consequently, neither do witches. This I knew. Please go to the waiting room, the master will see you shortly, said the secretary and silently drifted away. I entered the indicated room, where, apart from two leather chairs and a low table, there was hardly any other furniture. The wait stretched on for about twenty minutes before I was finally admitted. They didnt offer coffee. And there was none here. Coffee doesnt grow in this world, nor does cocoa. There are some local alternatives, but I never got used to them. Some kind of swill, in my opinion. Reminds me of flower tea. And I never cared for it back home C on Earth. Master Kulu-Kulu was smoking a pipe. A long, black, heather pipe, polished to a matte shine. He was almost lying in a deep chair, more suited for a person than for a dwarf he undoubtedly was. A gnome, to use an Earthly mythological analogy. His eyes peered from beneath thick eyebrows, absolutely white, like his hair, as if he were an albino. A mini-version of Gandalf the Grey Tolkiens Ring Trilogy. No greeting, no introduction. Just a nod towards the opposite chair. I took the offered seat, also maintaining silence. Kulu-Kulu continued to puff on his pipe, thoughtfully examining me. Magicians like to create an air of mystery. But in that case, he needed it for something. Scanning me, probably. I patiently let him feel me. Checking my aura, the old fart. Well, look all you want! Just dont drill a hole... Finally, the wizard deigned to speak, Seems youre from far away. You have no idea how far, buddy, I thought to myself, but aloud I simply confirmed his guess: Yes. From very far away. How long have you been with us? Do you like it? Five years. No, I replied tersely, thinking about something else entirely. When are we going to get down to business, old curmudgeon? Im running out of time with every passing minute! Why? His white eyebrow rose in surprise. I dont know. Show me the problem, he requested, abruptly changing the subject as if he had heard my thoughts. I decided not to mentally berate him any further. Maybe he was a telepath. Who knows? A serious old man. I took the coin out of my breast pocket and extended it towards him on my open palm. Kulu-Kulu squinted his eyes, briefly examining the item in my hand, then nodded. I put the coin back in my pocket with relief. Holding it against my skin was unpleasant, like holding something unclean C a cockroach or a fly. This is the Dan-Dan-Flors Curse. An absolute curse from their arsenal. I nodded, waiting for him to continue. I''ve heard this at least a dozen times since yesterday. I cant do anything about it. In two, at most five days, youll die, he continued calmly, as if he wasnt pronouncing a death sentence, but rather a baker behind the counter telling customers, regretfully, that there were no more raisin buns left for the day. No tea for you. Sorry, alas. I sighed and stood up. There was no point in listening any further. Damn! To lose so much time! And two hundred reals on top of that. Where are you going? Kulu-Kulus question stopped me in my tracks. You said yourself theres nothing you can do. Why waste more time? Just because I cant do anything doesnt mean others cant. Or even you, yourself. You came here for a consultation, right? I nodded and sat back down in the chair. The stress of impending death had robbed me of patience, a quality usually inherent in me as a former sharpshooter. To be honest, under different circumstances, I would take this as a sort of disrespect, Master Light, continued Kulu-Kulu, puffing on his pipe. But you are excused by the fact that you are in mortal danger and do not want to waste time. Which is understandable and commendable. Many whom Ive seen with such a curse immediately lose heart and give in. Perhaps you are not burdened with the ingrained belief of the local inhabitants that the curses of Dan-Dan-Flors are irremovable. Maybe theres some chance in that for you. How will I die? I asked. A dozen disentchanters of your level, in the capital, couldnt give me a clear answer to this question. And why is it so absolute? Hasnt anyone in hundreds, or even thousands of years, developed an antidote to this curse? Lets take this one step at a time, Kulu-Kulu replied, somewhat grumpily, either annoyed by my barrage of demanding questions or by my equating his status to that of the capitals magicians. Perhaps he considered himself far superior. The manner of your death will be chosen by the spirit upon which the curse is cast. I dont know what it is yet. Its impossible to determine right away. In two or three days, we will see. But its too early now. The answer to the second question: the curse is absolute because a human sacrifice was made during its casting. Its the highest price, and accordingly, theres no bargaining for you. A life for a life. Possibly even an innocent being. Then the situation becomes even more complicated. The third question: no. Magic has its laws. You can break them, but it requires immense magical power. Currently, only three beings in the world known to me are capable of such a feat, and you have no access to them. But! But, there are ways to outsmart it. And this has been done more than once or twice in history. I involuntarily leaned forward: How? For the first time, after so much turmoil, this was a ray of hope. Dont rush, Kulu-Kulu drew again on the aromatic smoke of local tobacco, or perhaps cannabis-type equivalent on this planet. I couldnt tell if it was some local drug. Tell me how it all happened from the beginning. I need to know the details; very few can cast curses of this level. Perhaps I know your killer. I didnt like that last bit. Killer! As if I was already dead! But there was nothing to do but remember the events of the night before last... “Things aren’t always what they seem” Chapter Two YOU HAVE TO SAY C ACE! I bought the flowers at the entrance to the subway. The color of lilacs, like Shanis eyes and hair. Tonight, we were supposed to have dinner...On my dime. With my own hard-earned money. For the first time! It was something to celebrate. And also to take Shani for a ride on the motorcycle. She flatly refused, though. She didnt like technical gadgets. Didnt want to touch them or use them. The only exception she made was for the electric sewing machine. The only thing she liked from tech stuff. Throughout the subway ride, people glanced at me with smiles. Probably thought I was another love-struck fool rushing to a date. Let them think what they want! Though, in hindsight, I should have bought the flowers at the exit, not the entrance to the subway. It was somewhat awkward. Fairies arent the subject of male courtship. Theyre not women in the human sense. Although look like striking beautiful anime-type girls. The last three hundred meters from the station to Shanis studio, where I lived on the top floor, I covered with a quick and determined stride. Rehearsing my speech on the go. I needed to joke. Compliment her. Make her happy. Elicit that rare smile of hers. I pushed the door of the studio open, surprised for a moment that it wasnt locked. Shani usually had a paranoid meticulousness about locks. Without giving it much thought, I called out for her. I ran upstairs. Opened the door to my room and... I didnt manage to do anything. Nor could I. The revolver was in the desk drawer. Lately, I had been going unarmed. Who needed me, anyway? Just some alien from another world. Incapable of adapting to foreign customs, yearning for my world. So distant and now unknowably located. Two pairs of hands on either side of the doorframe, like a giant vacuum cleaner, pulled me into the room and laid me on the floor. So forcefully, it squeezed my chest. I exhaled noisily, tensing my muscles. Theyd break my ribs now if I didnt exhale the remaining air, flattening myself on the floor to spread out the pressure. Ronkas are as strong as gorillas, they say, capable of lifting four hundred kilograms. Careful! Dont hurt him! The voice of an unknown had an immediate effect. The pressure eased. I exhaled loudly again, stirring up a light dust from the floor. I hadnt cleaned in a while. Laziness. Shani would scold me. That is if they dont kill me right now. Turn him over! The turnover was successfully occurred. And I saw the entire company of visitors. Two burly Ronkas of middle age, just as I had guessed. The prime of strength and speed of these mutant-micro giants. As dull-witted as they were strong. And a short-statured type with a pale face, in white floury makeup. With the face of a geisha. The layer of powder on his face was so thick, that one could have scraped it off with a spatula. A white cloak and a leather vest. His arms were adorned with numerous bracelets, from bone to metal. A strange character. A Sabverian shaman? They usually live underground, hardly ever surfacing. What he is doing here? What do you want, guys? They were slightly taken aback by my calm tone. Inside I was scared. Very scared! I just pushed the fear to the furthest shelf in my mind through sheer willpower. Let it watch from there and not interfere with my actions. Fear cant be eliminated. It cant be conquered. It needs to be negotiated with. About boundaries. Im not fighting you, and youre not hindering me. OK? Agreed? Great! But yes, I am scared, very scared. Dont worry about that, Im almost ready to wet my pants. Is this him? asked the man with the bracelets, apparently the leader, ignoring my question. One of the Ronkas replied in a low, chesty bass: Aha. Him. The sharpshooter! Hit shield in the bullseye with seven hundred stags. He was calculating something for a long time with a pencil in a notebook. He also had this thing. It... C the hefty man, struggling to describe my anemometer, helplessly spread his arms C it spins like this when theres wind. And shows something. An anemometer? asked the leader. I dont know, boss. Everyone laughed when he did that. Especially when he was counting. But when he hit the target in the bullseye five times in a row! It was as quiet as an in temple of Semenites in Heavenly Alley. You confirm this? the boss deigned to speak to me. What do you want? I repeated the question, also ignoring him, as he had recently ignored me. I wondered how dangerous it was to anger him. And who were those people? Perhaps some petty thugs? Ronkas as bodyguards were affordable for many. There was plenty of this kind in Bridgeport. How serious was this guy? That was my first mistake. Later, I realized I should have pretended to comply. Agreed to anything. But under no circumstances should I have provoked a total curse. This flour-dusted halfwit didnt understand jokes at all. He signaled the gorillas. And they pressed me to the floor again. This time, on my back. The man approached and crouched beside my head: I wont repeat myself, Shooter. Show your stubbornness just one more time, and Ill do it. It was both a threat and a provocation. If I asked what he would do, Id automatically be breaking the condition, showing stubbornness. I confirm. Good boy! Youre sharp! he said after a brief pause, not waiting for another incorrect comment from me. Now listen. My boss wants you to bump off a guy. You can handle it since youre such a clever shooter. Do the job and youll get a million reals. Right there, in cash. The boss keeps his word. Who the dead man is, youll find out on-site. Youll be covered from any magical retaliation. At that distance, it will be very weak. Nothing else should concern you. Shoot, take the money, and get out of the city. Clear? I licked my dry lips. And whos the dead man? The man exchanged glances with the Ronkas. They laughed nervously, probably not understanding what he meant. Youre not listening well, Shooter. And I dont like your hidden stubbornness. Take note, weve taken your blue lady for extra assurance. If you resist, its not just your head youll lose, but also... He nodded towards the flowers on the floor for Shani. The same will happen if you report to ammaratia. Besides, we have our people there. Itll be worse for you. His words about Shani infuriated me. I momentarily lost control, frantically trying to throw off the gorillas, nearly succeeding. The powder-dusted freak shook his head disapprovingly. While the grey-faced brutes held me, he deftly placed something cold on my head, then began to sing a monotonous, indecipherable song. His verbal incantation was reminiscent of Aleut shaman singing. Only a bone Eskimo whistle was missing for musical accompaniment. A minute later, I fell into unconsciousness... Curious! Damn curious! said Kulu-Kulu, having listened to my story. Poor boy! I was taken aback; the last phrase was spoken by an elderly lady secretary who, it turns out, had been standing at the doorway behind me all this time, listening to my tale. This is Professor of Magic Ita Torrin, my colleague, and faithful friend, Kulu-Kulu introduced her, gesturing towards her with the mouthpiece of his now-extinguished pipe. And I thought... I hesitated to continue. You thought I was a witch, Master Light, Professor Ita finished for me. I was astounded again. Telepaths! Both of them! In all of Bridgeport, only a few people could read thoughts as if they were words. It seemed I had stumbled into the upper echelon of mages! I will help him, Ita declared, turning to Kulu-Kulu. In her voice was the fatigue of someone who had been writing a dissertation all night. But it was said with firm determination. Its dangerous. Very dangerous, Ita, Kulu-Kulu responded, averting his gaze. I dont care! Im tired of it! How long can we endure this corrupt, bandit system of engineers and Zingaru? They do what they want, occasionally killing one of us. And we sit in our holes, hoping were not next. Whats the point? If they kill me, at least Ill take dozens of those creatures with me. Maybe then our so intelligent but cowardly mages will finally stir themselves and do something! This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Stop, Ita! Kulu-Kulu suddenly raised his voice. We cant win. Dont push us towards senseless resistance! The system must be broken cleverly! And how should it be broken, in your opinion? Ita demanded. I dont know. Yet. Were working on it. Have been for years. You know this. Rash and thoughtless actions will doom us all! There was an embarrassing pause, then, Ill help him anyway. Come on, Max. You wont get any help from this old man! Lady Ita, without looking back, headed to another room. I glanced questioningly at the Mini-Gandalf; he nodded with an approving smile. Ita led me into a round room with walls, oddly painted in various colors, and decorated with triangular mirrors on all sides. I saw fragments of my reflection everywhere. Undress. What? Undress. To the waist. You dont need to take off your trousers. I obediently undressed. Listen carefully and remember everything I tell you, Maxim... How did you know my real name? I was incredibly surprised by the sudden change in address. That doesnt matter now. In this room, you cant hide anything from me. Did you understand what my colleague and I were talking about? Honestly, no, I admitted. I mean; I know about the corrupt system in Bridgeport. But what do magicians have to do with it? Ita nodded, then pulled out from a shelf some permanent makeup tools, and an antiseptic solution, and, after seating me on the floor, sat next to me and began examining my forearm, as if looking for a starting point. I didnt object. Im not fond of tattoos, but I trusted this lady immediately. And what did I have to lose if she was lying? Then listen to a short story. About two hundred years ago, this area was a flourishing kingdom of magicians. Ruled by a council of magicians. There were many magic schools and universities, and the residents of this kingdom lacked for nothing. Magic helped cure diseases, and helped grow good crops. Magic was very advanced. Better than anywhere else on the planet. No conquerors dared even think of attacking our kingdom. It would have been pure suicide for them. There were no machines, no firearms here. Everyone was happy. No wars, no hunger, no diseases. Until everything changed one day. Thats when the engineers appeared. Initially, no one took them seriously. They were given asylum. The strangers stuck together, and nobody paid much attention to them. Establishing a technical corporation, they began, first as craftsmen, to sell their technical novelties. Many considered their wonders a form of magic. They were even registered as a magical guild back then. Can you imagine it?! Such a nonsense! When they started producing weapons, initially, nobody realized how it would change everything. Indeed, lots of people in our kingdom made different weapons: swords, bows, and armor. Whats so special about that? Look at this C Ita abruptly raised her left hand in a defensive gesture, and I felt the air in front of her hand thicken to an incredible density. Like a force shield of a spaceship from a space opera, only miniature. Do you know what this is? Yes, I nodded. Valikula C standard protection for magicians against cold weapons. Exactly! She disabled the shield and resumed etching something on my forearm. From any cold weapons, even from high-speed crossbow bolts! Easily. But with the engineers, one thing appeared that changed the rules. Radically. Firearms, I guessed, understanding where her story was leading. Yes. And now any, even the weakest moral degenerate, could do what was previously unimaginable. Kill a skilled magician! Just like that. A magical shield cant stop a bullet. The pressure of a bullet on contact with the shield far exceeds its density. Whereas the shaft of an arrow, once a living substance, easily responds to magical influence. I read in your history about the massacre of magicians in Bridgeport, I said. I didnt know it was so connected to firearms. I thought magicians had an antidote for that as well. No, not if the bullet is already fired. Theres no magic capable of absorbing its energy completely and immediately. Cant anything be done? The Council of Magicians, or rather whats left of it, tried to create a shield capable of withstanding the speed and energy of a bullet. But unsuccessfully. This is what Kulu-Kulu was talking about. He and a group of colleagues have been working on it for the last half-century. There are some promising results, but nothing definite yet. And I dont think theyll succeed in another half-century. The old magicians knew much more, and even they couldnt. Theres a fundamental obstacle at the level of physic-magical laws. And they cant be broken. Just as they cant be broken in your case. How will you then remove the curse? I wont remove it, Maxim. Ill extend it. Thats the maximum that can be done at the moment. What do you mean? To put it simply. The demon spirit tied to your curse perceives our world through your time perception. Time in its world flows differently. And if you try, you can distort its time feel. Making it believe that only a couple of hours have passed here, when in fact a week or more, lets say. Can we deceive it for long? It depends on the circumstances. You need to follow certain rules to survive as long as possible. Ill tell you what they are. In addition, Ill try to encode you for extended protection against magical attacks from your enemies. What kind of protection? I asked. Oh! Its Kulus latest work. He managed to restore the lost incantation of Kembal Urisko. A great mage who lived about twelve hundred years ago in Uria. Hes planning to write a dissertation about it, to boast to his colleagues, but Ive been dissuading him so far. Why? Do you realize the value and worth of this spell? Once its mastered by the elite magicians of Bridgeport, there will be a line of millionaires wanting such protection. Its very effective. The tattoo will absorb any magic directed against you. Moreover, it glows as an indicator, showing that magic is being used against you. If you had it earlier, the Sabverian shaman wouldnt be able to cast his fatal curse on you. And youre just doing this for me? For free? I dont have millions. Ita paused her work for a moment. Look into my eyes, Maxim. I turned to her, somewhat embarrassed by her strict and soft look. The wrinkles around her eyes didnt make her unattractive. The silver in her hair even added a special charm. A beautiful lady, once. She looked intently into my eyes. And suddenly, I understood why she decided to trust me. She knew very well that I was from the same world as the engineers! In this room, nothing can be hidden from me, she had said earlier. You hope I can change something in your world? I asked. Thats a useless idea. Im just an ordinary person. Those engineers, who came here, were smart guys. In contrast, Im not very good with technology. Ita shook her head, resuming the tattoo and continuing the conversation: I believe its no coincidence that you were brought here, Maxim. We C the magicians C believe in fate and destiny. You have some hidden purpose. Just like the ingineers, or engineers, as you probably correctly pronounce it. Right? Yes. I think we should help you. Kulu-Kulu doesnt believe in human intuition, but I feel that you are somehow important to our world. Im even ready to stake my life on it. Otherwise, this system will devour our world. Its already heading there. Tell me about your world, Maxim, and how did you transfer to us. I need more time to finish... Leaving Professor Itas place, I remembered my revolver, which I had not gotten back. I hesitated at the threshold. Asking her for a weapon that had so disrupted the lives of local magicians and people felt somehow wrong. But Ita instantly understood what was on my mind. Your weapon? Yes, if its not too much trouble. Open your palm, she said unexpectedly. Get ready and say Ace. I didnt understand the purpose of these actions, but I complied. Ace! The revolver landed in my hand with a slight painful thud. Instinctively, I clenched it, preventing it from falling, utterly surprised and impressed. You put a spell on it? But its a firearm! Ita smiled: Its for your protection, Maxim. Keeping you safe is important, I suppose. How far can I summon it? Unfortunately, only a short distance. About twenty to thirty steps. Youre not a magician, and that significantly reduces the range. Thank you, I said. I had nothing else to offer in return to this remarkable woman. Now, I was the fastest gun on this side of the Mississippi, or rather Bridgeport. And considering that elite magicians dont enchant firearms, probably the only one! Ill probably be in her debt for the rest of my life. I didnt dare to muster the courage to ask her how to find Shani. That would be too much. But then Ita herself gave me a very useful piece of advice: Look for telepaths, she said as we descended the stairs together. The person they wanted you to kill is, probably, shielded by a telepath-sensors. Why a telepath-sensor? Because a mage-telepath who reads thoughts as words is an extremely rare subject, and such people hire guards themselves not serve others. It took my whole life to master this complex skill. They usually dont work for someone else. They easily attain power and wealth if they want. Sensors-telepaths arent too common either. They''re often used to protect the important bigwigs of Bridgeport. They can sense ill intentions from hundreds of meters away. Youll only need to check about two hundred candidates, most of whom can be immediately ruled out in the search. As soon as you return to Bridgeport, go straight to the Magic University. Its on Wooden Snake Street, youve heard of it? I nodded affirmatively. Who in Bridgeport hadnt heard of it? The home turf of local Harry Potters. The Magician Academia! Ask my student, Eger Rufus. Hes the student council president and my most capable pupil. He has access to the archives with data on magicians. I cant warn him about your visit, so dont be surprised if something seems very strange. What do you mean? Nothing. Just keep it in mind, Maxim from another world... She smiled saying goodbye. A soft beautiful smile Ill still remember. Tus and Bus Chapter Three TUS AND BUS I was doing eighty miles per hour as I hit the highway into Bridgeport. That was the limit for my motorcycle. No surprise there. A strange world with strange technology, frozen at the level of the 1920s and 30s of Earths twentieth century. If I had been interested in Earths technical history, I could probably have pinpointed the exact date when Earthlings from the USA landed here. By the models of their technology. I wonder why theres no technical development. They mainly have what the engineers built a hundred and fifty years ago, and their student-followers just copy and reproduce. But nobody develops further. Strange! Ive thought about this a lot. Maybe the sacred cow, the engineers, couldnt be discredited and surpassed by their followers? Silly! Their blueprints and designs are sacred? Besides, the best minds go into magic, not into copying the engineers technology. There werent too many oncoming vehicles. Black cars, reminiscent of retro Daimlers or the famous Ford-T. Occasionally, covered trucks were seen. One such truck was stubbornly following me. Which, however, could be a coincidence. There wasnt anywhere for it to turn off. Almost everyone was heading to Bridgeport, the capital of the planets only magical-technological kingdom. And why would someone in a truck tail me when a car would be far more convenient... A minute later, I got the answer to my unspoken question. The truck suddenly accelerated and began to catch up with me, as if intending to push me off the road. It roared like an enraged bull charging at a matador. Its engine was more powerful, surely capable of reaching ninety miles. The only thing that came to mind was to veer off onto the shoulder, dramatically slow down, and bolt off-road, hoping to find some side dirt road where I could slip away from the diesel beast. But, for some reason, the driver didnt follow, continuing to drive parallel on the highway at the same reduced speed. Cars from behind overtook him, angrily honking, unhappy with his behavior, but he paid no attention to them. I barely realized the reason for this when it was already too late. On the dirt road that conveniently appeared ahead, they were waiting. And again, the Ronkas! I stopped my motorcycle fifty steps from the ambush and turned around. The truck blocked the exit to the highway, stopped and growling with its engine, ready to run over me at any moment. I could have tried to escape, but Id likely be shot with a rifle or a machine gun like a Maxim or Luis, which was probably in the trucks bed. Besides, this was an attempt to capture, not kill me. Why not surrender, I thought, feverishly calculating my chances if a shootout began. The Ronkas stood by the car, waiting for me, baring their teeth in a sinister smile. One with a Browning, the other with a Thompson submachine gun, terrible in accuracy but sufficient for the distance between us. Ronkas are poor shooters. That much I knew. But I would still have tried to take them down if not for the truck behind me. I couldnt do anything about it. I had no idea how many gangsters were inside, and I didnt want to check it. There might even be a magician for backup. Though now, average magicians were no concern to me. Itas spell should protect me. In theory. I got off the motorcycle, set it on its stand, and, with my hands raised, started walking towards the Ronkas. Hey, you! Dont shoot, I surrender! I called out with a slightly hoarse voice, approaching slowly. The Ronka standing to the left of the car with the Browning broke into an almost grateful smile. It seemed a shootout with a sniper who had won the Bridgeport shooting competition was not on their list of preferences. They probably were clearly instructed to capture me alive. Hand over the gun. Take it out slowly, he commanded, waving the Browning. Seemingly, he was the leader of the two. I complied with his order and handed him the weapon, handle first. Tucking it immediately behind his belt and covering it with the flap of his hideous gray, poor-quality jacket, he gestured towards the back seat of the car. Get in. I sat in the indicated seat. The Ronka with the submachine gun squeezed in next to me, almost crushing me against the car door with his massive bulk of flesh and muscle. Feeling around the door on my side, I noticed there was no handle to open it. Thoughtful guys. Why are you messing around with the disentchanters? asked the Ronka in charge, starting the car. He carefully drove past the truck, honking giving a signal of departure. They told you not to stick your neck out. I hesitated with my response, knowing that Ronkas didnt appreciate overly intellectual talk and smart words, and decided to irk them a bit. You instructed me, as you so eloquently put it, esteemed Ronka, not to lodge a complaint with the ammaratia. There was no mention of disentchanters in provided message. The Ronka at the wheel grunted noncommittally: You shouldve figured it out yourself. Youre not stupid, are you? No, while it may sound clich, my intellectual index is close to one hundred fifty. This was confirmed by independent tests at highly respected experts of the military academy. An institution your humble servant graduated from with honors and a red diploma. What? The one sitting on the left with the Thompson painfully jabbed me in the side: Cut it out, freak! I winced at his poke but continued to play the fool. What should I cut out, esteemed sir? These are just typical verbal flourishes for me in a stressful situation... Thompson jabbed me again, this time pressing the barrel of his weapon to my head. Leave him, Bus! said the Ronka behind the wheel. He was talking normally at the tailors! protested Bus, clearly infuriated by my behavior. Cool it. We cant kill him. And he knows it. Aha! I mentally whistled. There are smart Ronkas after all! This guy could probably even graduate from a middle school in Uryupinsk. Though hed probably struggle with math. I decided to continue my charade: In your position, noble gentlemen, it is entirely unnecessary to subject me to such barbaric kidnapping. I could have come to your boss myself, had he called my home number. Courtesy and civility are like a gulp of cold orange juice on a scorching day. As Schopenhauer once said in his philosophical essay... Let me gag him, Tus, Bus suggested, unable to endure another dose of my high-flown rambling. Alright, Im quiet, dude, I said, deciding it wasnt worth spending the whole ride with a gag in my mouth. At least now I knew the names of these gorillas. Tus and Bus. Probably brothers. Ronkas have funny siblings names that rhyme. Bus sighed with unmistakable relief. Tus, without turning around, shook his head reproachfully and drove the car. It was beginning to get dark. We rode in silence for a while. Then, I decided to break it. Can I ask something? Go ahead, Tus permitted. Just talk normal, Bus quickly added, threateningly waving the barrel of his Tommy-gun. I decided to ask something. Why did that flour-dusted idiot curse me with an absolute curse? What interest do I have now in killing your enemy, even for a million reals? Am I supposed to spend it in the afterlife? Bus immediately snorted with satisfaction. Simple, flat humor is something Ronkas understand, and they supposedly like it. Exactly, dude! In the afterlife, your million is waiting for you with hookers, casinos, and cards. The shaman shouldnt have done that, Tus responded, ignoring his companions remark. The boss scolded him for it. And thats supposed to make me feel better? The terms of our deal have been revised. At least, thats what the boss said. I dont know the specifics. I have a small part in this. Auda will explain everything as soon as we get there. The choices are yours. Whos that? I asked, surprised that he was willingly sharing this information, not expecting an answer. The lawman. The bosss lawyer. I didnt like this. Why was he telling me all this? Could they be expecting my voluntary cooperation after everything theyve done? Maybe theyll lift the curse? Strange! Is it even possible? A gangster band in Bridgeport, is surely not capable of such a feat, especially when extra-class magicians like Kulu-Kulu cant do it... It was quite dark by the time they brought me to some warehouse in the port area of Bridgeport. As we approached the green-painted metal gates with peeling paint, Tus got out of the car and roughly kicked the gate with what must have been at least a size fifty-six boot. The gates whimpered in response to such brute force from the micro-giant. Not waiting for any response from behind the gates, Tus returned to the car and resumed his seat at the wheel. A minute later, the gates opened, revealing the black void of the entrance, leading through the darkness to a lone lamp hanging from the ceiling, dim and barely illuminating the center of the warehouse. Tus carefully drove inside and turned off the engine. Someone immediately slammed the gates shut with a heavy bolt, locking away any hope of leaving this place alive. Auda, the lawyer, wore an excellent jacket, worth no less than five thousand reals. Spending days on end at Shanis tailor shop, I had learned to distinguish good clothing from mediocre and poor, acquiring the silly habit of assessing its cost at first glance. This was sometimes useful in investigations. Instantly determining a suspects social status by appearance can be invaluable. Auda was Zingaru C a representative of a very rare race in the world of Rydii. In the nearly million-strong Bridgeport, there were only a few thousand of them. No one knew for sure. They were very secretive and engaged in mysterious activities within their closed circle. Zingaru have dusky skin, fairly large noses, and black, large pupils. Their dark brown, or sometimes bright red hair, resembles a lions mane around the head, creating an impression of a cartoon-type mix of lion and human. When they speak, they have a distinctive accent, very unusual: thick, hoarse, and low. Among themselves, they speak in a frequency range almost inaudible to the human ear. Its said that Zingaru lawyers use this in court, communicating among themselves. No human has ever managed to learn the Zingaru language. As representatives of a strange alien race, to us humans, Zingaru seem similar to one another as if they all have the same face. However, Zingaru themselves have no trouble distinguishing each other. The lawyer sat at a table, lit by the meager light of a kerosene lamp suspended from the ceiling on a fairly rusty hook made of thick wire. There was no electricity here. Or it had been deliberately turned off. Some people stood to the sides, but it was impossible to discern who. The metallic lampshade on the lamp illuminated only the table within a three-meter circle of light, and I could only see vague shadows along the wall about twenty meters away, in relaxed poses. Seven or eight people, most likely armed. Without a word, I was seated on a chair. The Ronkas handled my weight as if I were a child. The Zingaru nodded satisfactorily to my escorts C Tus and Bus, and they joined the shadows along the walls. Ten, I concluded my tally. Plus, one Zingaru, the most dangerous one. They say, Zingaru have lightning-fast reactions. I started calculating in my mind my chances of getting out of the predicament alive. First I shoot the lamp. Then him. Or maybe him first, then the lamp? A formidable task. Auda, apparently reading something on my face, or surprised by my calm demeanor, decided to start with a polite greeting, interrupting my thoughts on the implausible idea of hitting both him and the lamp simultaneously: The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Hello, Shooter. Mr. Max Light, I corrected him. I love the accent and the slightly hoarse articulation of Zingaru. Its inimitable. To any Earthling, they would undoubtedly evoke curiosity and immense interest. Living aliens, extraterrestrials! And they understand humans well, even though they consider themselves far superior. Much superior. And they barely hide it. Perhaps they intentionally make it obvious. Thats just like them. The Zingaru smiled. A lion-like smile. Very pleased to meet you. Auda Hariisky. The fear inside me intensified, more than it had been up to this point. Killing a Zingaru was a death sentence itself. They are as vengeful as Chechens. And to kill one from the Hariisky clan was doubly so. What had my show-off shooting and flamboyance gotten Shani and me into? O Lord, forgive me my stupidity! I pleaded inside. ''Lets see, though. Maybe there is a way out?'' Whats your problem, Master Light? asked Auda, phrasing his question oddly. But I understood what he meant. It was a test of my intelligence, to see if I could grasp his intricate question with its underlying meaning. I decided not to play the fool. Zingaru are not Ronkas. Nor are they even humans. Itߧѧ֧ާߧ ҧڧۧѡs dangerous and usually futile to be cunning with them. I dont kill people on command. Thats the only problem, Tana Auda. (Tana C a respectful address from humans to Zingaru.) And how do you kill them? Only in self-defense. When I am forced to. Auda tilted his head. Sensible behavior. Thank you, I said. I thought so too. At least, until Ive met your gorillas. A short pause took over the place, then: Do you play chess, Master Light? Auda asked, changing the subject and seemingly ignoring my barb. Yes, I replied, provoking him. I play chess no worse than I shoot. I did have a chess rating. It was worth trying to stir this oversized cat. Chess was brought to this world by the mysterious ingineers, and it was one of the games whose skill was recognized by Zingaru as a benchmark of intelligence. Some of their philosophers even ventured to claim that humanity was created for the sake of developing this game for the Zingaru race. For a moment, I thought he would now propose a game. On mine and Shanis lives. I would have taken the risk. I could already envision them bringing in a chessboard, familiar from childhood, clinking with pieces inside. But Zingaru again veered off where I didnt expect: In this game, there is a situation where the opponents can neither win nor make a move. A stalemate, I added the term to his description. Yes. And I believe we are in such a situation now. You do not want to accept our proposal. And I cannot simply let you go. But your behavior is uncharacteristic. You are hiding something. Yet I cannot order to kill you for refusing our exiting proposal. Its not that exciting, I remarked dryly. Really? He feigned surprise, insincerely and theatrically. And you cant let me and Shani go. Whats the problem? I can keep my mouth shut, I suggested an alternative. Auda shook his head. Unfortunately, that would be a loss of authority. If one person refuses our assignment, then another might too. You must understand how this would affect our business. Of course, I understand. But you could make an exception for us. Especially since your shaman cursed me with an absolute curse. Whats the point for me to carry out this job after that? Auda hesitated before answering, then stunned me: The curse is not a problem, Master Light. It will be lifted if you successfully eliminate the target. I dont believe you, I said, trying to probe his honesty, maybe he wasnt lying. ''The Dan-Dan-Flors curses are irreversible!'' Ive heard this several times today from quite respected magicians. Did they tell you that there are three entities that can undo such curses? They did. The mythical queen of the Ancient Island, the mythical god of another lost island(why do your gods here so love islands?), and another equally mythical WhoKnowsWho thousands of miles away C I think it takes two years to get there. By horse. Forgot his name. Aha! You forgot the most important one for you, Master Light. The Abbot of the Semenites The head of Temple Knights. And they are not mythical at all. I have been in the presence of the Great Abbot personally. About two hundred years ago. Or was it one hundred and eighty? I dont remember exactly. It was a previous incarnation. Aha, now I remember, I corrected myself. The Order of Desert Knights. Ascetics and powerful magicians and fighters. But still, no better than the mythical gods and queens, theyre at the other end of the continent, as far as I know. In any case, your problem is not the curse, as I understand it. Is it not? I countered. Playing on their inability to lift the curse seemed like a reasonable strategy. I had no intention of doing their dirty work, but stating that outright was asking for trouble. In criminal slang, it was a good excuse. So, youre saying youll do the job if the curse is lifted? And thats where I slipped up. I had told myself that being cunning was pointless. As a person from a non-magical world, I kept forgetting that here, thoughts materialize. After a tense ten-second pause, I said with all the confidence I could muster: If you remove the curse, then yes. Auda tilted his head, drilling into me with his crow-black pupils. I withstood his terrible alien gaze. But the mistake was already made. Then Zingaru lifted his gaze, looking past my shoulder, and asked one of the shadows against the wall: Is he telling the truth? No! came the ringing response from a voice that sounded very young, almost adolescent. He lies. And hes thinking about how to kill you! A telepath-sensor! I felt a chill. The Antarctic ice seemed to settle in my stomach. Good thing I hadnt mentioned the lamp. But of course, a telepath-sensors only detect desires. Thoughts-words are beyond their reach. Audas voice now had the scent of the grave. With a routine business tone, accented by a beautiful, slightly hoarse Zingaru articulation C one you could listen to for ages C he said: Kill him! Ace! ''One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest?'' No, this was not a flight over the cuckoos nest! It was my flight over a table of gangsters den! I soared over the table with a revolver in hand, twisting mid-air to shatter the kerosene lamp into fragments, while shielding my eyes with the other hand. Auda Hariskys body hadnt even touched the floor when darkness enveloped the room, the only light source extinguished by my actions. ''ELEVEN!'' I began the countdown in my head. I landed on the other side of the table, clutching the now warm revolver that had so swiftly leaped from beneath Tuss jacket flap into my hand, ready to spit fire like a frenzied beast. Roll. Change position. Quickly! I barely made it C a leaden rain poured onto the spot where I had fallen. Fools! The flashes from their shots momentarily illuminated their figures. Meanwhile, I, having shed my jacket and rolled twice, fired back, using it as an improvised flash suppressor. The first rule of a sniper C conceal your location when firing. Two flashes ceased before they could figure out what was happening and stopped their incriminating fire. ''TEN, NINE,'' I continued, quietly and stealthily crawling away. The second rule of a good sniper. Change your position, even if you think you havent been spotted! A pause ensued. In the deepest, pitch-black darkness. A darkness so thick you could cut and eat it in slices, choking on fear and tension. The darkness of a death lottery! They shouldnt have angered me. Oh, they really shouldnt have! Every hair on my body stood on end, and adrenaline coursed through my veins in liters per minute. The pause stretched on and on. They didnt know what to do, just waiting for me to act. To make a mistake: to start shooting first. I wasnt about to run for the gates and become an excellent target in the opening of the swinging doors, as well. No way! Bastards! Or do you want to test the patience of a sniper?! Oh, I have an ocean of it! You cant imagine how long a sniper can lie still in the frozen ground, blending with the terrain, mud, grass, and leaves, becoming a part of the landscape. Waiting for that singular moment when an enemy appears in the kilometer distance. Your only hope here is a combat helicopter with a thermal imager. But you dont have one. And likely never will. Come on, lets see who outlasts whom! Someones nerves gave out first. I heard desperate footsteps heading toward the car by the gates, heavy like a rhinos tread. Right. Rush to the car, and turn on the headlights. Illuminate so the rest of the gang can riddle me with bullets. FOOLISH IDEA! If you dont have Native American leather moccasins, then the clomping of size fifty boots is a certain death. Absolute death! And really, one shouldnt run around in the dark in a warehouse. Its dangerous. Theres all sorts of stuff around: boxes, wagons, snipers. The latter are especially perilous. I fired twice. The sound of a falling body informed me of the success of my blind shooting. ''SEVEN!'' I swiftly changed my position again, reloading the revolver. The gangsters could fire at the sound of my shot, even without seeing the flames through the folded jacket. And I was right. They took a chance to get me. Flames, again and again, perfect targets: ''SIX, FIVE!'' ''What are you thinking? Youll never learn, you just repeating the same mistakes like that! You cant rush here. This is not the standard situation for you. No shopkeepers here that you can scare off with just the sight of your gang, no skittish and obsequious roadside caf owners, and no greased-up prostitutes along Muhaboyshikov Street (God knows why its named like that). This is the realm of sharpshooters and their patience! Bandits have no place here. I am the master here. Master of death and darkness.'' Bastard! Worm! Ill kill y...! ''FOUR!'' And talking here is completely out of the question. Its even advisable not to breathe. The heavy panting of a mammoth-like body can attract death. But now, youre so scattered, that you dont even know if its me shooting or if youre shooting each other. To your unluck, it doesnt matter to me. Im alone! And there are many of you, though it seems you dont care anymore and will shoot at any noise, regardless. With a quick flick, I tossed the revolver aside, bluntly hitting the warehouse wall. The burst from the Thommy-gun masked my quiet, "Ace!" The revolver flew back into my hand, and the Thompson fell silent. THREE! Farewell, Bus! Well miss you. Hookers and blackjack await you in the hell you wanted for me. So, two left. One magician, with a thin, ringing voice, and one gorilla. The sensor-mage is dangerous. He can sense the direction of danger. But in this situation, that knowledge is a mockery. He cant tell or shout to his comrades where I am. That would be instant death. And its not certain it would be from me; the frightened bandits would open fire at any noise before realizing its source. Ha, wildly funny! But he could run from me for a long time. To hell with it! Ill keep throwing my revolver-boomerang until I force a mistake. Or think of something else. Ive got a whole wagonload of sniper tricks, and a cart to boot. Stuff you, the city gangsters, cant even dream of! DO NOT SHOOT, WE SURRENDER!!! I almost fired at the desperate cry. And I recognized the voice. Tus! A smart, rare Ronka. No wonder you were the only one not shooting in the dark, understanding what it could lead to certain death. You saw how I hit targets from nine hundred yards. I remained silent, unresponsive. Could you be tricking me, Tus? Two hours ago, I was the one surrendering, and now everythings turned around. But why do I need your surrender? Dont shoot, Shooter! I know you cant respond without giving away your position. You dont have to answer. Im with Dina; shell tell me your wish. Can we open the gates? I pondered, ''Right now, I could shoot him. His voice was barely ten meters away. Fine. The guy might prove useful. They have Shani, and if I take him out, the thread breaks and Ill have to dig through Bridgeports asphalt with my nose to find its end again.'' He wont shoot. The gates can be opened. The young subjects voice confirmed my desire. Handy to have a negotiator who senses your most genuine wishes. Impossible to deceive. And having one on your side is a colossal advantage... Tus acted as if following my instructions. Opening the gates, he stepped back a few paces and stood with his hands clasped behind his neck, not turning around. A girl, about thirteen or fourteen C the sensor-mage C stood beside him, also raising her hands. But in a somewhat foolish way, at shoulder level, palms up, as if she was making fun of the position. If it werent for the recent killing, I would have thought she found it amusing. She was dressed in some sort of attire reminiscent of an Albanian national costume with a yellow vest and a white knee-length skirt. Quite an odd outfit for this part of the land. I surveyed this scene from the depths of the warehouse, watching them from the darkness, then stepped outside. Only then did I realize how stale the air was in that damned warehouse. The intoxicating night breeze of the coastal area was incredibly refreshing. The smell of the sea air was incomparable. I breathed deeply, relishing the end of this death lottery, and approached my captives. Tus flinched when I touched him with the revolvers barrel but said nothing and did not turn around. Dont worry, Tus. He wont shoot. He wants to use us, the girl commented carelessly on the situation. I was irritated with her. Enough, stop reading my thoughts. Who are you? What are you doing with these thugs? Where are your parents? The girl snorted and turned over her shoulder, shamelessly scrutinizing me with mischievous, elfish-green eyes. I was in mild shock. What kind of upbringing! She, indeed, found it amusing! A Flashback Chapter Four A FLASHBACK I dont remember how I ended up in this unusual, fairy-tale world, corrupted with technology. With gangsters coexisting alongside magic, dwarfs, dragons, and other fairytale stuff. I remember the moment I arrived here, but nothing before that. I was traveling from Kyiv to a village twenty kilometers from Odesa for urgent business. A friend I hadnt seen in twenty years called, a desperate cry for help on the phone. Then darkness. I dont recall anything that happened. Not the journey, the arrival, or even whether I reached my destination or not. A mystery I pondered for years after. From then on, it was all here, in this strange world. Upon arrival, I roamed the city, thinking I had landed in Earths past C the thirties or twenties. Dreaming of a time machine, what a fool I was! But this misconception cleared up quickly. No one spoke English, French, or even any Earthly language, though everything looked comically familiar. The style was 1930s USA, wildly mixed with the local cultural atmosphere C so alien and therefore even more absurd. It was as if this could only be the world of some alien city, if in the thirties, thanks to some miraculous technology, people could fly to other star systems. For two days after my landing, I wandered the city, observing, trying to talk to passersby, surprised by the appearance of some people who turned out to be alien creatures C sometimes humanoid, sometimes not. I remember the shock when I first saw magic. At first, I thought it was circus tricks, illusions, but then realized C such tricks cant be the old hocus-pocus things from our world. Sure magicians and illusionists always perform disappearances, levitations, and other tricks, but those were on a different level. In tricks, you never see how the magic under the hood happens; that part is always omitted because its a sort of deception. But here, it was all on full display. If something disintegrated or vanished, you, literally saw, how the object shrank and dissolved in parts, with a physically tangible release of energy affecting the surrounding temperature and air pressure. The air temperature around would rapidly drop or rise. Try passing that off as a trick! Those things were real! By the end of my second day wandering through this fantastic and retro-USA-style but alien metropolis, I was incredibly hungry. A banal human desire. They say a person can survive a month without food. But I didnt want to test that theory. There was no problem with water, though. I often came across parks with little drinking fountains, and I was almost certain that the strange hieroglyphic inscriptions at such places meant drinking water. Then I met Shani. It was a peculiar coincidence, stumbling upon such an adventure right off the bat. As if someone had deliberately guided me to this alley, manipulating my subconscious. That feeling when you cant decide whether youve done something foolish on your own or if someone has infiltrated your mind, making you turn the wrong corner without you noticing. In the alley, a gang of odd thugs C I couldnt call them anything else since they were far from being human C had cornered an unusual blue-skinned girl. I had already encountered the grey-faced types, though never in such numbers. But a blue girl, as tall as a twelve-year-old human girl, was a first for me. She captured my attention not just with her white hair tinged with purple, tied in a ponytail at the nape, but also with her strange attire, reminiscent of the garb of Midwestern dancers, her midriff bare. The gang was led by a huge figure, a Ronka, as I later found out. A race of micro-giants commonly used for security purposes. They usually lacked the intellect for more sophisticated labor. The typical brawn-over-brain scenario is in full display. The Ronka, twenty meters away with his back to me, made a perfect target for a running hit. I hardly hesitated. The question of why I was getting involved didnt even cross my mind. Essentially, I had no choice: either draw the locals attention or die of hunger or become a criminal. Being without knowledge of the language and local customs, I desperately needed a local guide. So, much as Id like to talk about chivalrous deeds and decent gentlemen rushing to ladies aid, in that case, I was mostly helping myself. Yoko-geri Kekomi C thats the lengthy name for what I did next. In Japanese, it translates to a jumping heel kick or something like that. The hefty figure, upon whom I unleashed all my knowledge from a youth spent fascinated with Eastern martial arts, toppled forward like a lamppost. For a moment, I thought I had hit the lamppost, given the massiveness of the fellow. Two hundred kilograms, at least, and not an ounce of it fat! My stunt caused shock and panic among the grey-faced fellows. I dishonorably took advantage of that. Or so I thought. Drawers, as I later learned they were called, were shorter than humans and seemingly frailer. Their bones were thin, like those of teenagers. But they had claws. Well, nails, but ten times tougher and bulkier than human ones. Sharpened to a point, they posed a grave threat in a street fight. As I enthusiastically applied judo throws, kicks, and box punches, they slashed me several times. So swiftly, I only noticed when I smelled my own blood and felt a sharp pain. From my veins! And then, they cast a spell on me. For the first time. A clap C and a blow to my back. As if someone had rammed a sack of flour into me. It lacked the hardness of a baseball bat, but it knocked the breath out of me instantly. I started to fall, and at that moment, the blue-skinned girl screamed. A flash of incredible purple light shielded me from the street sorcerers next attack, and a shockwave scattered the gang of drawers. I teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, fully aware of the absurdity of my situation. Great savior, my foot! I thought to myself, finally succumbing to the blissful darkness of unconsciousness. I awoke in Shanis atelier. As she explained to me later, she had called a taxi, somehow dragging me to the entrance of the alley, something I still find hard to believe. I weighed ninety kilograms, and she, a forty-kilogram Shainarian fairy, couldnt possibly have dragged me C a healthy, by local standards, brute. She seemed so fragile. But then, she probably used magic. Fairies are pretty good with that. So, I came to this blue ladys place. Naked. She had undressed me and was treating my cuts. When I looked at them, I was terrified. Good heavens! I was slashed everywhere possible. Even my modesty was forgotten. Confident in the frailty of my opponents, I hadnt kept them at bay, and each of those scoundrels managed to scratch me with their sharpened nails or claws, I dont know what to call them. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. But the blue maiden knew her craft exceptionally well. Right before my eyes, she mended the wounds and cuts with a leaf of some plant, combined with magic. Just placed it and softly sang. Once, twice. The cuts disappeared and healed, leaving only scars. Seeing me watching, she smiled approvingly and said something melodious. Such a sweet voice. Probably the angels speak in heaven like her. I shook my head, indicating I didnt understand. She spoke again, in what I understood to be another language. I helplessly shook my head again. She changed languages about twenty times, like a polyglot. Not wanting to tire her with futile attempts, not knowing how many languages she knew, I finally spoke: I dont understand you, beauty. Sorry about that. She looked puzzled by my speech but then repeated my phrases exactly, without an accent. I dont understand you, beauty. Sorry about that. I laughed. Absolute pitch! Incredible! No-no. Handsome. Beauty is feminine. Though what kind of handsome am I. You are the beauty here. And me just a wild night wanderer. She also smiled. Enchantingly soft. She pointed a finger at me and said: Understand. Handsome, then pointing at herself: Beauty. I softly whistled. Although she drew an incorrect conclusion, she deciphered the first word instantly! And the declension matched. No, no, I corrected her and, mimicking her gesture, corrected the linguistic misunderstanding that was about to form: Man, woman. Then I added, pointing again at her: Beauty. She got it. Laughed heartily. And patted my forehead with comforting falsity: Handsome, handsome. A handsome man. Sure, right now, I dismissed, slightly waving my hand. Dont lie to me, blue-skinned baby, I cant even remember how many times my nose has been broken in fights... Thats how I met Shani. Or a Shainarian fairy, to be exact. A real fairy. Or an earthly equivalent of a fairy, if you wish. She even has wings. But theyre magical and only appear at night. If a fairy bares her body under the moonlight, thats when you can see them. Delicate and transparent, like those of a dragonfly. Otherwise, Shani looks like a regular girl. A very beautiful girl, I must say. Petite and with a models figure. But thats just appearance. Shes a magical creature, not biological like humans. And thats an important distinction. There are no male fairies. They dont reproduce the way humans do. Our sexual desires are incomprehensible to them. Moreover, they live so long that its beyond human comprehension. Shani, for instance, was around fifty-something years old. And for a fairy, thats the age of an eighth-grade schoolgirl. By their standards, shes not yet an adult. And comparisons to humans dont apply here. Shes entirely different, a completely different being. Why she saved me is still a mystery to me. Fairies dont like humans. Men especially. They interact somewhat with unmarried women, but with men, its a no-go. They dont even converse with men. Perhaps Shani sensed with her magical intuition that I wasnt from this world and therefore not entirely human by her worlds standards. Or maybe it was something else. Only Shani and God knew the real reason. Shani owned an atelier, a place for designing womens clothing. Quite fashionable in that area. At first glance, it sounds absurd, a fairy involved in fashion design. Shani herself came from a far-off giants island. On their native island, the fairies faced genocide by explorers and conquistadors from a distant southern empire called the Shainar Kingdom. Hence the term Shainar fairy. But it was best not to mention this name in her presence. After the genocide, the surviving fairies scattered in all directions. Shani had a mentor who brought her here, and before passing away, she made sure her apprentice was well-adjusted to the local life. And Shani adapted well. To the strange human life. Without moonlit flights among trees as tall as skyscrapers, and the nectar from flowers as big as houses in her homeland. It must have been a strange and wild place for her, I thought, spending days on end watching her in the atelier, commanding her two employees C the Milby sisters. Occasionally, she would arrange an impromptu fashion show for me. I described clothing from my world to her, and she often bombarded me with questions about our ways. I felt like I had recounted half the books Id ever read and half the movies Id seen to her. I suspected she fed on my stories like some sort of spirit vampire. It looks like the information substituted most of our C human C pastimes for fairies. So, thats how I lived. Under the wing, or rather, at the expense of a fairy, which I was deeply ashamed of. I tried working as a porter at the port a couple of times, but Shani indignantly made me quit, despite my protests. She wanted to teach me sewing since I was so eager to work. But I flatly refused to share her professional passion. Maxim Svyatlyakov C former cop, sniper C and now a seamstress. Right. As if I needed that! Then, once I got used to the local concrete jungle, learned the language, and started figuring out how things worked here, I opened a private detective agency. The idea was ludicrous, to be honest. I was still a rookie here, practically! Sure, Id been stuck here for five years, but you cant master the nuances of local life in such a short time. Still, I took the risk. I set up the agency. Got a phone line installed. Placed an ad in the newspaper. All on Shanis dime, of course. What a freeloader I was! Business picked up gradually. A couple of years working in the investigative department back home did lend me some advantage. I dealt with the small stuff, mostly. Marital infidelities, shoplifting, missing persons. Meanwhile, I tried to learn as much as possible about magic and this peculiar city. Everything was meticulously recorded and analyzed in my journal. By then, I was on my seventh volume. I knew that mysterious engineers founded the city, and only a fool wouldnt have figured out where they came from. This meant my transportation to this world wasnt a unique occurrence. The question now was: Is there a way back? Some hidden door in an abandoned castle, like in childrens books, back on Earth, perhaps? How to find it out? The ingineers had ignited a technological revolution, but only within this particular kingdom. Their influence didnt extend to the entire planet. God knows how many of them arrived here initially, but it must have been at least a dozen, given the significant impact they had made. The rest of the planet was exactly what youd expect C a wild land filled with magic, kingdoms, empires, dragons, and who knows what else. I wisely refrained from venturing beyond Bridgeports limits. As a city dweller, all that magical territory was too foreign and potentially dangerous for me. Plus, the locals outside Bridgeport harbored a fierce hatred for its residents. The concrete jungle was far safer and somewhat more familiar. Corrupt Ammaratia C an equivalent of our police. Politicians, factories, journalists, newspapers, fast food, and cars C those things were familiar to me. Although the cars and technology were from the time of Methuselah, and people, not just humans, dressed in hats and suits in the fashion of the 1930s... Unwilling Allies or the Woodensnake Street Chapter Five UNWILLING ALLIES OR WOODENSNAKE STREET Tus, you realize neither you nor I are safe now. Yes, Boss. I smirked at his new way of addressing me. Boss! The guy was quick-witted. He understood that the murder of Auda of the Khari clan wouldnt be forgiven, neither to me nor to him. Even if he delivered my head to them, theyd kill him just for failing to protect their master. Perhaps less cruelly, but theyd finish him off. And he knows this better than I do. Call me Max. Im not your boss, Tus. Alright, Max. I lowered my self-returning revolver. No point in aiming it at him and intimidating him anymore. We were allies now, in any case. Tus could be quite useful. Wheres Shani, Tus? I dont know, Max. I wasnt surprised. Youre just a small fry for the boss, Tus, not important enough to be informed where the port mafias personal guests are kept. Any guesses? Zingarus restaurant. The fancy one on the dock? With the opera sirens? Yes. Whos your boss? I dont know, Max. What? At that time, I couldnt believe what I was hearing. What kind of nonsense was that? You dont know who you work for? Sorry, but I cant believe that. The girl, who had been silent up until now, interjected into our conversation: Hes telling the truth. I turned to her. Ah, but how do we know when youre telling the truth? I said sarcastically. The girl chuckled: No way to know, Boss. Im not your boss. She was mocking me, the little brat! So, you both work, if you can call it that, and you dont even know for whom? But now we do, Boss, the girl said cheerfully, deliberately repeating the word that annoyed me. I was at a loss for words. She was like a thorn in my ass. I decided to just ignore her. Tus, Ill believe you this time. Its possible that they dont tell you, pawns, everything, I added pointedly, emphasizing pawns. But you must have heard something during your honest laborious bandit activities. Who was I supposed to off? Whos your boss C Zingaru or a human? Who to off, Im not sure. Seems like some politician. Tara hinted once. Whos Tara? The bosss deputy. Hes the only one who contacts him. Everything goes through him or Auda. So, is the boss a human or Zingaru? I think its a human. Dont joke. A Zingaru would never work under a human. Tus shrugged, still facing away from me, responding to my question: Audas not a subordinate. Hes a lawman, the bosss partner. How do we get to Tara? What kind of guy is he anyway? If we wait here any longer, youll find him. Along with the others. The girl again! What a sharp tongue! Shut up, will you? Its like a kindergarten here! Didnt anyone teach you not to interrupt adults conversing? The girl chuckled again. They did, but I interrupted them too. I paused for a moment, pondering. Indeed, we needed to get out of here. Any moment now reinforcements might arrive or, even worse, the port precincts ammaratia. Those guys are even worse than the bandits. Corrupt to the core, the very rot of Bridgeport. Alright. Tus, get your jalopy. Were leaving. Tus, visibly relieved, hurried to comply. Seemed, the arrival of others worried him even more than it did me. In less than two minutes, the girl and I clambered into the back seat, while Tus, with the agility of a professional driver, steered onto the road. Where to, Max? Wooden Snake Street, I said, finally stowing away the revolver which, it turns out, I had been waving around all this time without realizing I was still holding it We rode through half the city for about half an hour. Where to now? Tus asked patiently, half-turned towards me, braking at the traffic light just before entering Wooden Snake Street. The long street in the old part of the metropolis cut almost half the city from south to north. Keep driving straight, Ill tell you where to stop, I commanded. The light turned green, and we were off again. He doesnt trust you, the magical girl remarked with a disarming, but extremely mean smile. I remained silent, already tired of her. She was impossible to silence. Well, it would be possible if she couldnt read others feelings. She sensed no threat from me, and that amused her. The tough guy who gunned down a whole gang of gangsters, but wouldnt touch her. A sentimental and kind man, no matter what it seemed like from the outside. With Auda, she surely behaved quite differently. I am sure. As quiet as a mouse, no doubt, because she could read his mind and knew the coldness and cruelty with which he would have dealt with her if she showed any defiance. Gosh, who would marry such a girl? No secrets, no private stash could be hidden. Itd be torture, not a marriage! Tus seemed to sense my mood: Max, if shes unpleasant to you, she can be sold on the black market. Youd make a fortune. Though Id rather not. Shes very useful in terms of warning about danger. Hearing this, Dina leaned over the seat and began to pummel Tuss back with her fists: Ill sell you! Youre a brainless fool! I pulled her away from this activity before she caused an accident, distracting the driver. Her punches were probably like tickles to a mighty Ronka. Calm down! No ones going to sell you. You can go wherever you want, I assured her. After a bit of a struggle for appearances, she relaxed and stopped trying to harm Tus. It was mostly an act she and Tus shared a friendly relationship, and not without reason. Tus was the most sensible and least cruel member of the gang, and the little devil surely had sensed that long before. Do you have parents, wonder girl? No. Shes lying. Tattletale! Shes the daughter of some baron from a magical territory. Ran away from home to see the wonders of Bridgeport. So, youre from the other side of the Wall? I asked her, somewhat surprised. How did they even let you through the gates of Agartha? Not like that, she sulked. I climbed over the wall. I was even more astonished. The state of mages, which was destroyed by the technical civilization of the ingineers, was separated from the rest of the world by a huge wall, far taller than the famous Great Wall of China, erected by the combined efforts of many mages and magical creatures of this world. To protect themselves from the danger posed by technological interference. The only way to get past the wall was through special gates called the Gates of Agartha, named after one of the mage kings who proposed the idea of building this wall. One could also travel by sea. This was how lively trade was conducted between Bridgeport and the rest of the world. Wealthy residents of overseas countries bought generators, refrigerators, irons, and other technical household conveniences, in exchange for their goods, mainly raw materials and foodstuffs. Because of this, Bridgeport was fabulously wealthy. But the barrier of the wall restrained it too. Sooner or later, everything was bound to explode. Industrialists and merchants could not reconcile with the loss of such a vast portion of their profits due to the maritime snares and obstacles imposed by the authorities of the magic territory. In general, war could break out today, tomorrow, or in a hundred years. There was no exact date, but the conflict of interests was bound to provoke it. And who would win was also clear. Unless they invent a spell against bullets, as the Kulu-Kula and Ita Torrin''s group was striving to achieve. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Wow, I said, eyeing her slender figure. Are you a climber? Snow Tiger? How did you climb that sheer basalt wall, ninety stags high? I wont tell. Its not my secret. Aha. Did you tell Aude the same thing? I asked her. No. But you are not Aude. You are kind. You wont torment a poor girl. I turned away. She giggled. What a witch! Stop! Tus abruptly braked two blocks away from the University of Magic. I didnt want to tell him yet where I was heading. Better safe than sorry. Ill walk with the girl, send him to lie low or gather info on Shani if he can. Need to act before the Hariya mafia starts a large-scale hunt for their clansmans killer. Dont you trust me, Max? Should I? Tus sighed before responding: No, of course not. Trust no one. And that includes her, he nodded towards the girl, holding my intense gaze calmly. Tus drove off towards the port, heading back without saying why. Frankly, it wasnt my concern. The guy knew the Hariya mafia better than I did, and it wasnt my place to teach him where to best lay low. Besides, he was likely to bolt. Over the wall. I didnt rely much on him. Ronkas always will be Ronkas. Come on, miracle, I said to the girl standing beside me and moved towards the massive black structure C the University of Magic. This enormous wooden building, shaped like a lying three-hundred-meter snake, had given the street its name. It was one of the oldest buildings in Bridgeport, remnants of a once mighty kingdom of mages. The snake was a common emblem and symbol of mages and magic. The wise reptile and all that stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary. What else could mages choose as a symbol, if not a snake? Basilisk? There was, of course, no electricity here. The building was illuminated by ancient spells, round colored light bulbs-spheres that were periodically recharged. Usually, this was a task for the underperforming students. About three years ago, I met a graduate of this institution who arranged a tour for me. I was investigating a case involving a missing child. Hence my knowledge of the local protocols. True, I had only been in a few halls on the first level. What went on further, in the magical laboratories, was beyond my understanding C outsiders were not allowed there. It would be fun to study here. A fun life. Surrounded by talking animals, wizards levitating during morning meditation, and grim graying professors from the deans office in dark cloaks with purple snake emblems. If I had a talent for magic, I might have enrolled here. But alas! No Harry Potter in me. Something was off. I didnt belong to this world, neither internally nor externally. And it seemed, the world shunned me too. Yes, a significant gift for magic was needed. Some very rare genetic alterations. A mutation with a frequency of one in ten thousand. Stop! I commanded the girl, now strangely quiet and obedient, in front of the gates. What do you want here? she asked, curiosity tinged her voice as she surveyed the building. Its dangerous here. A lot, from all sides, she added awkwardly, her phrase oddly constructed. The more you know, the quicker you age. I wont age; I have Elten blood in me. I turned and looked at her closely. Dark green pupils, golden hair long, unwashed. Maybe she wasnt lying. Eltens, or Elves as theyre usually called on Earth. Refined beings, who live century-long, and once inhabited this planet. They say Zingaru exterminated them in some ancient war. Zingaru also live long, and there are few of them at time, as if their ranks thinned after a prolonged war in the mists of time. There are also Half-Eltens. Or Half-Elves, call them what you wish. They say those are the offspring of their unions with humans. They live very compactly in their communities and rarely interact with humans. And why didnt you wash your hair? Didnt Auda buy you shampoo? I asked the girl. I didnt have time, she replied somewhat gloomily, we went to the coast with Tara. Climbed around for two weeks. You cant really wash there. And when we got back, they brought you in and wouldnt let me go home. I didnt wash because of you. You should feel guilty! I chortled. Seemed I hit the nerve at the end of the day. Interesting, and what were you doing on the coast? Gathering Zhmatok from the fisheries. I couldnt help but smirk a little. Zhmatok is a slang term for tribute used by the local racketeers. It made sense why she was dragged along. If a fishery owner decided to hide the zhmatok, it would be instantly exposed by a sensor-telepath. She also served as a warning against accidentally bumping into the wrong person. The tax police on Earth would pay a billion without a second thought for such a valuable employee. And they didnt share the zhmatok with you? I asked a hint of irony in my voice. The idea of a thirteen-year-old girl, seriously discussing the gangsters tribute, was somewhat amusing. They did, Dina darkened even more, annoyed by my mocking tone. And lay off with your questions. Do what you came here for. I shrugged and stopped my inquiries, maliciously noting that I had spoiled her mood. The strike of the hammer on the gilded serpent head of the doorbell rang softly but distinctly, producing a muted echo that lingered for a whole minute. Without a doubt a thing of magical origin. A few minutes later, a duty student approached the gates. His hair, tousled and sticking up like a porcupines quills, the guy with a sleepy face yawned ferociously and rubbed his face, unsure how to react to our arrival. We dont accept visitors at night. Deans orders, he growled through a soul-crushing yawn, waving his hands at us C either making magical passes, just in case; or simply brushing us off C as if to say, dont even ask, I wont let you in. Im here on behalf of Professor Ita Torrin. Please call Edger Rufus. He should be warned about my visit. The student recoiled slightly from me upon hearing my words. Are you joking? he asked, stuttering a bit as if out of fear. No. Why would you think so? Professor Torrin died a year ago. In a failed experiment. She was buried long ago. I saw it myself. A chill ran through me. What in the world? I remembered the tired brown eyes behind the glasses. She seemed real enough, not like a zombie. A normal person. Regardless, can you call Mister Rufus or not? The guy on the other side of the gate hesitated but eventually went to summon the senior student. Are you friends with a zombie? my restless companion asked. Naturally, she wouldnt miss a chance to probe. I dont befriend zombies, I replied sharply and sternly, or so I thought. But of course, I couldnt fool her. Sure, I believe that. They say one-year-old zombies are not too bad. The flesh doesnt fall off, everythings in place, especially if strengthened with spells... Shut up. Damn! Why am I angry at her? Shes just a child! Theyre obedient too, will do anything you want. Pervert! she exclaimed. Change the subject. Okay, she agreed quickly, seemingly sensing with her sixth sense that I found the topic distasteful. After a short while of silence, she asked suddenly, How did you hit them in such darkness? Hit who? I asked absently, my mind still on the puzzling situation with Ita Torrin. The people at Audes warehouse. By sound. Im a sniper. Hitting is my profession. The last statement sounded a bit ambiguous. ''Hitting the other worlds too,'' I joked to myself. You shoot like... I dont know who. You never missed even once! If I had known, I wouldnt have turned you to Aude. Though it wouldnt have helped anyway. Zingaru can tell when people are lying. What does my shooting have to do with it? What does it have to do with it? You know how scared I was? I almost wet myself! You could have shot Tus and me too. I havent been that scared like that, since I''ve seen a red Basilisk in my Unkle''s garden. When you were shooting, you were like someone dead. Without feelings, like a machine! I couldnt feel anything. Just a very intense cold from your side, almost like Audes. But then, when Tus spoke, you started to change. Like melting. I can hardly believe now that humans could have been so terrifying. I chuckled with satisfaction. So thats it! Thats why she kept throwing these barbs at me in every sentence. Revenge for the fear I instilled in her back there! And how do you feel about me now? She didnt get a chance to answer as two figures emerged on the other side of the gate. One was the same gatekeeper student. The other one was a one-and-a-half-meter-tall redhead with a blanket thrown over him, and apparently, he was completely naked underneath. At least his hairy legs up to his knees were visible. I am senior student Edger. What do you want from me? asked Rufus. Professor Torrin told me that you could help me with something. Silence hung in the air. The guy raised his eyebrow in surprise. Really? he asked. I immediately felt a slight tingling in the back of my head. Magical scanning! Which, however, vanished as quickly as it appeared, as if successfully suppressed. The guy shifted his gaze to the girl and unexpectedly said to her in a demanding tone: Dont cover for him. Im not going to harm him. I just need to know if hes telling the truth or not. Dina unexpectedly shook her head, flatly refusing. I wont do it. You have no business in his head. He told you the truth. You can believe him. Edger exchanged a glance with the other guy, and I understood that he was about to teach a lesson to this self-taught witch with his superior classical magical university education. The last thing I needed now was a magical duel. So I decided to intervene and lightly touched her shoulder. I appreciate your efforts, but do as he says. We dont have time to stand around here. Dina shrugged, and I felt a light tingling in the back of my head again. After a minute, the guy nodded in satisfaction: Alright. Lets go. Pars, lift the spell from the gates, he added, addressing his companion, and without looking back, strode towards the main complex of the wooden snake in his poncho. That strange building, like a huge snake slithering for hundreds of meters towards the ocean, with gargoyles on the corners of roofs and countless ornaments on specially treated wood that supposedly didnt rot, spoil, or even burn. You probably couldnt see everything here in a week. A magnificent place. Too bad tourists arent allowed. Rufus walked ahead, barefoot, striding along the wooden brick path with his usual gait, while we followed him in the company of the gatekeeper student. I wanted to ask why the senior was naked but decided to wait. And not without reason. Why is he naked? Is that how he practices magic? Pars turned his head to the inquisitive Dina and replied with irritation: Hes not performing any magic. Hes playing strip poker. In the girls wing. He cant dress until he wins back his clothes. I want to play too! I grabbed Dina by the elbow and said seriously: Firstly, youre too young to play such games. Secondly, if you make another suggestion like that, Ill hand you back to the Hariyans. And believe me, Im serious. Wow! You took her from the Hariyans? Pars asked with a voice full of admiration. Bought her, I replied indifferently. For a bargain. Pars snickered. Dinas fierce poke almost made me lose my balance... ?ZUTAN‘ – The Impossible Magic Chapter Six ZUTAN C MAGICAL ABSURDITY Rufus and Pars led us to the dining hall. A room with a low ceiling and long tables, each seating at least twenty people, arranged in a neat order symmetrically along each wall. The walls were adorned with paintings featuring strange symbols that were beyond my comprehension. Whether they were works of local avant-garde artists or some magical trinkets, I couldnt tell. I had heard, though, of a special form of magic related to artistic drawing abilities. Lamps hung from the ceiling on green-painted iron chains and emitted a rather dim light until Rufus casually waved his hand. The remote-magical control worked, and the room instantly brightened, though it still wasnt quite as bright as electric lighting. It was more akin to forty-watt bulbs in terms of light intensity. When we sat down at the table, Pars exchanged a glance with the senior and, after a nod from him, turned to us: Are you hungry? I can bring something from the kitchen. What would you like? I shrugged: Just something simple. Bread, cheese, and something to drink, too. Dina, however, seemed to think we were in a restaurant: Do you have Arraman-style fish? With mustard sauce. I looked at her, sitting opposite me, with a sly smirk, only to be embarrassingly shocked by Pars affirmative response. Yes, of course. Itll be ready in fifteen minutes. Ah, I should have ordered lobsters, I thought belatedly. Dina stuck her tongue out at me triumphantly. Well, tell us, said Rufus, shifting on the bench and wrapping himself tighter in the blanket after Pars left to fulfill our order. I decided it was wise to keep quiet about my earthly origin. Mages dont like ingineers and probably people from the world of ingineers as well. And Im practically a guy from there, a living relic to them. I began my story from the moment I decided to participate in that damned shooting contest. Rufus listened without interrupting, but his face betrayed his tension. My story stirred him. I would even say it inspired him. By the end, he was listening, propping his chin on his palms and shaking his head as if to say through body language C what a story! Midway through, Pars joined us with the food, freezing with the tray in his hands, captivated by my detective adventures of the last two days. When I finished, he nearly dropped it. With a quick spell, he caught it before it hit the floor, although drops of mustard sauce still splattered on the ground. Ignoring this minor annoyance, he said to Rufus with unmistakable excitement: This is ZUTAN! Nonsense, Rufus responded almost instantly. It cant be ZUTAN. Hes not a mage. But what about Ita? I saw her dead myself, Pars persisted. Are you sure? Maybe it was a simulation. Or a zombie. Dina triumphantly stuck her tongue out at me again: Told you so! What zombie, Edger! This is ZUTAN. It all adds up. This Kulu-Kulu lived during the time of the first mage slaughter. He cant possibly be alive. He would have been at least a hundred and twenty years old back then. Why not? Terber the Nettle lived three hundred years long, and thats not a big deal. There are ancient mages who have lived even longer. Terber was a specialist in extending life through magical means. That was his lifes work. And hes half-elf. Kulu-Kulu was a military master of the old mage council. Three hundred years is the limit for the dwarf race. Same for Zingaru. He could have changed specializations after the slaughter and his escape. He had plenty of time for that. Come on, you know it can only be ZUTAN. Youre just afraid of making a mistake! Tired of their incomprehensible chatter that completely ignored Dinas and my presence, I stood up, interrupting their fascinating discussion about this Zutan, whatever it might be: Guys! All this is, of course, wildly interesting. For you. But we need to eat and get the list that Professor Torrin promised me. Whether its with Zutan or without Zutan, whatever that silly word means. They both stopped their argument and turned towards me. Pars blushed like a teenager on his first date: Sorry, he said and immediately set out the food in front of me and a grinning Dina. Apparently, she hadnt heard of Zutan either. This word, so stirring to the mages, made absolutely no impression on her. We ate in silence for a while. Rufus and Pars exchanged glances, visibly agitated. Edger even paced back and forth in the dining hall but refrained from speaking while we were eating. I deliberately ate slowly and carefully. Dina savored her dish, dipping small pieces of fried fish into the sauce and licking her fingers. If I were Rufus, I might have throttled her. I finished eating before my young captive. Now the three of us, along with the magic academy students, observed the girl. Eventually, unable to wait any longer for no reason, I addressed them: Dont mind her, she can keep eating while we talk. Anyway, shes only tangentially related to my case. Dina shot me an angry glance. The students noticeably brightened up, and began to chatter. Both at once. Then they stopped, looked at each other, and Pars nodded as if to say, Your turn, senior. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. You need to leave Bridgeport. The Hariyans will kill you if you stay. And the sooner you leave, the better. Preferably beyond the Wall. I looked into his eyes. What about all this stuff about Zutan? Such a sudden shift. Impossible, I replied. I need to rescue Shani. I wont leave without her. The Shainarian fairy doesnt need human protection, Master Light. Shes a very powerful magical being. Extremely pacifist in her views, but self-sufficient. If they try to torture her, shell simply leave. Shell vanish as if she never existed. Death for them is not the same as it is for humans. You should know this. I shook my head in disagreement: I dont want her to just disappear or melt away. Shes a sentient being who feels pain and sorrow, just like any person. Besides, Im cursed, and fleeing beyond the gates of Agartha wont save me. And the Hariyans are much more influential beyond the Wall than here. Not everywhere. There are kingdoms where the Hariyans are deeply hated. Langvar, for example. And its not far from the wall. You could wait it out there. Besides, your curse has been extended. You have a month or two. Perhaps you could even reach the Semenites. The master of the Semenites sure able to break a curse of this level. Its not certain it will work, Pars interjected with a short, pessimistic remark. Yes. The Semenites arent fond of Bridgeport, confirmed Rufus. Though they might make an exception for you. Especially if you tell them about ZUTAN. What is that? Can you explain? I asked, slightly irritated. None of these guys were offering anything remotely optimistic or encouraging like Ita Torrins words. To put it briefly, Zutan is a magical absurdity. The word translates from an ancient language used when verbal means were widely applied for casting spells. Verbal magic is rarely used now, but the special language developed for its invocation is still mandatory for those studying magic. At this point, Dina choked, gulped down some water, and, waving her hand, remarked: Cant you make it any shorter? Hes not explaining it for you. Dont interrupt, I snapped. Rufus continued: Its hard to fully explain this to someone whos not initiated. Youve seen and spoken with dead people. If it was Zutan, of course. With ghosts? I asked. No. Zutan isnt astral visions. Everything was real. But if you go back to that place now, youll likely not even find the house, let alone the characters whove long been dead. What happened to you was impossible. Mage Kulu-Kulu has been dead for ages. And Professor Torrin died a year ago. Is there a logical explanation for this? I asked, utterly astonished. There is. For example, Professor Ita faked her death. And Archmage Kulu-Kulu is an ultra-long-liver, and theyre both hiding, planning something. What exactly, I have no idea. How can we verify this? Rufus shrugged. Dig up the crypt where Itas body lies. Although mages of such caliber could fake even a corpse if they wanted. I still dont understand how dead people could host me in their home, cast spells for me? Engage in normal political conversations about the current political situation as if they were alive? Rufus spread his hands: Thats ZUTAN. Its a phenomenon that breaks the fundamental laws of the universe. The cause and the effect relationship. A crack in the world where something utterly strange, impossible happens. Zutan is an extremely rare occurrence, and one as detailed and prolonged as yours has only happened a few times in the entire history recorded by sentient beings. If it was Zutan at all, of course. More likely, its the second scenario. Wait, how did I even get this address? How could a disentchanter give me C a total stranger C the address of dead people or those in hiding? The students exchanged glances again. And where did you learn about this disentchanter? What was his name? I found it in an ad in the Bridgeport Morning Herald. From yesterdays issue? Yes. Pars! But Pars had already risen and dashed off for the newspaper, a step ahead of the senior. Three minutes later, he burst back in with a stack of newspapers. Here! he said. This is for yesterday and the day before. Rufus gestured for me to proceed, and I began to search the classifieds column for my ad. However, it was fruitless. I couldnt find any ad for a disenchanter, even though I remembered its contents perfectly. Baffled, I scanned through all the pages. Twice. What the devil is this! I thought. Do you at least remember the address? Rufus asked after several long minutes, as I rifled through all the issues from the past week C maybe it was in another issue. Of course. Dead Kings Alley, house twenty-three. Certified Disenchanter Dr. Leticia Sirius. I also wrote down the phone number. Here, I showed the notebook with the number and address. Pars chuckled triumphantly and said: This is ZUTAN, I told you. Absolutely amazing! I never thought Id experience ZUTAN in my life! Loads of great mages have died without witnessing even a minor Zutan. By the way, Dead Kings Alley is right opposite the Rose Cemetery. Just across the road. So what? I asked. What does that have to do with anything? Well, Ita Torrin is buried in the Rose Cemetery. Its just part of the ZUTAN. You entered it at some point when you were looking at the ads, and exited when you returned to the road in Bridgeport. That proves nothing, Rufus stubbornly retorted. Stop deluding yourself with false hopes. Remember rule thirty-three. A mage does not believe without evidence, Pars muttered the rule from some sort of magical catechism and added: Ill go there at dawn. I will too, I said. You cant! both students exclaimed almost simultaneously. The Hariyans will kill you if youre seen wandering around the city, Max! Ill take the risk. Dont, Pars pleaded. We can hide you here. We can disguise them as students, he suggested, turning to Rufus. The senior student nodded affirmatively. Theres no sense in going there in a group. Especially someone with such a profile and at such an address probably doesnt exist. I could call. We dont have a phone here, Rufus admitted, slightly embarrassed. Probably ashamed in front of me for the mages shunning of technological novelties and excessive conservatism. No problem, I reassured, Ill call from a payphone outside. Very well. Lets go then. Rufus stood up. The girl can be sent to the womens wing. And theres a spare bed in my room for you. You need a good nights sleep. I was indeed dying for sleep. The stress of the shootout at the warehouse had passed, and my body was demanding rest. Fatigue washed over me like a wave. Within fifteen minutes, I was in Rufuss room. I fell asleep the moment my head hit the pillow... AN UNFORTUNATE PLAN Chapter Seven MISGUIDED SCHEME Being a private detective in a magical world is a strange affair. What could be more absurd? After all, here operates that unusual thing we call magic on old Earth - sorcery, which normal adults dont believe in. It would seem simple, hire a wizard who, with a few gestures and some spoken words, could immediately provide data and the whereabouts of the criminal. Maybe even predict their future fate C take a peek over the horizon of the future, so to speak. But here, as always, life is mean, and an unexpected catch comes into play. If magic can be used to solve complex crimes, then theres no guarantee it cant be used just as successfully to hide them! As a result, the imbalance caused by magic in criminology came full circle, stabilizing right where you need to work with your analytical skills. In other words, if youre not too clever, magic wont help you solve crimes. It might even complicate things. Never involve it in an investigation unless youre the only mage within a hundred kilometers. This was what I capitalized on while working as a private detective in the magical world. Attention to detail and the old methods of Sherlock Holmes worked wonders here. The first thing the local police C the ammaratia C would think of was to have their resident mage unravel the case, which, of course, could only be useful for catching pickpockets at the fish market, and even they, if lucky enough, could afford a couple of protective amulets, nullifying all the efforts and labors of the police mages. I even had my own Lestrade at the police department, the local version of the prominent Scotland Yard police chief. I had unraveled a couple of complex murders for him. And he helped me build connections with the right people and find wealthy clients. At the moment, however, he was of no help to me. Moreover, he would have handed me over to the Hariyans without a second thought! The corruption of the local police could rival that of any South African country where police officers, masquerading as gangsters at night, rob their citizens. True, the cops back in the motherland werent saints either, but here it was a complete free-for-all for those in power. But... whatever. For these reasons, the Hariyans hadnt managed to track me down at the university, even though their best mages must have been searching for me with all their might. Rufus and the students were covering for me quite professionally. The Hariyans, generally speaking, arent great mages. They only reach the heights of their art due to their long lifespans, developing their innate gift through long and persistent training. Even the dullest can master magic to a decent level after a hundred years. Their only problem is practicality C the Hariyans lack imagination. Not that they dont have any, its hard to explain in simple words, but they are extremely practical people. I heard they have no folklore or music in their culture. But to hell with it! In short, two days after my landing here, I received a message from Tus saying he was waiting for me at the agreed place, and I had to leave the establishment. Rufus, as well as the others, urged me to stay. But the situation would become deadlocked if I didnt take active steps, I decided. The curse would take effect sooner or later, and they couldnt remove it. After saying goodbye to the hospitable students, I, with the little one in tow C couldnt leave her behind C headed to meet Tus. Tus was waiting behind the wheel of a truck in the backyard of some shabby factory, a tannery, or something of the sort. I had ordered a small covered truck, the kind used by laundries or small wholesale traders, for him. Bus had followed the instruction precisely, even though I was almost certain he would flee after our parting. He had every reason to do so, but for some reason, Ronka didnt. Surprising! I needed to find out what his true motives were for sticking around. Hi, Tus! I greeted, still a few steps away. Hows it going? Tus hastily took a final drag and flicked away his cigarette. People smoked here, by the way. Not tobacco, but some local stuff I suspected was the equivalent of Earths marijuana. God knows what, but I dared not experiment with my Earthly metabolism. Though I sometimes longed for a smoke. I used to smoke back on Earth. Hello, Boss! Again! I let Boss slide. Let him call me that. As the saying goes, If you name yourself a mushroom, be ready to jump in the basket. Without further ado, we got into the cab. Dina was seated in the middle, her face red though she looked displeased as if saying, What a pervert! Putting a little girl between two grown men! But she seemed to understand that in case of danger, it was better for me to be near the window, so she kept quiet. For a minute, we said nothing. Both waiting for me to speak. In my pocket was a list of six influential people in Bridgeport. Politicians who might be the targets the Hariya mafia wanted to eliminate, under the guise of the work of a minor port gang. But my mind wasnt on that now. The politicians wouldnt see me, and what would I say to them? Sorry, I was supposed to kill one of you? I had a completely different plan. Daring and naive. An old but very effective method of dealing with kidnapping C a counter-kidnapping. It doesnt work with lone maniacs, but if youre up against family clans, diasporas, or if the kidnapper has any attachments, it might just work fine. Even if you have to steal a Bosss Chao-Chao C the lovely cuddly pet of the gangsters family. But better, of course, a family member. For better assurance. Alright, I began briefing my team, lets do what they do not expect from us. Or at least, what they expect the least. As I finally figured out C it makes no difference to the victims whether one Zingaru is killed or ten C the death will be painful and long in both cases. So why restrain yourself? Well head to The Singing Sirens and stir up a little commotion. Ill do all the shooting. You just wait outside. We need to capture a few Zingaru. Well try to exchange them for Shani. You, I looked sternly at Dina, will stay in the truck and work as our radar. You only need to tell us where and how many targets there are when we approach the dive. And keep a lookout. Can you handle it? The kid just snorted in response. Guess that means she could. Did you get the weapons, Tus? I asked the Ronka. Tus nodded towards the back, where the covered bed of our truck was. Theres an arsenal back there, guys. Your rifle with the magic scope is there too. Good job! I commended. What about the plan, do you really want to be a part of it? Tus hesitated before answering. Well, to be completely honest, boss... I was planning to bolt beyond the Wall yesterday. But as you said, I realized there wouldnt be any salvation for me there either, and the number of Zingaru we kill wont change our fate. Better to die by a bullet than running from those brutes. Seems like you dont like them much, I observed with a smile. Why did you work for them then? Tus shrugged: In life, you have to do all sorts of things. Besides we werent directly connected. Usually, it was Tara and I who went on jobs. Even though it was you who killed my brother, Zingaru was the cause. I understand that. Dont think Im stupid, Max. Excellent, Tus! Youre not disappointing me. Well then! As Comrade Gagarin said going into space: Lets go... Wheres my weapon? I want a pistol too, Dina interfered in our conversation. She wanted a gun! You dont need one. And who is that guy? Who is who? I asked to clarify the question. Well, that Gagadin who said Lets go. Not Gagadin, Gagarin. An astronaut. And whats an astronaut? A person who flies in space. And what is space? The emptiness between stars and planets. And why, if he flies, did he say Lets go? Because Enough! Tus, give her a Browning. And a heavy one. Tus, with readiness and a laugh in his eyes, while still steering with one hand, pulled a heavy nine-millimeter pistol from the glove compartment and tossed it onto Dinas lap. I turned to the window, watching the houses flashing by. Do you even know how to shoot? Of course, Bossi! The girl disengaged the safety and racked the slide. With a proud smile, she added, I was in a gang. For three years! Something to be proud of. She was in a gang! I muttered to myself. Three years! Might as well start boasting about your first year or celebrate a tenth anniversary in jail. Stop! Stop! Dinas desperate cry made Tus slam on the brakes. Behind us, at least half a dozen horns blared in annoyance. At the end of the street, about three hundred meters away, stood the famous Bridgeport restaurant The Singing Sirens, or The Red Lobster, as it was sometimes called. Built on stilts and partially submerged, like the buildings in Venice. It rose above the pier like a magical castle, dazzlingly white with terraces and balustrades where patrons could dine in the open air, facing the sea breeze. So fresh, wholesome, and wonderfully stimulating to the appetite. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. At night, when the lights were on, it was wildly interesting and beautiful. But expensive. Very. With my modest budget, there was nothing for me there. Only once had Shani invited me, on my birthday. Or rather, the anniversary of our meeting. She celebrated it ceremoniously, saying it would make up for my actual birthday, nonexistent according to the local calendar. Whats wrong with you? I turned to Dina. There are ones like me there. Two. He almost sensed us! Tus and I exchanged glances. He shrugged, not at all surprised. His expression said it all C this was to be expected. Reverse, I ordered Tus. Before they fully sense us. I was slightly flustered. Adversary telepathic-sensor complicated everything. They would identify us as a threat long before we could make direct contact. Wed be shot even before getting close. Thats the thing about having a telepathic defender. Its clear now why they had problems. And why they needed me. I was in the same position they were earlier, trying to kill their target using my abilities for long-range and precise shooting. Think! How quickly will they react? A telepaths scream and a dozen or so bodyguards will rush towards us, knowing exactly where the danger is coming from. What if the telepath stepped away? To the restroom, say? Or is asleep? No, it wont work. How would I even know if they dont have a backup for such a case? I was deep in thought, lost in my thoughts. Dina and Tus waited patiently for my decision. Cant you cover us? I asked Dina. Like back at the university. Dina looked at me as if I were an idiot: Of course, I can. I can shield your feelings from them. But thats the same as screaming out loud, I am planning to attack you, so Ive shielded myself. Will they sense your block? Sense what? Damn! You need more education, kid. I mean; will they feel you closing me off? No, she commented sardonically, theyll feel two black spots and one large one, covering those two, approaching the house. They definitely wont think someone is just strolling by. So, theres no difference. We might as well start shooting from here and scream that were coming to kill them. Cant we approach as customers? Dina snorted and replied even more mockingly: Well, you can pretend you want to eat human flesh. For camouflage. I hear they serve it there, by special order. What? Its true, Boss, Tus chimed in authoritatively. Some Zingaru occasionally eat human liver. Usually from mages, less often dwarfs one. They believe it gives them the magical power of eaten mages. I looked at both of them in shock. You knew about this? And did nothing? What could I do? Dina said, offended. Tus diplomatically remained silent, as he was not human. Damn, they need to be blown apart. Bloody cannibals! They need a nuclear bomb dropped on them! Where are those damn bombers when you need them! B52s, Tomahawks, everything. Democratize the hell out of those freaks! I fumed for about two minutes. Both listened silently to my rant, filled with Earth military jargon that was completely foreign to them. Finally, I calmed down. Start the engine, I commanded Tus. Where are we heading? Tus asked as the motor obediently rumbled to life. For now, just away from here. Something will come to me on the way. We need an idea. Badly. A hundred bucks for an idea. And you, I turned to Dina, will tell me about your gift. Everything. We need to figure out how to neutralize you. Or rather, that telepathic guy in the restaurant. Every trick should have its antidote. Thats how life always works, I thought with a sigh and a faint hope Pars is missing. Rufus didnt shock me with this news. His demeanor was agitated and concerned about his friends disappearance. Dressed all in black, as if he were already in mourning for his missing friend, the golden emblem of a mage shone on his cloaks clasp. I nodded grimly, unsure what to say. I gestured silently for him to walk with me. Where did he disappear? I asked as we walked along the fence of the university grounds. Dina followed closely, glancing around like my bodyguard. She only lacked black sunglasses and a communication earpiece to complete the image of modern security guard. I had again sent Tus to lay low. The attack on the restaurant was postponed until I could figure out a way to circumvent the damn telepath. On Rose Street, Rufus continued. He was looking for the disenchanter who directed you to Kulu-Kulu. He sent me a message on the scribe saying he found the address you mentioned. I nodded again. Using deductive reasoning, this was simultaneously good and bad news. The only conclusion was that there was no mysterious magical absurdity or ZUTAN with me. And the scribe C its just a communication book for mages. Two notebooks are magically created through some complex spells and manipulations: when you write in one, the words automatically appear in the other, no matter where you are. Even on the other side of the world. So, it wasnt Zutan? I asked, almost affirmatively. Rufus nodded: Yes. Now Im almost certain. Someone was waiting for him there. And someone gave you a newspaper with an ad that wasnt in the others. I admired Rufus. The guy was sharp and quick. Good analytical skills. Ita praised him for a reason. Why go to such lengths? I asked. What did they want from me? I dont know, Rufus hesitated, theres something here that I dont understand. Some detail in all this... Good job, I thought to myself. That something C my Earthly origin. And someone knew about it, directing me to Kulu and Ita, who, being telepaths, cracked the nut right away. Troubles were piling up like an avalanche. Now we have to look for Pars too, I said. Damn! Were always one step behind our enemies. Who sold you the newspaper? Rufus asked. Exactly what I was thinking about at that moment. His keen mind, like a hound, was following the events closely. Sharp as a tack! I closed my eyes and remembered him. A boy of about eleven. A red-haired, brown-eyed newspaper carrier. A large canvas bag filled with a stack of fresh newspapers, a worn jacket, and short pants. I saw how he bustled around me, shouting his sensations, much like the street newspaper vendors once did on Earth. So, he had a newspaper prepared especially for me. A special edition. Why? What sense in such a complex scheme to lure me to the villa of the magical couple? Because it exists now. Its not some bullshit Zutan! They could have simply invited me. Why the hell? I described the boys appearance. Ill find him, Rufus said. Theres only one place in this area from where newspapers are distributed. Its unlikely to help. The kid was just fulfilling someones order. Earned a few coins. Better to visit the villa. Rufus looked at me, surprised. Then changed the expression: Ah, right. You dont know. What dont I know? I asked, puzzled. You wont find the villa. Its most likely enchanted. Thats why you couldnt find it without someone to guide you. Mages might not be the most powerful fighters, but they know how to hide. Cant take that away from them. Whoa! So, the kid fishing wasnt a coincidence? Of course not. You were led right to the villa. The boy could have been Kulu-Kulu himself in disguise, guiding you through the magical barrier that masks the villa. I stopped, struck by the revelation. I still dont get it! Why did they need you? Rufus pondered aloud to himself. What nonsense? Theres no magic in you! Whats so special about you then? I decided to divert him from this train of thought. Feeling a bit like a scoundrel for not telling him where I was from. The risk that he might hate me for it was too great. An ingineer from that world, in person! Too risky. Forget it! Listen. Well find Pars. But first, I need to attack the restaurant and capture a couple of Zingaru, preferably some big shots for a trade. The only place where they are is called the Singing Sirens the restaurant in the port. Rufus looked at me as if I were insane. I know its sheer madness, I continued. But its the only way to rescue Shani. And possibly Pars, if hes with the Hariyans. I need some way to shield myself from telepaths. Some kind of magic against it. Rufus thoughtfully shook his head: Telepathy isnt exactly magic. It can be stimulated by magic, but you cant shield yourself from it. Thats why theyre used as bodyguards. If magic could deceive them, what would be the point of such protection? Maybe something blocks it? Water, for instance. Or metal, like a Faraday cage, for example, I asked, not giving up, clinging to a faint hope for something useful. My imagination already conjured images of aluminum foil hats, like some crazy conspiracy theorists on Earth create. I dont know what a Faraday cage is, Max, but theres no wall thick enough to block or weaken the effect of telepathy. Its an omnipresent force. It weakens with distance but is completely independent of the surrounding matter. For an unknown reason. I groaned inwardly. Damn! What should I do? There must be a weakness. There must be. Theres no such thing as perfect defense. Yes, I could kill them C from afar. As they wanted with the assassination proposal. But to attack and take a couple of Zingaru hostages. How? Is it true that Zingaru eats the livers of mages? I asked abruptly, my mind on something entirely different. No, Rufus replied categorically. Thats just a rumor that circulates among... um... the less educated classes. I would say. How can you be so sure? Because Zingaru are a cruel but ancient and wise race of intelligent beings. They dont indulge in such barbaric irrational nonsense. Theyre too practical for that. Ill look into your problem at the university library, Max. But if there was anything to it, Zingaru would already know. I nodded in agreement. There was nothing to cover. Alright. Lets meet tonight at the same place if that suits you. And dont go to that disentchanter on Rose Street. Otherwise, Ill need three Zingaru for the exchange. And Im already afraid I cant even handle one, I said in farewell. Rufus shook his head, either disagreeing with my attempt to dissuade him from further follies or with the meeting place: No. We wont meet at the university anymore. If Pars is with Zingaru, hes already told them everything. Its dangerous. Well meet tomorrow evening at The Copper Golem. Its a caf on Dining Street in the old town. Ill write you the address. Pulling a notebook from under his cloak, Rufus quickly scribbled the address, tore the page out, and handed me the crumpled small sheet of paper. We said our brief goodbyes. Dina and I moved on... THE RECIPE FOR DECEIVING TELEPATHS Chapter Eight RECIPE FOR DECEIVING TELEPATHS He looked very upset, Dina observed as we crossed the street opposite the University of Magic, moving away from it towards the center. Zingaru have probably captured Pars, I explained. Their brain center seems to be tracking my movements from two days ago. Strangely, they havent declared me wanted through their channels in the ammaratia yet. Probably still planning to use me. Wouldnt be surprised if theyre tracking us right now. Do you feel anything? Dina shrugged in response: No. I dont feel anything, Bossi. Stop calling me Bossi. Thats odd. If Pars cracked and told them everything I said to him and Rufus, they should have been here long ago. Im hungry. What? I want to eat. I stopped, looked around, and noticed we were standing in front of a small restaurant with a sign reading Miska-tag. A well-known brand of budget restaurants in Bridgeport. Alright, lets go, I said and pushed open the glass door. The restaurant was small. About ten tables. A handful of patrons: an elderly lady with an umbrella, two guys in worn leather gloves, an old man in a checked jacket with a beard and a pipe, and a girl with a cloak bearing the symbol of the University of Magic, clearly a student. A slightly elevated area in the semi-darkness with tables for the more affluent class and the general hall. Dina immediately sat down in the vacant elevated area, seemingly unconcerned about the extra charge for the spot. Dont worry, she unexpectedly said to me, perhaps sensing my dissatisfaction. Ill pay. Where did you get money? I asked skeptically. Borrowed it from Auda, she said with a smile. A looter. And you said you were scared of me there. Even searched the corpses! Well, Boss, its like the saying goes, Eyes are afraid, hands do the work. Money never hurts. I fell silent, pondering my next move. I didnt feel like eating. Dina ordered something from the waiter who hurried over, with a royal attitude. More accurately, baronial, which, was her birthright. I waved her off when she offered me a choice. Dont distract me, I dont want to eat now. About ten minutes of silence passed before the order was brought. Dina immediately started eating with a good deal of appetite. I delved deeper into my thoughts. The ability to completely immerse myself inward came with my job. As an instructor in long-range sniping, I had learned to detach from the world. Like an electronic device in standby mode, waiting for the target to appear, ready to snap out of inertia and pull the trigger in an instant. The USSR never trained long-range snipers. There was no need. No jungles, drug barons, or secret CIA operations in South America. Soviet snipers were purely conventional. Combat marksmen armed with SWD. Afforded the luxury of sighting shots at hundreds of meters. Designed for blunt warfare. Or for special services, to neutralize terrorists during hostage situations at distances of two to three hundred meters in the city environment. The West, on the other hand, trained theirs to make only one shot, maximizing information on weather conditions, laser rangefinders, and sniper calculators. Bearing the whole set of high-tech sniper gear. One shot from afar away. Right in the head of some uppity drug baron or rebel revolutionary leader. No second chance was given. In the USSR, nothing like this was required. It was only after that superpower collapsed and chaos ensued, that I was sent to the USA as part of an exchange program, for long-range shooting courses. Then I worked for several years as an instructor. Two years in the police, in the detective division in Ukraine, before I ended up here. In this damn place, God only knows a place. And seemingly rolling towards a grand, disastrous showdown. But thats for later. Right now, the priority is to save Shani. My guardian angel. The blue-skinned fairy to whom I had grown so accustomed. My sole benefactor, who out of the blue helped me C a stranger and an alien C to survive and adapt to this world... This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Why are you smiling? Dina paused, a spoonful of food raised to her mouth, waiting for my answer to her question. I had smiled, recalling Shani. Nothing, I lied, wiping the silly grin off my face. So, what do you think? I asked her a minute later, as she resumed her meal. Any ideas on how to protect against telepathic influence? No. Theres no protection from us. Give it up already, will you? Dont brag. There must be a way. You just dont want to reveal your secret? Theres no secret, dear Bossi. Stop calling me that. Told you. What if I swim up to that damn restaurant underwater? Theres an internal pool there, through which the sirens swim up. Whats to stop me? Ha. Theyll already be waiting for you at the pool. You emerge and get a bullet in your stupid head. Besides, you cant stay underwater that long. I can. Wanna bet? Jacques Cousteau and Emile Gagnan only invented the scuba in 1943. Your engineers from the 30s got here. Maybe even from the late 20s. So, this device is unknown to you. But I have all the components. Valves, tanks. Just need to make a regulator. Quite a simple thing. I could manage it in a week in the workshop of Lame Saadi. With his little help, of course. Dina stopped eating again, listening to my enthusiastic speech with a shocked and puzzled expression. What is that scuba Boss? she asked, her lower lip dropping in astonishment. Nothing, I waved it off. Keep eating. I was just joking. We dont have a week anyway. What should I do? I thought, rubbing my temples fiercely. My head ached from trying to accomplish the impossible. To approach unnoticed where its impossible to approach unnoticed. Impossible! In principle. But maybe Zingaru are found elsewhere? Only unlikely the Hariyans. I cant tell one from another, let alone differentiate Hariyans from the Lantred clan, for instance. Excuse me! I turned around. It was a tall waiter in a black, long apron, dark-haired and yellow-eyed. A mix of Ronka and Drawers. Unlike humans, they could interbreed, resulting in curious hybrids. A veritable elephant guy, skinny as a skeleton. What do you want? I asked, a bit brusquely. My apologies, master. But the elderly master who was sitting at that table over there, the waiter pointed to a table where an old man in a checked suit had sat a few minutes earlier, asked me to give this to you, then he leaves. Slightly taken aback, I took the folded note. Dina looked at me curiously, craning her neck trying to peek at the letter as I read: Dear Max, you cannot protect yourself from the influence of telepaths. Do not waste your time searching for what does not exist and what even the highest-ranking professional mages have not been able to invent over thousands of years. However, there is one weakness in telepath-sensitives. And thats sincerity. They cannot identify you as a threat if you arent! Until a certain moment. That moment will decide everything. Do not miss it. An unknown spell from my time is in this letter. Ask Rufus to perform the ritual. If, of course, you are prepared for the consequences. Before using the spell, describe in detail everything that happened to you. Down to the smallest details. Unfortunately, there is no turning back with this spell. Youll lose the memories of the past week. P.S. Yes, and one more thing. The demons name is Malgib. One of the fiercest from their kind. I would still advise against using the above spell. Even to save a fairy. It could disrupt Itas enchantment and accelerate the time granted to you. Sorry for the not-so-joyful news. Sincerely yours Kulu-Kulu, Archmage and Archmage of the First Rank, Master of the Military Council of Silveyden, Advisor to the Red Table, Dragan of the Order of Roses, and so on and so forth... After reading the letter, I sprang up and dashed out onto the street. Apart from a few cars and pedestrians C nothing. The old man had vanished. Damn it! Why all this mystery? Couldnt he have just sat at our table and talked? I hate these wizards mannerisms. Good thing he didnt write the letter in riddles. In poetic form, as was their custom a hundred years ago. I had heard, peripherally, that rhymes enhance the power of a verbal spell. Not sure whether its true or not. Dina followed me out. What happened? Nothing. Have you finished eating? Yes. THE OATH OF NINE DAYS Chapter Nine THE NINE-DAY-SPELL The taxi drivers car was quite old. A yellow Daimler with red leather seats worn almost to holes. The light in the cabin was dimmed. But the city streets were well-lit enough for me to make out the interior of the cabin or the driver in his cap as we drove. Shadow-light, shadow-light, the illumination changed with the frequency of passing under lampposts or neon advertising. The evening city was sparsely populated in this part. I couldnt make heads or tails of it! Why was I here? It felt as though I had been transported somewhere else. Just a moment ago, I was with Shani. We had dinner. I went upstairs to my room, and opened the door. And... What then? I found myself in a taxi speeding through the narrow streets of Bridgeport. It seemed to be the port district. But why? How did I end up here? Some kind of inexplicable lapse in memory? I swallowed hard. My tongue was dry. My forehead and temples ached. It used to happen back home, on Earth, when I spent too long at the computer or after partying until three in the morning. I leaned over the seat, trying to get a look at the driver''s face. A Ronka! And a huge one! Even for these brutes. I shook his shoulder, demanding: Hey, you! Where are you taking me? How did I get here? The Ronka turned for a moment, flashing a broad smile with horse-sized teeth: I dont know, master. You told me to drive here. Right before you collapsed. Hit your head hard. Maybe you lost your memory? I sighed and slumped back into the seat. Strange. Very strange. Where are you taking me? I asked. This was suspicious. Could he have hit me? Ronkas are notorious for their gangster ways. True, they lack the brains to be a gang leader. Catastrophically lacking, I would say. To a restaurant. You instructed me to take you there before you hit your head. Youre expected there. You said it was a very important meeting. A matter of life and death. I pondered this new information. What nonsense? Why would I confide in a taxi driver? Its unlikely I would say such a thing. So, hes lying, probably. Time to take control of the situation. Unless he disarmed me before I passed out. I patted my body and felt two revolvers in my underarm holster, of my own making. Why two? Was I heading to some job? What job? Anyway, it doesnt matter. I need to act. Stop the car. But you said to take you to The Singing Sirens restaurant. Theyre waiting for you there! His obstinacy didnt faze me. I pulled out one of the revolvers, magically bringing it into my hand, and pressed it to the drivers head. Im not joking, stop the car, I repeated the command quietly but with a threat. The taxi driver sighed and glided to the curb. He stopped the taxi abruptly, almost kissing the sidewalk. I got out, slamming the door behind me. But the driver didnt think of leaving. Instead, he got out and followed me. I aimed the gun at him again. What do you want? Money? How much did the meter run up? The Ronka spread his arms, palms open towards me, apparently trying to show the harmlessness of his intentions. Master, please! I pulled out my wallet and drew a twenty, ignoring his words. Is this enough? I extended the bill to him. Maxim! Maxim Svyatlyakov! Master, I dont need payment! You must do something! There was a strange desperation in his voice. The desperation of a man who is afraid of something. My jaw dropped. No one here knew my real name except Shani. Absolutely no one! It was completely confidential information here. And Shani wasnt someone who would talk about it to anyone, especially some random taxi drivers. There! With this word, the Ronka hastily pulled out a packet from the inner pocket of his shabby grey jacket, which I casually noted was of poor quality. I mechanically took the thick packet. You must open this at the restaurant. Take a table near the exit. Near the place where they confiscate weapons not more than twenty steps away. This letter was written by you! Before you lost your memory. Did I write it? To myself? Why? I began to open the packet, but the Ronkas desperate cry stopped me: Please, master. Dont open it here! Youll spoil everything. This is your plan! I hesitated: Where did you get my name? You told me yourself. Nonsense! More likely, you knocked me out, and some mage rummaged through my brain! But this is your handwriting! Ronka desperately objected pointing at the packet. I turned the envelope over and encountered a message written with a chemical pencil: You, goddam fool! Dont open this letter until youre seated at the restaurant! Youll ruin all my efforts with your stubbornness. I know how strong this trait is in you. Or rather, in me. Because THIS is written by me to myself. Or to you. Or... never mind! This isnt a set-up. Its necessary, Maxim. Just act. And trust Tus. Yes, and take care of those creatures. Definitely. Im counting on you. The most foolish letter. But I must admit, the handwriting is mine. Apparently, I am up to something. Whats your name? Tus, master. Whats next, Tus? I asked, slipping the unopened letter into my pocket. Whew! Ronkas face transformed with that exclamation. Relief, as if he had lifted a thousand tons off his shoulders. Get in the car, master. Ill explain everything. What I can, of course. I got back in the car. I cant explain everything to you, master. You will go to the restaurant. Take a table near the exit, as I instructed. Have dinner. When youre done, leave through the exit on the dockside. Another one of your assistants and I will be waiting for you there. You dont know her now. But shes a telepathic girl. Well bring a boat there to pick you up. Done. A dumb plan, I noted. Whats the purpose? Its your plan, master. I cant tell you anything more. Oh yes! One more thing. You have a special weapon. It jumps into your hand from twenty-thirty steps away when you say ace. Really? Never heard of such a trick. Its unlikely that a high-level mage would enchant a firearm with telekinetic spells, I said, full of skepticism. Mages hate firearms. And those who carry them too. Yes, master. But thats not all. You had only one such revolver. But you bought an identical one and, by disassembling them, made two. Mixing the parts. I chuckled. A clever idea. Very, master. I already respect you greatly. You shoot like a Lyceum demon. Though I doubt even he could match your skill. But youre also very cunning. I wouldnt have thought of that in a thousand years! I even asked you why you didnt assemble a third revolver the same way. Do you know what you told me? Probably that I dont have a third hand, and I havent learned to shoot with my feet yet. Ronka turned back for a second, flashing a grin. Exactly, master! Thats what you said! You havent changed! Alright. What else? Nothing, master. I cant say more. You think too well and will guess everything immediately. Then itll all fall apart. Assume nothing is happening. Have your dinner. Read whats in the packet, and come out. Well pick you up. I nodded, finally accepting the rules of the game. I had gotten myself into something big. That''s obvious. How many days of my memory have been erased, Tus? The last nine days. Will the memory come back? No, master. It wont. The spell is irreversible. I''m sorry. Why are you apologizing? I rubbed my temples, still aching, probably from the effect of an unusually powerful dark spell. So, a one-way ticket? What a situation! What had I gotten myself into that I agreed to something like this? A time machine set nine days back into my consciousness. What was I so desperately in need of that I agreed to this? Tus stopped the car quite far away... About three hundred meters from the restaurant, Tus stopped the car. At my questioning look, he just shrugged C it had to be done! I walked the remaining distance to the most opulent restaurant in Bridgeport. Rumor had it that it was owned by the Hariyans, or more precisely, by the head of the Hariya clan. It was also said to be his headquarters. Zingaru of Hariya spent almost all his time there. According to whispers, he lived there with his entire clan. But frankly, it was none of my concern. Its best to steer clear of Zingaru. Theyre too powerful in Bridgeport. This tiny island of civilization in a world of magic and enchantment is too corrupted to escape the clutches of influential groups: be it the Bridgeport Technical Corporation or the Zingaru Mafia. What was I doing here? Damn it. This wasnt a place for a financial nobody like me! Maybe some interesting investigation? Lately, Ive been caught up in trivialities. The restaurant was constructed like a castle C a castle of glass and reinforced concrete. Dozens of pristine white towers. Docks with boats. Insane, colorful lighting from discharge lamps, is an anachronism in this medieval world. I walked through the main entrance. Several upscale jewelry shops were on the first floor. The hall was unguarded. Everyone carried weapons here, and they werent confiscated. Just at the entrance to the restaurant itself, there was a counter with an armed attendant and a long rack with shelves neatly lined with the arsenal of the guests. I leisurely ascended the stairs leading to the restaurant on the second floor. Is there a table that has been reserved for you, master? the waiter asked me. The ma?tre d at the entrance turned out to be the Zingaru. Lion-faced, as I had dubbed them when I first saw them. Encountering Zingaru, unless youre intentionally seeking them out, is quite rare. They usually dont wander the streets. And there arent many of them, no more than some exotic community in Japan. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. No. I would prefer a seat closer to the exit, if available. The ma?tre d didnt show any emotion. Although he surely downgraded me in his internal hierarchy C the seats closer to the exit were the cheapest. There will be a double charge for not having a reservation. You understand this, master? Yes. No problem, I replied with a broad smile. Let him choke on his greed. Your weapons, he said in a hoarse Zingaru accent, devoid of emotion. One could listen to that voice forever. Such a pleasant low-frequency bass from such a vile and terrifying race. I handed over both revolvers. He stepped aside, letting me inside. A waiter, summoned with a wave of his hand C impeccably dressed in a crisp white shirt and blue vest C led me to my table. I looked around with curiosity. The restaurant was quite large, with exotic trees in big pots at the corners. An orchestra pit and a pool in the center. From there, mermaids emerged. No kidding. Real mermaids. With very melodious voices. Their opera singing was enchanting. Occasionally, inebriated patrons attempted to jump into the pool with them. Quite dangerous, by the way. The sirens had sharp teeth, vampire-like, and were perfectly capable of killing other animals including humans. Yet, they looked like beautiful women, up to the waist. What lay below, I didnt know. Wasnt interested. But not a fishtail like mermaids. I dont think there were any of those here. Though who knows what lies beyond the Wall? Its a big planet. Aside from the main hall, the restaurant had many unique booths, arranged around the hall at an elevated level. They were designed so that it was impossible to see from below who was lounging deep in the booths. But it was there that the salt and cream of Bridgeport society gathered. The wealthy and politicians. In some, newspaper owners and other important figures, came to indulge their refined hearing with the sirens songs and discuss significant political matters. Somewhere there, perhaps, even Zingaru of Hariya himself. They say hes mad about the sirens singing. Thats why he built this restaurant in the first place. What agreement they had with the restaurants owner was anyones guess. As was what they fed them. Id been here once before. But it seemed I had business to attend to and no time to linger. I quickly placed a rather modest order and opened the letter. The waiter left, his lips curling disdainfully. He obviously didnt expect a big tip from me. I decided to heck with it. I tore open a corner of the packet and pulled out, surprisingly, a small book. The kind sold at street kiosks. A pocket edition. Some collection of legends. The cover boasted a bearded face with a crown on its head. Behind him loomed the figure of a charming princess in a pristine white dress, adorned with what seemed like an entire mobile jewelry store. There was also a faceless figure of a mage in a hooded cloak, the shadow of which completely hid his face. Mysterious, like the faces of Siths hidden under hoods in Star Wars. The title read: ''LEGENDS OF KING NIMODE.'' Its not that it intrigued me. I wasnt a fan of local literature. Only non-fiction for me. Travel and the like. Perhaps the presence of magic makes fiction dull in comparison to reality. But since it was necessary, I had to read the book. Or at least skim through it. Probably, there was some hint in it. About my next move. I began to flip through it. A series of rather dull parables about a cruel conqueror king. Like: how King Nimode cheated death, or how the aforementioned monarch defeated a dragon, and other such nonsense, hardly claiming any authenticity. Nothing special, except maybe for the fact that all these feats and miracles were constantly aided by a mage. Nameless mage. Simply referred to as Nameless one. Despite the fact, that this mage developed all these plots and spells aiding the king, a definite fascist and sadist, he received no laurels as a reward. It seemed like selfless assistance to the king was some kind of hobby for him. This aspect made the story seem even more unrealistic. So, I was flipping through this nonsense without much interest, when suddenly, it hit me like a sledgehammer. The parable was titled: THE NINE-DAY CURSE. I began to read. Even the hushed silence in the hall, caused by the sirens arriving for their evening performance, left me utterly indifferent. The orchestra clamored with their instruments, settling into their seats. The audience watched with sighs and growing tension as the silvery bodies of the sirens entered through a special entrance connected to the sea, gliding into the depths of the pool, while I read about Nimode, his genius unnamed mage, and the innocent princess. The essence of the story was about King Nimode, a typical cruel conqueror, battling on all fronts, subjugating one country after another. His mage, for reasons unknown, actively helped him. Logically, the mage was so powerful he probably could have managed without the king, but logic is usually absent in such tales. Anyway, they conquered another kingdom after a bloody siege. Killed the entire royal family except for the princess. Nimode fell hopelessly in love with her. He couldnt just take her, being under the spell of this infatuation. The princess, of course, hated him as the murderer of her family, and certainly couldnt reciprocate his feelings. So, the king suffered for three days, unable to control himself, until he called his mage for a private talk and fell before him, begging to be freed from his love obsession or to persuade the princess. Naturally, the mage spouted the usual C love is stronger than magic and other such clichs C but that time agreed to think about it. And he came up with the ''Nine-Day Curse!'' Essentially, the princess was thrown back in time by nine days, to when her family was alive, kept in the dark while the vile monarch tried to win her heart with sweet words and gallant courtship. They lied to the princess, saying she lost her memory in a hunting accident and was visiting the tyrant monarch for an engagement, as her father had sent her. The spell worked, but the princess was in no hurry to fall for the suitor, whom she had heard terrible things about, and asked to be taken back to her father. Whenever the princess somehow learned the truth or became too suspicious, they repeated the spell. Moving her back in time, over and over, until it all ended in tragedy. In the end, the princess discovered she had been deceived in such a way and took her own life. The monarch went mad with love. Doubtful, of course, such monsters dont go mad over such nonsense... Reading about King Nimode? I jolted internally at the unexpected interruption. I looked up. Standing near my table was a plump little man with a greasy, reddish face. He was very well-dressed: in a white suit with a hat, a lilac tie, and a white lute flower C a local blossom C on his jacket lapel. He smiled, cheekily peering into my book with what he thought was heartfelt simplicity. Yeah, I replied coldly. I didnt like this guy. And I immediately guessed why. I understand people; I am exceptionally unique because nature endowed me with the gift of sensor telepathy. That was the thought process written all over his face. What did he want from me? May I sit? he asked, ignoring my unfriendly tone. I see youre not touching your modest meal anyway. Sit down, I nodded towards the chair opposite of my table. He sat down and fell silent for a moment, apparently waiting for me to continue the conversation, but when I didnt, he sighed. My name is Kmarri. Sometimes they call me Fat Kmarri. You guessed? he asked. Yes, I also figured out youre fat, I said mockingly. He beamed, not at all offended by my flat and admittedly rather crude joke. Thats not what I meant. I mean... He paused significantly, raising his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. I sighed. The guy was annoying. Of course. Youre the empathic telepath responsible for the security of this establishment. Why are you bothering me? Am I planning to kill someone here? No, not at all! I expect nothing like that from you, master! Ive been observing you for the past half an hour. Youre acting suspiciously. You came to the restaurant, arent eating, not listening to the singing. Just reading some silly fairy tales about a king who never even existed to begin with. Besides, I sense some confusion in your mind, as if you dont know what youre supposed to do. I shrugged and told the truth sincerely, knowing its impossible to deceive a sensor telepath: Indeed, I dont know what I need to do. I have a meeting scheduled here, but my acquaintance is late. Kmarri sighed again and stood up. Yes, youre not lying. Youre waiting for something or someone. Definitely. May I take my leave? Please do. I must say, I feel a great relief at your departure, I noted, eliciting his approving smile. The more truth you tell; the better telepaths treat you. The less interesting they find you. But they do enjoy messing with those who try to hide their thoughts. Very much so. Fat Kmarri began to walk away, and I lowered my gaze back to the nearly finished booklet. And I found what I was looking for. On the penultimate page, there was a message written in tiny font between the lines: Read and think quickly. The Zingaru of Hariya wants you to kill the politician guarded by the telepath. Theyve also cursed you with an absolute curse and took Shani and Pars as hostages. You have three seconds. Dont delay! Call your enchanted weapons! Say: Ace! I read the last part almost in a whisper, but that was enough. Almost instinctively, I spread my arms, catching the two .45 caliber revolvers that had inexplicably flown to me. They have not just flown, as Tus stated. They had teleported into my hands! Time began to crawl, thick and slow. The screams hushed. Telepath Kmarri froze as if someone had suddenly plunged a knife into his back. Adrenaline pumped in massive doses into my bloodstream. My brain switched to combat mode. I began to shoot the unsuspecting guards, catching them completely off guard. Four fell before the audience in the hall had even grasped what was happening. Then screams and panic ensued. And all the while, the sea sirens kept singing in falsetto, so high-pitched they could easily outdo even the singer Vitas renowned for his high-pitched voice. Our gunfire, seemed, was no match for silencing them. Perhaps they even thought this was how humans normally behaved, from time to time. It was almost comical C a shootout with musical accompaniment. Like a movie. A very chaotic and fast-paced movie. I raced, leaping over tables, chairs, and the restaurants patrons, knocking over dishes, heading for the staircase that led upstairs C to the booths. Two Ronka guards rushed out from the adjoining rooms. I took them down before they could even make sense of what was happening. And on the run, I changed my plan; the staircase was too far. I couldnt afford to lose even half a second. I tossed the revolvers high up, jumped onto a table at the edge, pushed off, and using a classic Jackie Chan move, flew to the second floor. And again, I called my weapons, Ace! The revolvers teleported back into my hands. I probably wouldnt have had the time to find the right booth in that wild and insane attack and likely would have met with failure in this mad plan. But fortunately, the right booth revealed itself. Guards burst out of the main booth and immediately began shooting at me. Or, at least, they tried. I was so elated that I simply pumped large-caliber bullets into their heads while on the move, bullets that carry devastating energy at such close range. Two of them managed to fire back and nearly hit me. Their bullets whistled just centimeters above my head. But the guards were already being thrown backward and downward, like wooden dolls. One fell right onto the sirens heads, disrupting their tune. The sirens agitatedly churned the water in the pool with their tails, and out of the corner of my eye, I finally saw what they had below their waists. Why were they so slow to react? Didnt expect it? They had let their guard down! Who would be such an idiot to attack in the Zingarus den? I halted my breakneck pace at the door of the booth. The door was closed. But that was just a mockery of them. I smashed the lock, and burst into the room like a special forces assault squad, only to freeze at the scene before me: I had expected anything C people cowering under tables and chairs. Zingaru pressed against the wall, trying to melt into it. But no. These were sitting at the table of their luxurious booth with a view of the pool below, utterly calm. Three Zingaru and two humans. The humans had grim and bewildered faces. The Zingaru, complete stone-cold serenity. Or so it seemed to me, as I couldnt discern their alien, to us humans, emotions. Surely, they had them. They werent robots, after all. Living beings are made of organic matter. I decided to play along in the same vein. Indeed, why should I be any worse than them? I slammed the door shut, and propped it with a chair. Then pulled up another chair for myself and sat down, positioned to watch both them and the blocked entrance. Hello! Im Max Light. Private detective, at your service, I declared cheerfully, keenly observing their reactions. The eyes of both humans widened in surprise. In one of the Zingaru, I think a facial muscle twitched. I couldnt distinguish who was who. Perhaps Zingaru Hara C merely a title for the chief Zingaru, not a name C sat in the middle. Maybe on the left, or the right. Who knows. It wasnt important. What mattered was getting Shani back. Only that. How did you fool the telepaths? asked a rather elderly man who I recognized after a moment as the head of the Bridgeport Technical Corporation. A well-known politician. His face often appeared in newspapers and on campaign posters. Harrison Bray was his name. And as he claimed, he was a direct descendant of the engineers. Allegedly, his surname was inherited from them. That was a lie. As an Earthling, I knew this very well. Local women cant conceive with an Earthman. Some minor but significant genetic differences in that respect. A secret, I replied, boldly examining his eyes. Now be quiet, I need to speak with the hosts. I turned to the Hariyans. Where is Shani? They didnt answer. I shot the one sitting on the left in the forehead. The gunshot was deafening. A .45 caliber in a closed room is no joke. New screams erupted outside. The Zingaru sitting on the left reflexively covered his face with his hands. The humans recoiled against the wall. The second person, considerably younger, even pressed himself back against the wall with force, as if trying to merge with it and avoid a deadly situation, just as I had imagined before invading their lair. I aimed the gun at the second one from the right and repeated my question: Where are Shani and Pars? The latter was just an unfamiliar name to me. I didnt remember any Pars. But since he was a hostage, he too needed to be freed. The note in the book insisted on it. The mouth of the second Zingaru twitched slightly, but he said nothing. Youre insane! exclaimed Harrison, pointing to the one sitting in the middle. Theyll kill us all. He cant speak unless Tana Muris allows it. Hes the head Zingaru here. I shifted my revolver to the central figure: Fine. If I kill him, can he then? The dead dont count as leaders, right? Wanna move up the ranks, pal? Theyre in the basement, the lower-ranked Zingaru finally said, deciding I was completely mad. Tana Muris said nothing at all. Speaking with some unknown human person was beneath his dignity. As he was fearing him. Harrison began to grasp the situation. His face started to redden. Or maybe he was just pretending. Politicians are usually good actors no matter on which planet they live: What does this mean, Muris? Are you betraying your friends in the government? Why are you kidnapping people? Shes not human, shes a Shainarian fairy, the younger Zingaru hastily replied. Muris seemed to have retreated into unconsciousness. Or it could very well be that he didnt personally deal with such trivialities as abductions and thus was not informed. It doesnt matter. If Im killed here, your community will be expelled from Bridgeport! Why did you terrorize this man? The Zingaru didnt answer. I did it for him. They wanted me to kill a politician, guarded by telepaths. Possibly you. They took my landlord hostage, and threatened her life. I had no choice. In addition, they cursed me with an absolute curse, as if that wasnt enough! Terrible! This is... terrible! Why didnt you come to me? It could have been avoided! Internally, I found it amusing how this guy was trying to distance himself from Zingaru. However, they werent my concern. Drop it, I interrupted Harrisons stream of sympathetic accusations. I dont have time for this. Order them to bring Shani here. Then youll give us a corridor to the pier. Well all get on a boat and take a little trip somewhere. Its the old good game of hostages, terrorists, and a plane with money. But youre not planning to take me hostage, are you? Im not involved in this! Why not? It significantly increases the chances of success for the operation. Dont you think? Harrison fell silent. Such villainy from me C a fellow man and tribesman C was apparently unexpected. I smirked. I know you politicians all too well! Youd sell your mother. This is the only way to deal with you... EPILOGUE OF THE FIRST PART EPILOGUE OF THE PART ONE The head of the Bridgeport Technical Corporation had an excellent seaplane. Big enough to fit us all. Me, Shani, Tus, Dina, Harrison, and his telepath. The latter turned out to be the second person present in the booth. This one could read thoughts as if they were words. A rare breed indeed. A Listener. Dina informed me of this immediately. I pushed both Zingaru off the seaplanes float into the sea. They should have had no problem swimming to shore. They swim remarkably well. And even if not, I couldnt care less at that moment. Harrison was an excellent pilot. We circled over Bridgeport, then turned in a wide arc. No one shot at us. And there was no anti-aircraft defense in Bridgeport, which, considering the imminent war with the magical kingdoms, was quite reckless on the part of the Technical Corporation. Bridgeports magical adversaries had dragons with armed riders! To throw off our pursuers, we flew in a completely unexpected direction. To the Gates of Agartha, I ordered, settling comfortably into the co-pilots seat. If necessary, I could have piloted this contraption. I hadnt flown a seaplane before, but I had quite some experience with the soviet An-2. Do you want to land on Izvra, Harrisons tone was an inexpressible relief. Izvra C a river flowing near the Wall. Harrison was afraid I would tell him to fly over the Wall. Behind the gates of Agartha, he was enemy number one. Zero chance of survival. The fact that I agreed to land on this side of the wall was an incredible relief to him. He realized he could return alive from this predicament. Relax, Harrison. Im not planning to engage in air battles with the dragons guarding the Wall. Youll leave unscathed once you drop us at the gates, I assured him. But theres our post there. The border guards... Then hope they recognize you. Newspapers do get delivered to that wilderness, as far as I know. Harrison shook his head with a sigh. Apparently, his own safety would be a priority for him in the future. So easy to let oneself be kidnapped... We landed before dawn. Splitting the quiet surface of the lake with our ski-floats, where the swift Izvra flowed on its way to the sea. If there was a pursuit, it was at least an hour late, probably even more. If they even understood where we had flown off to. It seemed we had plenty of time. I had been here before. The famous gates of Agartha. Besides, I had seen the black-and-white newsreels shot here. The magical part was sometimes shown in the black-and-white cinema sessions, like a journal before the movie. The film industry in Bridgeport was quite underdeveloped. Although Shani loved going to the screenings, I, spoiled by Hollywood blockbusters with computer effects, accompanied her solely for her sake. The imposing sight of the gate came into view. An arch in a monolithic stone wall, a good hundred meters high. The gates of Agartha were comparatively small. A truck could pass them easily. But the main feature wasnt the gates themselves. It was the guards! Giants guarding the gates! Not just any minor giants like Ronkas, but true behemoths C five to six meters tall. In monstrous armor, so heavy it could probably withstand bullet strikes. True, a DshK or some other heavy-caliber machine gun would penetrate it, I had no doubt. But still, they looked terrifying in that heavy yellow-bronze armor. There were always two of them on guard, armed with serrated spears that could also slash with side blows. Massive rectangular shields behind which one could easily take cover even from heavy-caliber rounds. One of them had a bow. A heavy iron bow. With arrows nearly two human heights long! Who was he planning to shoot with those? Bridgeports armored vehicles? About two hundred meters before them was a post of the local border guards, which looked quite pitiful in comparison to the giants imposing presence. But first impressions were deceiving. They had some light field artillery. Two recoilless rifles and a heavy-caliber machine gun. The giants, though they didnt realize it, stood no chance. In a skirmish, they could only resort to some magic. Or attack under the cover of a moonless night. Night vision equipment hadnt been invented here yet. The entire post was fortified with sandbags. A well-constructed bunker, concrete slabs on the road. The border guards, of course, didnt stop us. We passed their inquisitive gazes without any trouble, slipping under the yellow and black barrier. They silently watched our motley group with a light bewilderment, which only seemed strange at first glance. There was a reason for it. They were tasked with protecting Bridgeport from external invasion. Whether to let us onto the magical territory or not was the giants decision. We would become their problem if we had come from the other side of the gate. Perhaps they were even betting on whether they would kill us immediately or torture us first. Sorry, but we wont go any further! I looked at Harrison and his secretary. I almost forgot that he was supposed to stay here. It was evident he was afraid to approach the giants. Fine. Stay here, I said indifferently. There was no need to drag him to the other side, even near the gates. About thirty steps later, Harrison called out to me: Wait, Max! We need to talk, without witnesses, before you leave. I turned around, gestured to the others to continue towards the gates, and walked back to where he had stopped. Well, speak Mr. Bray. Is it true that youre from Earth? From the world of the engineers? I glanced at his secretary-telepath. Dina wasnt wrong. A mind-reader, reading thoughts as if they were words, had caught my thoughts about Earth somewhere along the way, made an instant conclusion, and now conveyed this information to Harrison. I didnt even know his name. Why would someone who reads souls, the most dangerous of wizards, serve anyone? My name is Klein Girva. And I dont serve Harrison. I am his friend. I smiled weakly. He responded to my unspoken, internally directed questions. So its true! This changes everything! Harrisons voice rose with excitement, almost unrecognizable. You, you! You have no idea what an honor this is for us! You cant just leave us! Why not? Why not? Harrison was stunned. How? Weve been waiting so long for new engineers to come. Were not progressing. Only engineers can make true discoveries. Its not given to others... Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Youre mistaken, Harrison, I interrupted his impassioned speech. Any talented and educated person can invent machines. Youve limited yourselves and led to stagnation. There was no need to deify engineers. Still. Whatever it may be, return to Bridgeport with us. And dont worry about Zingaru. Well take care of ensuring they dont bother you. Well give you everything you wish. This is, this is... Futile, Bray, the telepath interjected this time. Hes already decided. We cant dissuade him. However, Klein turned to me, theres something you should know. What? I asked. Two days ago, a Master of the Semenites arrived in Bridgeport on a secret visit for negotiations. If you had known about this, he could have lifted the curse from you and saved your life. My jaw dropped. Damn! Damn! Damn! So thats why Auda said that time C I remembered his brown face under the light circle of the lantern a second before I killed him. The curse is not a problem, he seemed to say. The Zingaru already knew then about the Masters secret visit. Of course! And they really could have helped remove the curse! Although it wasnt certain they would have Is he still in Bridgeport? I asked, with a flicker of hope. Ill have to return with them if hes there. Even if they lock me in a cage. Dead, Im of no use to anyone. Unfortunately, no, Earthling. The Master left last night on his white dragon, to the Kingdom of Kabeyn, as far as Im informed. Hes on a tour of all the kingdoms. Why? Hes trying to prevent the looming war. How can I intercept him? Klein shrugged helplessly. Beyond the Wall, only dragons and their riders can fly. We cant help you with that. Try negotiating with them. Klein gestured upwards with his gaze. Following his gaze, I saw it. The rider and dragon, perched atop the wall, altered my initial assessment of the situation C border guards versus giants C by a complete 180 degrees. With such aerial support, the giants could easily overpower the border guards. A well-placed boulder dropped from above, not to mention a fiery attack, and the giants could easily finish off any remnants of the checkpoint. Poor border guards always live on the edge of life and death, dying first in time of enemy invasions. But negotiating with dragon riders? Lets say I get to this Kabeyn, but the Master is already in the next city. How would I find out where he flew next? It was a secret visit, after all. Alright, capitalist comrades, I need to go, I said, addressing the two bigwigs of Bridgeport. They exchanged glances, not understanding my words, wondering if I was joking. I turned and quickly walked towards my group, ignoring Harrisons pleading shouts. My entire entourage of companions was waiting for me on the other side of the gate. They had been let through without any problems. However, nothing was surprising about that. Wouldnt a mage, a fairy, and a small giant be allowed onto magical territory? And the barons daughter, who lived there, was sure to be let through. The only potential problem could have been with me. With a tremble in my knees, I approached the gates. Shani waited for me a few steps away with a calm smile. Pars looked embarrassed. The fairy had healed his bruises. It seemed he wouldnt see his university again. Tus looked distinctly gloomy, biting his lip. And Dina was cheekily smiling. Nothing could dampen her spirits. A strange company indeed. And I had completely forgotten all of them, except for my savior Shani. I couldnt remember how I had met or spoken to them. They behaved naturally around me as if we had been friends for a thousand years. This evoked a peculiar feeling in me C to make friends who knew me inside out, while I knew nothing about them. What could be stranger in human relationships? I strode confidently towards the gates arch, thinking I would pass through unimpeded, when the giant on the right leaned over and blocked my path with his fearsome spear, more resembling a telegraph pole in diameter and length than the intended weapon. The giant leaned in close, his pockmarked face roughened by sun and wind only partially visible through the slits in his helmet, reminiscent of ancient Greek design. Perhaps the kind Achilles might have worn. I froze. My nerves stretched taut like a guitar string being wound tight. For a whole minute, the behemoth scrutinized me with the attentiveness of an ornithologist who had just spotted an unknown species of bird. It lasted about ten seconds. I didnt know what to say. Suddenly, Shani intervened. She approached the giant and, placing her hand on his spear, calmly said: If you dont let him pass, I will turn you both into frogs. I would really hate to do it, but I can. Believe me, for his sake, I will. The giant stared in shock at the blue-skinned fairy, then shifted his gaze to his companion, and rumbled in a voice like a tanks diesel engine: The fa-ai-ry threatens! His voice carried a mix of bewilderment and hurt. Apparently, as a defender of magical territory, it was doubly offensive to hear this from her. Besides, as I heard, giants fear wizards. Leave the ingineers weapons here! They reek too much of ingineers! the second diesel engine rumbled at a similar frequency. I pulled out my revolvers, which had served me so well in Bridgeport, and tossed them aside, not without regret. Now may I pass? I asked, raising my empty hands. He still has a shadow with horns, the diesel engine rumbled again. I looked down, puzzled, and only then noticed what they meant. The walls light fell only from one side, casting a clear shadow ahead under the arch. The shadow was very odd, if not downright frightening. It was horned, in the shape of a demons silhouette. No matter how I moved, the shadow mimicked my actions, proving it was real and belonged to me. The result of an absolute curse from the long-dead royal spellbinder dynasty called Dan-Dan-Flors. Curse them! Looked like, King Nimodes spell disrupted Itas incantation, as Kulu-Kulu predicted. The demon Malgib had awakened to claim its intended victim. At least, thats what Dina told me. I couldnt remember a damn thing. Neither how the curse was cast nor how it was slowed by some incantation of that Ita, whoever she was. This is not your concern, Shanis voice turned icy and dangerously sharp. I had never expected anything like this from her. But now, I was almost certain C despite the suicidal pacifism of her race, which had allowed itself to be slaughtered by a bunch of cutthroats C that she would carry out her threat. Urban Bridgeport had somehow influenced her. Or maybe it was my stories about movies and Earth? A mystery I couldnt fathom. The spear of the giant leaning towards me suddenly turned to ash and crumbled. Shanis eyes began to deepen into a solid violet color, dissolving her pupils into this dark lilac abyss. Like plasma welding, raising the flame temperature from hot to unimaginably hotter C blue, lilac, violet! A mesmerizing sight, I tell you C the wrath of a fairy. Hey, hey! rumbled the tank engine diesel again, stepping back and shaking off the ash remnants from his hand. Were not going to hold him back. Take him. Hes as good as dead anyway. Its not your concern, Shani cut him off. Ill handle that. Myself. Lets go, Max. She grabbed my hand, and like a strict teacher leading a mischievous teenager to the principals office, she ushered me to the other side. Into an uncivilized magical world. A world of fairy tales and dreams. What was I going to do here? The rest of the group approached us. Everyone was excited. Tus pulled out a thick notebook from his capacious pocket and handed it to me. Whats this? I asked. These are your notes, Boss. Before the curse, you wrote down everything important that happened to you, on Rufuss advice. I opened the notebook and read the first sentence that caught my eye: I rode my motorcycle about two hundred miles away from Bridgeport... PART TWO THE SMELL OF STORM Chapter one LANGVAR PART TWO LANGWAR AND THE SMELL OF THE STORM Chapter One LANGVAR Why do you treat magic so carelessly, Max? It was a strange question. I had never thought Pars would ask me that. Especially now, when that damn magic threatened my life within a matter of days! We stood atop a green hill, facing the city wall of one of the largest cities on the continent C Langvar. It was also the capital of the state by the same name. Agartas wall was very close, just about forty miles away. Pars had invited me on a walk, apparently for this type of questions, as I had initially thought. Now, he confirmed my suspicions. What do you mean by carelessness? Your strange attitude towards this curse. Its as if you dont believe in it. Deep down, you dont believe that the demon exists and will come for you. And what, in your opinion, should I have been doing? Running around the city like in Bridgeport, looking for disentchanters? Ive been through that already and Im sick of it. If Shani cant help, then no one in this city can. Shes more skilled in magic than any wizard here. But you cant just give up, can you? Who said Im giving up? I feel it. Understand, that being from the world of engineers makes you even more vulnerable. Youre careless. Terribly careless! You dont believe in demons. You dont believe in it. I can sense your aura. You regard magic as some kind of annoying interference of unknown origin, something that can simply be ignored. That''s a mistake! I liked his passionate speech. Pars hadnt known me for long, and because of me, he even had to leave the Magic University in Bridgeport, but he cared deeply about me. He felt pity like a compassionate citizen feels for an innocent person condemned to death C a victim of injustice. I waited a bit before responding. In a way, he was right. I considered myself quite advanced and educated. At least, by Earths standards. And I didnt believe in some magical ''nonsense''. I had serious reasons to consider it impossible. It was a staggering thought when I first came to it. Magic contradicts the laws of physics and science; how could it exist in a world alongside them? A CONTRADICTION! Exactly that, written in capital letters. I raised my index finger and, without smoothing it out, pointed at the local worlds sun, already leaning towards its setting place. See? Pars looked up at the sky, bewildered, searching for something, not understanding what I meant. "What do you mean?" "The sun." What is with the sun? Yes. Its a yellow dwarf star, I began in a lecturers tone. In my world, it has a twin. Inside, a continuous thermonuclear reaction rages. The monstrous gravity of the star compresses hydrogen atoms in its core, forcing them to overcome the Coulomb barrier and fuse in synthesis, forming helium, and lithium, and releasing massive amounts of energy. Pars frowned, looking at me somewhat suspiciously. As a fourth-year student at the prestigious University of Magic, he felt embarrassed not to know such strange, yet scientifically sounding words, which seemed to caress his scholarly brain. In essence, exactly what should be happening in my world is occurring there. And magic has nothing to do with it. Where did it come from? Somethings off here. Someone here is responsible for the magic. Or something. Some kind of party committee. Because out there, in space, I pointed again at the sun, it seems theres no magic at all. Everything follows the rules of mother physics. Pars decided to stop trying to understand the scientific nonsense I was spouting and replied in return, Turn around and look at your shadow, Max. I lazily glanced back, my shadow stretched out a full three meters. Dark and frightening. Horned, like a demon in Native American mythology. With the contours of strange armor, the angles of which stood out over the shoulders, which I initially mistook for a bizarre body. But the picture in an ancient book, shown to me by Pars in the library, revealed that these were not the contours of its body. The demon-warrior Malgib was in armor. Very strange armor. Why would a devil need armor? Ask something easier! Look carefully, Pars continued. The streets of the medieval city were unusually wide. Typically, ancient cities are very tightly built, with little room to maneuver. Only in front of a kings palace or a religious temple might you find some space for people gathering. But Langvar was different. Even the sewer system here was advanced, not just foul-smelling ditches where waste flowed out of the city through grates beneath the fortress walls. By medieval standards, it was quite a decent place. Very decent. I couldnt help but wonder C had the mysterious ingineers had a hand in this? Despite Bridgeports insistent rejection of all things technical, the Langvarians had borrowed their sewer system. And street lighting too. But there was no electricity. No generators either. By decree of King Eldurian the First, any such technical innovation smuggled into Langvar was punishable by death! King Eldurian was notorious for his brutality and strictly enforced his own and made others adhere to his wild anti-technical rules. He was a warrior-king, well-known in this world. There were many tales and legends about him. I had even heard them while in Bridgeport. These rules, of course, impacted me. On my very first day in Bridgeport, I ran into a multitude of problems. I would have been immediately condemned and hanged in the square if not for Shanis protection. The fairy was feared. The Sniffers C local hunters for spies and smugglers from Bridgeport C stopped me in the city twice a day. Until Pars and Shani went to the local municipality and got me a paper stating that I was of no interest to this peculiar secret police of King Eldurian. I dont know what they said there, but from then on, I carried this paper C heaven knows what was written on it C in my top jacket pocket and gladly presented it to the next Sniffers. And they did sniff the paper! Apparently, they could distinguish certain specific scents, unsurprisingly, since Sniffers werent humans but dog-headed humanoids. I had heard about them before and seen pictures but never met them in person. There were none in Bridgeport, which was a significant drawback. They would have made perfect police patrols and detectives. They could sniff out anything. Not so much through smell, but through special, magic-like abilities. They could detect lies too, which, honestly, didnt surprise me anymore. Zingaru could do it too C a race of highly developed lion-like people with whom I had a heap of unresolved issues in the recent past. Despite Pars repeated requests, I didnt change my 1930s-style suit and hat, fashionable in Bridgeport. First, it was pointless: Sniffers would still detect that I was from Bridgeport, and I smelled of ''ingineers'' and their devilish inventions. No matter what I wore. Second, as a target of unfair xenophobia from the locals, I did it partly out of spite. In a way. I couldnt admit it to myself, but I stubbornly continued. The only woman I couldnt have refused if she asked me to change my ''retro outfit'' for a local equivalent was my Shainarian fairy, Shani. But she never did. Shani hardly paid attention to these trivialities. We rented a house in Langvar, which she and Dina C our mind-reader C began to furnish. Meanwhile, she was trying to lift the curse from me. She successfully delayed it, preventing the demon from accelerating the transformation process. But it couldnt go on like this forever. She couldnt remove the curse entirely. It wasnt a matter of power, she had plenty of that. It simply wasnt her specialty. Despite her very powerful magical abilities, Shani couldnt do anything about the absolute curse of Dan-Dan-Flors. In such a situation, my only option was to contact the high priest-mage of Semenites, who could destroy such a powerful spell. The question was C how? Pars and I had already made enough attempts. The first was on the day of arrival... The invasion army was indeed large. The surroundings of Langvar were red with the tents and pavilions of this army. It was the most whimsical army I had ever observed and hardly expected to see. A fairy-tale army of trolls, humans, Ronkas, giants, dragons, and many other strange creatures I hadnt even seen. And this was only part of all the wonders and oddities of this invasion army. An invasion of Bridgeport! There could be no doubt about it, such a force could only be gathered against a common enemy C the despised engineers. The army continuously conducted maneuvers and exercises. Ronkas fought with clubs, human warriors trained with wooden swords, and forest half-elves on unicorns C huge, twice the size of normal horses, shaggy steeds, clearly from cold climate regions. Some were shooting at man-sized dummies, suspiciously dressed in a suit similar to the one I was wearing at the moment. However, the suit was so muddied and battered by one-and-a-half-meter arrows that it was almost unrecognizable. The infantry of the earth Dwarfs with large shields simulated an uphill attack to the top of a hill, where similar dummies of men with sticks were placed, probably to imitate firearms. It was a huge camp, noisy and with perpetual movement, not stopping even at night. The same continued under the light of large bonfires and the sounds of drums as large as two-hundred-liter barrels. I watched all this with a kind of awe, even forgetting about my impending inevitable death. It was like stepping into a fairy tale. To witness the living magic of this world. In Bridgeport, one could encounter magical creatures too, but never such diversity and abundance. Everything there was spoiled by technology and reinforced concrete buildings, completely out of sync with the magical ambiance of this World. By this time, I had already read about my adventures from a notebook written by myself, before a nine-day-spell permanently erased my memory of those days. Its a strange sensation, reading about myself as if it were something new, unknown. My actions and dilemmas seemed somewhat naive and misguided to me. Foolhardy, even. Hindsight is always 20/20, as they say. Analyzing it all, I kept coming back to the thought that I could have avoided all this had I just done one smart thing at the beginning. Like not participating in the shooting competition and showing off my skills there. Then the mafia wouldnt have become interested in me. But all of that was irrelevant now. Mulling over scenarios in my head doesnt help turn back time. These were my reflections as I watched the maneuvers of the invasion army, when Pars, who had been standing beside me, allowing me to enjoy the spectacle uninterrupted, finally spoke. The rest of the group had moved ahead and was nearly at the city gates. Yet, I couldnt tear myself away from the scene unfolding before me. The riot of colors in the clothing, weapons, and the sometimes strange, unseen creatures. Its time to go, Pars said softly, placing his hand on my shoulder. I was startled at his unexpected touch, turned around, and gave a wry smile. Youll have plenty of time to see all this; they wont be leaving here for weeks, maybe even months, he added, gesturing towards the camp. I know. But its a pointless endeavor. Its going to be a horrific slaughter. Even if this army wins the first wave, theyll lose ninety percent of their personnel in a war with Bridgeport. Although thats unlikely to happen. Theyll probably all be killed before they even get close. We resumed walking towards the gates, Pars keeping pace beside me. Are you sure? he asked, his tone laced with doubt and concern. They even have a very strong squad of experienced necromancers from Kristan. Its a massive army, the largest ever assembled in the history of the Magical Kingdoms. Besides, this is only the first army. A second one on the other side of the wall is also preparing for the invasion too. I shook my head, dismissing his objections. Believe me, I know too well what armies like the one in Bridgeport are capable of. On my home planet, humanity excels at inventing various ways to kill their kind. I dont know the real strength of Bridgeport; its a closely guarded secret of their authorities, but even a thousand troops with cannons and heavy firearms could stand a chance against such an army. As long as there is enough ammunition. And then there are mines, armored vehicles, chemical weapons, airplanes... and a lot more that you wouldnt understand. Trust me, its a futile endeavor As I was explaining to Pars about the various types of weaponry back on Mother Earth, we approached the gates. The situation with the Agarta wall and the giants almost repeated itself at the gates of Langvar. Archers with faces painted in Native American war paint, oddly out of place in this setting C there usually arent any Indians in fairy tales C aimed their bows at me. Meanwhile, the guards below immediately pointed their spears. A mustached sergeant with a Hitler-style hairdo moved towards me with a smile, as if he couldnt believe his luck in catching a saboteur from Bridgeport so easily today. But he couldnt get close enough. Shani stood between us, nearly touching me with her long, albino-white hair, tickling my elbow with those lush, surreal curls, straight out of a cartoon. Her anime-like, big-eyed fairy beauty could astonish anyone in our world. But here, she only instilled fear in the locals. As if they were encountering a beautiful vampire. A genuinely dangerous creature, though unrealistically beautiful and delicately feminine. The guard sergeants eyebrows shot up in extreme surprise, and he stared at her from head to toe. Shani barely reached his chest. A fairy!? In that single word, he expressed a multitude of emotions that seemed utterly impossible to pack into such a short phrase or word. Astonishment, doubt, bewilderment, and even a question like: What on earth are you doing here? I mean, I support magic! No actor could probably have managed it, because it was instinctive, coming from the deepest depths of the soul, devoid of theatrical falseness. I smirked. I had already witnessed the fury of my guardian angel at the gates of Agarta. The lilac rage in the eyes of the Shainarian fairy. I imagined what the sergeant must be seeing now. THE SNOW QUEEN VERSUS GLOBAL WARMING! This amusing comparison popped into my head unexpectedly, prompting an even broader smile. It was a great mystery, not just to the guard sergeant of Langvar, but to me as well, why Shani was protecting me. I understood it no more than he did. Why are you grinning? The mustache-man finally tore his gaze away from the hypnotizing dark-lilac eyes, dangerous as an all-consuming neutron star, and looked at me with a furrowed brow. Is smiling prohibited here? I asked, my tone lighthearted but tinged with a fair dose of mockery. I thought your city had more freedom than Bridgeport. What do you want here, stranger? he continued, his tone still as dark as the cosmos, emphasizing the last word: stranger! My frankness only confused him more. A saboteur confesses his origins without any pressure? Thats something new! Im seeking protection and refuge. Just for a short while. The sergeant smirked and glanced back at his subordinates. In the typical manner of bullies who mock their victim C as if to say, look at this spectacle, friends. And from whom are you seeking refuge? From Zingaru, I replied succinctly and hit the mark with my shot. It was as though I had dropped a heavy weight, about forty kilograms, right at the feet of the smirking mustached man. He continued to smile, but his smile now carried a hint of bewilderment. The people of Langvar dont like the Zingaru, and rumor has it, that they despise them almost as much as they hate Bridgeport. And what did you do to them? he asked tensely. Killed a couple. Another weight fell at his feet. He didnt even ask why. In his mind, such a godly act probably didnt need trivialities like justification. It was akin to asking, And why did you off Jack the Ripper? Such a sweetheart guy! Is he lying? Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. His question was directed at Shani. Max never lies. Shanis voice was firm, like stone. Like liquid metal C pervasive and scorching with a heat of fifteen hundred degrees. Because fairies dont lie. NEVER AND NOWHERE! And the sergeant of this fantasy world knew it all too well. Its humans C petty, envious, corrupt creatures C who can lie. Ronkas can lie. Even Zingaru, if cornered. But never fairies! To suspect a fairy of deceit was like suspecting a three-month-old baby who hasnt even learned to speak yet, let alone lie. The sergeant was in shock. Uncertain how to proceed, he shifted from one foot to the other and then stepped back. He moved aside and nodded to the guards. Spears were raised, bows were lowered, and two of the guards stepped back. We were allowed into Langvar C a massive medieval megalopolis with a river port just twenty kilometers from the sea C at the mouth of the river flowing into it. With half a million inhabitants of various ranks and classes. Golden domes of palaces and buildings constructed on the remnants of more ancient structures, themselves built on foundations even older. A peculiar dissonance between them. Lets try right now! Pars suddenly said as we crossed the threshold of the gate and moved along the wide street paved with large stones. Our entire group, almost simultaneously, turned to him, not understanding what he meant. Lets go to the riders! Well persuade them. They will take you to the Semenites. I hope. He added the last part in a slightly quieter tone, such that only the most naive fool wouldnt doubt the futility of his hope. My friends reactions to this proposal were utterly different. Dina twirled her finger at her temple, grabbed me by the elbow as if she were a girlfriend on a stroll, leaned in, and commented: Dont listen to him, Boss. Hes a fool, though a smart one. Smart fool, I thought, gently freeing myself from her gripping fingers. I was no authority to Dina. She treated me familiarly and brashly, despite our age difference. Naturally, in her own way, Dina was a telepath who read feelings and emotions. Its me whos the smart fool, not him, I thought. Tus, a massive Ronkas, snorted and shrugged his shoulders. Shani, meanwhile, tilted her head and gave Pars a reproachful look. You know it wont work. Pars turned out to be the second man in Rydii whom she had spoken to. But we have to try! Pars insisted, passionately, perhaps too much so. Whats with all of you? Shani paused to think for a moment. Fine, but go just the two of you. Dragons dont like it when a large crowd shows up. Neither do the riders. And neither do I. Dinas face, showing disappointment at being excluded from accompanying us by Shanis decision, slightly pleased me. Served her right, I thought. Dina often irritated me, mostly by publicly reading my desires. It was impossible to hide anything from her, though she didnt read thoughts as words, but she couldnt keep her mouth shut about my emotions and feelings. So, what are we going to do? asked Dina, as Pars and I began to walk away. Well rent a house. I know someone here, replied the fairy, taking our telepath under her arm. They seemed to get along quite well. Pars strode decisively towards the city center. I knew where he was taking me. To the dragon riders. A very rare and highly respected profession in the magical realm of this world. Only these guys could deliver me to the Magister of the Semenites, who was somewhere riding his personal, snow-white dragon, trying to negotiate and prevent the looming war. And apparently, in vain. In a worst-case scenario, the dragons speed could even transport me to the Order Palace at the other end of the continent. It would take several days of furious flight, but the dragons were more than capable of such a feat, as I had long since learned. The problem was just one. Actually, there were two, but the first was more immediate. Riders would never, under any circumstances, agree to transport someone scented with engineers. That was clear. No questions asked. Persuasion was utterly useless in such case. Pars hoped that he could change this was so futile, foolish, and hopeless from the perspective of a local resident familiar with the customs of this world, that I couldnt even think of a proper comparison. Pars was simply in some kind of desperation to even entertain with such self-deceptive thoughts. For some reason, he was more concerned about me than himself. And we had only known each other for what, two weeks? Half of which I spent remembering nothing at all! I caught up with Pars in a few quick steps, lightly holding his sleeve. Wait. Slow down. We dont have much time, Pars replied, but he slowed his pace. Then why dont you fill me in? About what? About your plan. Shouldnt I be briefed somehow? No. The Riders dont read minds, but they certainly know who theyre dealing with. Its somewhat like Dina with her abilities. Or Zingaru. Pars waved his hand, ending the dialogue and resuming his brisk walk. We cant afford to waste time, he repeated. The Absolute Curse is no joke. I nodded, and we moved on at the same brisk pace. Half an hour later, we reached the dragon platform. It was a pyramid-like structure made of stone blocks of various sizes, with its top half truncated. The platform was partially clad in tiles made of a yellow stone, the name of which I didnt know. It was quite large, at least half the size of a football field. Large steps led to the top, about half a meter in height, somewhat inconvenient for an average person. This raised a question in my mind. Why are the steps so large? I asked Pars, trying to mask my nervousness. The closer we got to the dragons and their riders above, the more hopeless the whole idea seemed to me. I was already tired of being treated like an outsider from Bridgeport. And this current venture couldnt possibly end well. Shani wasnt around to protect me if the riders, in their hatred for engineers, decided to accidentally push me off the edge. They wouldnt likely be punished for it. And the fairy wouldnt seek vengeance. They have no concept of revenge. However, her strange and uncharacteristic attitude towards me might have driven her to break with her races customs and traditions. This is a very ancient structure, Pars explained. It was here long before humans appeared. Built by ancient races much taller in stature. Why does it look so new? Restored? No. Ancient magic. What they built back then doesnt simply fall apart over time. And what was it built for, if not for the riders? Pars glanced sideways at me, trailing a bit behind him on the steps, and replied, No one knows, Max. We dont have time. Dont distract your mind with that. Just speak the truth. Dont even think about lying or holding back. I snorted, You think that will help? No. But its worth a try. In the Halvarate, its said: if you dont do, the task remains undone. Some old authoritative sayings, which people consider epitomes of wisdom, are quite flawed upon closer analysis. This applied to Pars words. Very wise, I said sarcastically. We reached the top, and I saw the dragons up close. Or rather, one dragon. Not so big, really. From a distance, they seemed larger. But that was probably due to the lack of a reference point in the sky to estimate their real size. About nine meters long including tail length, with golden-brown armor. The dragon, with its long and relatively slender neck, lay lion-like on the sun-warmed stone slabs, a warmth I could feel even through the soles of my boots. The rider sat next to it, leaning against the dragons body. A short-haired blond with piercing green eyes. Almost dark from the intensity of the color. His face was smooth and youthful, without a single wrinkle, mole, or even a pimple. But his eyes betrayed his age; they were too experienced, the gaze of an old man. I remembered various rumors that a special spiritual bond forms between riders and dragons, with the dragon sharing its longevity with the rider. And that wasnt the only thing. Another distinctive feature of the rider was his buffness. Literally, he was extremely muscular! A natural bodybuilder, his muscles bulged with knotted veins under the skin. Taut-like snakes, coiled around his torso and arms, covered in magical tattoos. He ignored our approach, his face bearing an utterly melancholic expression as his gaze briefly swept over us before he returned to his activity. And his activity was quite amusing, from my urban perspective. He was feeding the dragon nuts! Tiny ones, which looked like mere beads in his hands. He cracked them by squeezing them in pairs. His veins, along with his muscles, bulged, and one of the nuts clasped in his fist would burst open. Then, he would extract the round kernel, clean off any remaining shell, and offer it to the dragon. The dragon, with the grace of a swan, turned its elegant neck and gently picked up the kernel with its lips, then chewed it. What good such a trifle was to him, I had no idea. Werent dragons supposed to eat meat? Logically. They are predators after all. Unexpectedly, Pars began to speak in a pompous tone. I had never seen him bow to anyone before. He bowed. Deeply. Almost in a Japanese style. Most esteemed Harman! The thunder and lightning of the skies. The great... The rider raised his hand, stopping the flow of flattering epithets. I was surprised not so much by Pars behavior as by his words. He had talked about being sincere! Suddenly, the rider made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if pushing a glass away from him. A clear sign of dismissal. Then, he pointed at me. Let him speak for himself. Pars stepped back, embarrassed. After bowing again, he took a step back, leaving me at the forefront of the negotiations. I didnt beat around the bush or try to deceive. That would have been pointless, a fact I had long since realized. I need to lift the curse of Dan-Dan-Flors. Can you help me and take me to His Holiness, the head of the Semenites Order, Chongar the White? The rider nodded. For a moment, I even thought, he appreciated my straightforward and clear request, devoid of any flattery, unlike Pars. But then, in an instant, his eyes narrowed like those of a predatory cat. Why should I help you, a man from the world of the ingineers? he challenged. I felt a shock of surprise. This type had an even keener sense of telepathy than the usual magicians! Up until now, only a few people had sensed that I came from the world of engineers: the magician Kulu-Kulu, his girlfriend, and two influential politicians in Bridgeport. But then I realized he was referring to Bridgeport. After all, the city and the place beyond the Wall could also be called the world of engineers! I didnt choose where to live. Just like you. Youre somewhat right, man from Bridgeport. But the right to choose is irrelevant here. A venomous spider doesnt choose where it lives. It simply lives in a burrow because THATS WHERE IT WAS BORN. He emphasized the last words with a dark tone. I involuntarily frowned. The man, or rider, was provoking me. Calling me a spider, implying I was venomous. His strange psychology of the gradation of good and evil didnt fit into the moral framework we were accustomed to. His morality was only for his kind, not for the people of Bridgeport or its inhabitants. I realized the futility of this dialogue. The more complex arguments I brought up, the further away I would be from my goal. I was not a part of his system of positive values. So, you wont help me, not because Im bad, but because I was born in a place that you consider a bad one? However, he dismissed my attempt to impose my value system on him for a second time. He snorted, cracked open another nut, fed it to the little dragon, and replied, You are bad. Partly because youre from a bad place. And thats reason enough for me not to help you. Also, be thankful that youre even alive walking around here. This is no place for someone like you. Why do you think Im bad? I persisted, trying to steer him towards a moral argument and ignoring the veiled threat. Shani wouldnt let him hurt me. I wasnt worried about that. A fairys purple rage is quite a spectacle. Because youre from a bad place. A VERY BAD place. Here we go again! I cursed internally. Of course, when logic isnt needed, arguing is pointless. Jesus walked on water. Believe it or not, he walked! Whats so bad about Bridgeport? I asked, and before I could finish, I realized I had made an even bigger mistake. Arguing with him about this was utterly pointless. The hand gesture was repeated. The motion of pushing away an imaginary glass in the air. Continuing the dialogue was futile. He had ended it. His eyes relaxed again, the gnarled vice-like hands cracked another nut with a snap. I turned to leave but suddenly changed my mind. That dismissive hand gesture infuriated me. It was as if I was nothing. Contempt. Absolute contempt, almost disdainful. I turned back, and Pars, sensing my state, grabbed my arm as if afraid I was about to start a fight with this guy. Let go, Pars. Im not going to fight, I murmured quietly. The rider suddenly smiled. It was a condescending smile as if amused by the thought. Admittedly, it was a correct assumption. There was likely no one on the planet who could beat him in a one-on-one fight. Riders possess a portion of their draconic companions strength and abilities, as Ive already mentioned. It would be like fighting a stone golem. His deceptively human appearance couldnt fool me. I had read too much in newspaper articles about riders. Neither the most powerful Elves warrior nor the legendary Zingarus sword technique could defeat a rider in fair combat. Only a full knight of the Semenites, and even then, only a top-rank fighter. Perhaps a second-rank fighter as well. But these were exceptionally trained, outstanding warriors and battle mages C terrifying killing machines, both physically and magically. Their lives were spent in constant training, much like the Shaolin monks, but unlike on Earth, here - the fabled Chi energy truly works. With specialized training, one could achieve powers that on Earth were only found in Marvel comics. I forced myself to calm down. Cool head. Or head in the cold. The advice of a military leader. And for good reason C the man clearly knew his tactics and strategy. I want to help you, dragon rider. He turned his melancholic-contemptuous gaze back on me. I dont need your help, scavenging vermin of the ingineers. Ignore the insults, I told myself and continued in the same tone, Im going to do this regardless of whether you want it or not, worm rider. I want to tell you how youre going to die. It will happen very soon, and perhaps my words will save your life. He cracked another nut, ignoring me and not responding, probably deciding that the best way to get rid of me was to pay no more attention. I continued: When you attack Bridgeport, heres a piece of advice C dont fly closer to the ground than five thousand stags. Maybe even four and a half. The thirty-millimeter automatic cannon fires up to three kilometers. And the shell doesnt even need to hit you directly. It explodes in the air with a delay, scattering a rain of shrapnel at speeds of kilometers per second. If a tempered steel bullet hits you, it will pierce the belly of your dragon and you sitting on it. Im not joking! You may not believe it, but to a hardened steel core at a speed of 900 meters per second, organic matter is like rotten pumpkin. No obstacle. The bullet, after passing through the dragons body, will enter yours from the rear, travel through your entire body, turning your internal organs to mush, and blow off your head, which no magic can reattach or resurrect. Not even the magic of the so-called ancient gods. Ah yes! I almost forgot what will happen to the dragon when it gets hit by bullets from a Browning machine-gun, for example. Those are 50 caliber bullets. About as thick as my finger. The machine gun fires at a rate of 600 rounds per second. So, its not just one bullet that will hit your dragon. Its a whole barrage. And all of them will go right through. Organic matter, after all. And even if they dont hit you, youll start falling to the ground. From thousands of stags high. Youll be smeared on the asphalt. Do you know what asphalt is? In Bridgeport, its everywhere. Its a surface smooth and hard as stone. You and your dinosaur will have to be scraped off it. A cleaning machine with a high-pressure hose will have to come... I almost missed the moment of his attack. My God! He was fast! Like a snake. The rider sprung up unexpectedly, just as I was reaching the climax of my explanations, vividly demonstrating, for some reason using his middle finger, how a twelve-centimeter bullet would pierce through the body of his dragon, and then him. I was about to move on to describe the larger-caliber anti-aircraft guns of 45 millimeters and more when a lilac flash erupted. The rider, like an enraged leopard, stopped just half a meter away. His hand was raised in a blow that would have instantly killed both Klitschko brothers along with Mike Tyson together. His monstrously strong muscles tensed, veins bulging a couple of centimeters. His eyes were shooting lightning. But he stopped. Between us stood a lilac glow. And in that glow was Shani. Again, almost in the same pose as at the city gates. Positioned between me and the furious rider-mage. How she was teleporting herself, was beyond my understanding. I had never seen such a thing from her. They both froze in a silent battle of gazes. The rider wavered, evident in his fist. He would clench his fingers as if about to strike, then relax them. Finally, he lowered his hand. How can you! How can you! In his voice was an endless grievance. And the anger! The fury that he was not allowed to punish the insolent ingineer. WHY ARE YOU PROTECTING HIM! Shani too had lessened her magical defense that had stopped the rider. Only now did I realize that the lilac glow had acted like a sort of force field. The very kind that a bullet can penetrate, but neither a fist nor any bladed weapon. The glow dimmed. Max is good, she said softly. HES FROM BRIDGEPORT! Hes from that damned place! the rider was still shouting. Shani suddenly rolled her eyes for a second, then reopened them and asked, Harman, so youre from the clumsy-handed island? Nice place! No denying that. Though they took you from there as a baby, youre the last one to reproach anyone for their birthplace! The rider darkened, completely losing his bravado. He averted his gaze. I even thought he might burst into tears from rage. Suddenly, flinging the remainder of the nuts aside, he jumped onto his dragon and, uttering something in an incomprehensible language, lifted the reptile. The dragon, with an ultra-short takeoff that would have made an auto-gyro envious, soared into the air, blasting us with a gust from its wings. The white hair of the Shainarian fairy fluttered, briefly entwining around my face. Shani, following the rider with her gaze, turned around. Pars stood nearby, stunned. Then she moved towards the steps to descend, not waiting for us. Lets go, Max. What is the clumsy-handed island? I asked Pars. Its an island of cannibals far to the south, in the sea they call Starlight, he explained shocked. MAX’S DREAM

Chapter Two MAXS DREAM

I was dreaming of fire. It was burning everywhere around me. Beams, blackened by the fire, fell like dark spears engulfed in flames. And the wooden building, the scene of this conflagration, was collapsing before my eyes. The roof, gradually losing its support and also seized by the furious flames, caved in parts, each collapse sending up a giant shower of sparks, almost extinguishing momentarily. But within a minute, the flames rose again with renewed vigor. I wandered in this fire, trying to find a way out. Strangely unharmed. Although I felt the heat of the fire, it caused no pain. Why? I tried to understand, but that wasnt the main concern. There was something else troubling me. Like anyone in a dream, I was unaware that everything around me was unreal. I took it all at face value. Finally, I burst outside through a collapsed, burning door into the daylight. Outside, there was a crowd of people. At first, they seemed to have tried to extinguish the fire, but now they had given up. The fierce flames were unstoppable at this stage. Let it burn out. Let it burn to the ground; nothing else could be done. That seemed to be their decision. Strangely, they paid no attention to me. None at all. As if I were a ghost. Invisible and inaudible. Yet, they parted ways when I approached the crowd. Maybe they didnt see me come out? Impossible, I thought. And it was only then that I realized something was amiss. The people were dressed differently! Not in the way I was accustomed to seeing in my era. They wore fashions from the thirties. But not in American fashion, rather in old Soviet style. Caps made of light grey cloth. Plaid and white shirts. Trousers and worn brown boots. The scuffed leather jackets of the NKVD with cross belts. And they were there too. With holsters and Nagant revolvers, just as I had seen in movies. In the dream, a part of my memory about Bridgeport and the transition to a world of magic was completely blocked. I didnt remember it. I only remembered the year 1999. Ukraine. My night drive to Odessa in a Niva. Thats it! This was the last point of reference in my memory from where this inexplicable journey began. I surveyed the unfamiliar place, turning my head from side to side. A massive construction site. With prisoner laborers, Red Army soldiers. Endless lines of people with shovels and single-wheeled barrows on wooden planks laid over the mush of brown earth. People digging in a huge pit, in the ground. From somewhere to the right, large columns of unclear purpose protruded. Judging by the sunlight glistening off them, they were made of metal. At the top, they expanded like the caps of honey mushrooms. Between the towers was a stretched red canvas with a huge inscription: Glory to labor! Glory to the USSR! I began to wander through this construction site, filled with incomprehensible machinery, until I stumbled upon a group of supervisors. They stood near the machines, in white shirts with their light jackets casually draped over their shoulders, held by two fingers. Nearby stood a military officer. Without shoulder boards, as was customary at the time. With diamonds, the meaning of which I didnt know. He could have been a commander or someone higher up from the Peoples Commissariat of the USSR. However, what drew my attention most was not him or the engineers in caps. It was a tall, mustached man with grey hair and a piercing gaze. In a black suit and a plaid shirt. There was a vague sense of recognition. I had seen him somewhere before, but I couldnt remember. A tall, gray-haired, elderly man. He kept spinning in my head. Any moment now, Ill remember, I told myself, but I couldnt. Meanwhile, the gray-haired man smiled when the military officer whispered something in his ear. It was a condescending smile, as if he held all the secrets of the world but couldnt reveal them due to the level of incomprehension of those around him. And what are you loitering around here for? I turned around in surprise, expecting the question was directed at someone else. But I found that the guy in the plaid cap, with his jacket held behind his back and a cigarette between his teeth, was addressing me personally. Excuse me? Are you talking to me? I asked, still in disbelief. I thought I was a ghost! Who else? He shifted the cigarette in his mouth. I took in his attire, so familiar from the movies. He could have been Fred Astaire, ready to break into a lively tap dance in those fashionable boots. Or, like in Jolly Fellows, start marching to the beat of brass instruments. And whats it to you? I retorted, deciding to be bold. In any case, in such situations and with such characters, fawning wouldnt help. Mr. Tesla, Mr. Tesla! This shout distracted me. It struck me like a blow and doused me in cold water. Tesla! Tesla! So thats who he was! No wonder he seemed familiar. But what was he doing here? I turned around, trying to catch a glimpse of the greatest inventor of all times and peoples, when suddenly my interlocutor grabbed me by the throat. I kept trying to turn around out of inertia. But his strength was monstrous. He lifted me with one hand as if he were a robot, without any strain. And when I looked at him again, I was hit with a wave of heat for the second time. His appearance was blurring, melting away in some strange, hellish fire, revealing beneath it a glossy black skin. And horns. Long ones, at least half a meter. A monster! Demon Malgib from another dimension! I was gasping for air, but couldnt tear my gaze away, hypnotized, watching this incredible transformation. He grew, tearing his clothes, and simultaneously, beneath them emerged his armor. Strange one, it seemed not just armor, but... rather look like as a strange battle gear of a space marine! High-tech from the future. With all its trappings. As if somewhere in the vastness of the Universe, a space cruisers paratrooper turned mutant with a half-scorched face had now returned for revenge against the captain and crew. I kicked my legs, clinging to his arm, unable to either pull it off or avert my gaze from his emerald, serpent-like bright eyes, which turned out to be lenses, as if lit from within by green LEDs. Malgib! Demon Malgib! As I nearly lost consciousness, he moved his hand away and flaunted me around. Triumphantly, like a hunter with a captured pray. Or like the predator in Schwarzeneggers film. I saw Tesla looking in our direction. The others continued their conversation, watching the burning barracks, but something troubled the old man. He was looking at us. I wanted to shout to him, but it was useless. Death had grasped my throat. The curse of Dan-Dan-Flors. Of the famous and long-dead dynasty of wizard-kings. Max! A voice ripped through the space and time with a lilac flash, bright as a supernova. The demon growled, squeezing even tighter, trying to strangle me faster. But the lilac flash burned brighter and brighter, scorching his hand. The grip began to weaken; I started gasping for air, trying to breathe. The demon shook me, but his fingers inevitably unfolded under the pressure of the lilac light. I WILL NOT LET YOU KILL HIM! DONT EVEN THINK ABOUT IT! NEVER! MAX IS MINE! ASAN! AGADESH! AYUR! Malgibs face began to burn with blue flames, and with a wheeze, unable to bear it any longer, he flung me away. MY SACRIFICE! MINE! he rasped, trying to reach me again, but the purple fire barred him, burning with the furious wrath of the fairies. ASAN! AGADESH! AYUR! The verbal magic of the fairies was almost tangible. As if made of solid matter, not just sound waves. Such powerful words! I felt their weight and ancient power, back when verbal magic could create worlds. Its not for nothing that its said: in the beginning was the Word. I now could believe in it. At that very moment, as I fell to the ground like a doll, I was instantly pulled from the deadly slumber. I heard Shanis crying for the first time. Drenched in sweat, I found myself on the bed. Dina and Tus were holding my legs and arms, while Shani pressed her palms against my cheeks. There was a bitter taste in my mouth. My throat was unbearably sore. Could it be that I was actually being strangled in my sleep? What happened? I asked them with a hoarse, strained voice. Tus replied, Your demon almost took you. A bit ahead of schedule. Wheres Pars? I asked, trying not to focus on the tears dropping from Shanis eyes onto my forehead. She still held me, still whispering the words of her spell: asan, agadesh, ayur. Although the magic called by them dissipated away. Hes never around when you need him, said Dina, clearly frightened too. He wouldnt have been any help, Tus retorted, releasing my legs which I must have been thrashing violently in my sleep during the strangling attempt. And youve got a strong fairy there, boss. Ive never seen anything like it. But she wont be able to help a second time. You need to do something. And fast. The fool, Dina remarked. Thats supposed to be comforting? The Boss needs to hear the truth. Hes a strong man; hell cope. Tus patted me reassuringly on the shoulder. Get me some water, I requested, soothingly stroking Shanis hand with my own. I was making a mistake. I had been making the same mistake all along. All my actions C all this running around to different sorcerers and mages C only added to the problems. So much so that in the end, I became a target of one of the most powerful communities in this world. I had put my hopes in specialists. In magic specialists. That was a mistake. A fatal one! I should have just been myself. A detective of the modern world. After that dream, I began to understand something about this curse. Far better than all the mages of this world combined. Tesla! The armor of a space marine! These were pieces of a mosaic, all swirling at the edge of consciousness. And if I didnt die first, I had to put this puzzle together. I cranked up my analytical abilities to the max. Think, Max, think! This is the last time! The last time! I told Pars when he burst in, jubilant, the next morning after that ill-fated night with the demon attack, dragged me out of the house, and took me to the city magistrate. He supposedly had found a way to make a royal official from the ministry help me, through his magical connections here. Through the wizards guild present in every city. I let him persuade me one last time. The futility of asking for help in this place, simply emanating fierce hatred towards ingineers, was so obvious after our first unsuccessful attempts that I didnt rely on this approach at all. To hell with these magic racists, I decided then and there. But theres always a last chance when its the last chance. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Pars stopped a cab. But the driver, seeing my shadow, immediately drove off. A pariah! Like a leper! Pars cursed under his breath, and we continued on foot. Striding swiftly through the streets of the medieval city, paved with gray and red cobblestones, amidst such lazily moving crowds. The street movement, so unlike the rapid pace of civilization in Bridgeport or back on Earth. Pars continued to loudly curse the cab driver, claiming he would cast a spell to enlarge his nose to the size of a cucumber. This amused me. Of course, he wouldnt do it. Wizards are not allowed to use magic against people or other sentient beings, only for self-defense. Only criminal mages break this rule. Magical criminals. A rarity. Studying magic requires diligence, constant reading, and intellect. Not a great combination for fostering crime within that community. But exceptions do occur. Occasionally. Hes right, I commented on his grumbling. Dont curse. The man is afraid for his life, and rightly so. I need to get out of this city as soon as possible. Why? Pars asked, slowing down his brisk pace. Enough with the pretense, Pars. Do you really think the demon will stop at just me when the time comes? You dont have to reassure me that its not true, but Ive figured it out. Itll kill all of you too if youre nearby. Especially Shani. And she, the poor thing, will surely try to interfere. So lets do this: once we get out of there and your magical racists send us away as usual, youll use your magic and tell me exactly how much time I have left. Okay? And help me distance myself from the guys. I dont want them to be dragged into this as well. We are your friends! I waved dismissively at his indignant shout. Cut the melodrama, Pars C son of Paridia. I dont want anyone to die because of me. Theres no sense in it. Besides, I think best when Im alone. The threat to your lives distracts me. I know something. Saw it in a dream today. And it seems like nobody in your world knows about it. What do you mean? Tell me. Later. First, we follow your plan. Okay? Okay? Its just a word. Okay. Strange you dont know it. The Americans must have brought it over. Guess it didnt catch on. Its quite a sticky word, actually. Damn sticky. Pars shook his head, then dismissed it with a wave, as if to say, whatever, Max, and quickened his pace. We were walking through the awakening morning streets of the city. More and more people appeared. Yet, our movement was unobstructed. It simply couldnt be otherwise. My shadow dispersed everyone. You know, youre right, Pars remarked as we had completed our journey and the view of Blind Dunn Square opened up before us, named after the ancient fighter of the magic rat plague. Of course, not just any rats, but mutants. In the square stood his statue, flanked by a couple of rats as large as dogs, perched on the pedestal. What am I right about? That you shouldnt be in the city. The city authorities will surely drive you out when theres only a day or two left before Malgib appears. If you were an ordinary person, theyd have you chained in a basement or somewhere in the woods, so the demon could kill you quietly and not harm others C random people who might be nearby. Why arent they doing that now? Shani. I see. Lets move faster. Run. Though its unbecoming for us. I switched to a light jog, drawing surprised looks. Pars hesitated at first; for a wizard of his level, it was unseemly to run like a boy through the yellow-brick paved squares, but then he spat and also started to run. Time C that was the most valuable thing to me at the moment. He perfectly understood it too. Finally, we arrived, panting, at the archway leading into the building. At the gates stood several guards in what I considered outrageously ornate uniforms. Red jackets, feather plumes on blue berets. They were armed with crossbows, heavy steel bows, and large daggers sheathed at their waists. Pars, unaccustomed to running, couldnt catch his breath. What is this building? I asked, slightly supporting him. Pars bent over halfway. You need to start jogging in the mornings; your stamina is terrible, I added. I promise... if you survive. This is... the Ministry of Langvar Offensive, Pars replied in between breaths. What? I thought I had misheard him. The Ministry of Offensive, Pars repeated. Usually, normal people have a Ministry of Defense. No. Theres a Ministry of Defense when you plan to defend. When youre planning to attack, it gets reformed into the Ministry of Offensive. Though in Northern Deiria, Ive heard, they have both ministries at the same time. But thats just a senseless waste of the state budget, maintaining two organizations instead of one. My jaw dropped at his matter-of-fact explanation. Stupid, from our Earthly perspective, but somehow devilishly logical. We climbed the stairs; the guards didnt check us, didnt pay us any attention at all. I didnt even understand why they were there in the first place. It seemed like they should have asked for a pass, by our Earthly standards. Or a mandate, like in the times of the revolution. Where are your mandates, comrades? On Earth, we only have a Ministry of Defense, I noted. Really? Pars seemed surprised. And what do you do when youre planning to attack? I scratched my head. What a question! We dont do anything. We just keep calling it the Ministry of Defense. But isnt that illogical and untruthful? I shrugged. Cultural differences between the magical and non-magical worlds. To heck with it. Wait here, Pars said. We were in a large reception area, with a long bench lined with red cushions for a more comfortable seating experience, along the wall. Opposite were massive white doors leading to various offices of royal officials. Just like in some mayors reception or another high-ranking bureaucrats office back home. Deputy Minister of Offensive Legiy Chahrumm C read the sign on one of them. On the second door: Battle Mage of the First Hundred, Surus Paava. The fact that Pars managed to arrange such a meeting was surprising. I hadnt had the chance to ask him how he did it in such a short time. Pars disappeared behind Chahrumm doors, whoever he was, and I was left waiting in the reception area. Several people were already waiting in line: a half-elf in white robes, as tall as a watchtower, with an aloof stone-cold gaze in his light-green eyes; an old man in a plaid jacket C a dwarf with a long heather pipe; and a whole family of aristocrats, oddly dressed in very chic, all-black attire, possibly barons or marquises C a mother, father, and their minor son and daughter. I positioned myself away from them; thankfully, my shadow wasnt visible in the room. Though towards the end of the curse, Pars said it would be noticeable even in twilight. A nearly materialized shadow. The old man in plaid suddenly sidled up to me, puffing on his pipe. I glanced at him sideways. I had absolutely no time for idle chatter. And old people always enjoy talking about various topics with strangers. I moved slightly further to the edge, but the old man puffed on his pipe and shuffled closer again. Sideways, once more. In another situation, I might have found this amusing, but not now. From far away? the old man asked, not bothering with a greeting or any other form of introduction. Uh-huh, I grumbled unfriendly. Been here long? Uh-huh. Do you like it here? I was about to say uh-huh out of inertia, but caught myself in time. Nope. Why not? I was about to say because it sucks, or rather, the local equivalent of this Earthling expression, but at that moment, the door opened. Pars came out, and behind him, I caught a glimpse of the deputys office through the half-open door. Pars gestured to me that everything was okay. But then the unexpected intervened again. The door to the left of the second office opened, and a gaunt, scarred, weathered, long-haired man in a high-collared, gold-embroidered brown velvet doublet with a large silver chain appeared. His grim face would have struck terror in the hearts of enemies, so expressive and menacing it was. But that wasnt the main point. Casting a quick glance around, he noticed Pars: Hey, you, have you brought the traitor from Bridgeport whos going to help us? I spat. Right onto their red carpet. I stood up and headed for the exit. I could picture the scene behind me as well as if I had seen it with my own eyes. Pars, probably frozen as if struck by a meter-long arrow in the heart. The grim man watching me with a puzzled look. Traitor! It really did look like that. I would be consulting them on how to defeat Bridgeport. In return, they would summon the Abbot of the Semenites, with whom the king has a connection through the scribe C a notebook of magical communication. I hadnt even realized it myself! Angrily, I slammed the door and ran down the stairs to the exit. Behind me, I heard the sound of Pars hurried footsteps. Hes finally snapped out of it! Right at the exit, he caught up with me. But I didnt let him say anything. Stop, Pars! Stop! Pars skidded to a halt, gasping for air like a fish on the shore, his mind probably filled with those clichd phrases: youve got it all wrong, hes a fool, he doesnt understand, he didnt mean that, ... blah-blah-blah, ready to spill out like water from an overfilled bucket. Stop. Go home, Pars. Just go home. But you? Im not upset, I reassured him. Go to the guys. Tell them Ill be there soon. Tell them not to worry. I know how to solve this problem. Wait, hold on. Get me the book. The book? Yes, the one you showed me. With the demon. But its from the library. You cant take it out without permission! Pars was as thrown off by my calm reaction to the recent insult as he was by my odd request. Pars had taken me to the magical library of Langvar, which housed a rare book about absolute curses, complete with illustrations of the demons they summoned. Do whatever you want, but if you really want to help, get it for me. Steal it if you have to. Ill wait for you by the statue of the Hamelin Rat-Catcher. Over there. I pointed towards the monument. How much time do you need for that? Pars finally recovered from the shock. An hour, he replied with sudden composure and determination. Ill be here with the book in an hour. Excellent! I slapped his shoulder. Go on, Harry Potter! What? Never mind. Dont waste time. Pars left, or rather, ran off. I approached the statue, sat on the edge of the pedestal, and, while absentmindedly watching the passersby who glanced at me warily, began to wait for Pars return. I had made a mistake. A fatal one, I thought. I should have analyzed it myself, tried to find an antidote against the curse. Not rely on the local magical obscurantism. Malgib C hes not a demon. I remembered the dream. What kind of demon is he! High-tech titanium armor, back-mounted manipulators with servo motors that look like horns from the front but are actually meant to hold rocket launcher blocks. Laser targeting system: look and you lock. The round metal plate on the chest, probably a mini nuclear reactor C such an exoskeleton would require a ton of energy. And that burned, blackened face? What burned it? With a laser? A burst of cosmic ultraviolet? And what about Tesla? Did Tesla ever come to the USSR? What was that construction about? Tesla, being Serbian, surely couldnt have had ill feelings towards Russia. But what was he doing there? Could he really have been fulfilling some contract with the USSRs Peoples Commissariat for constructing something? In those years of industrialization, there were loads of American engineers in the USSR building factories and things like Dnieper Hydroelectric Station. Not to mention the Salvation Army feeding ten or twenty million people in the Volga region, practically saving them from extinction. They built something there, under the guidance of the genius Tesla. Near Odessa. I remembered the group of engineers standing by the cars in the picture from my dream. Were they? The founding fathers of Bridgeport? Master! What? Huh? I was jolted from my thoughts by a boy in black. The snot-nosed kid from the reception area. From that family of either barons or marquises. I hadnt quite figured out the local aristocratic hierarchy yet. He was tugging at my sleeve, insistently trying to get my attention. What do you want? I asked with a smile, finally coming back to my senses. The boy couldnt have been more than ten or eleven years old. They told me to give this to you, master, he said, and only then did I notice he was pressing a cloth-wrapped bundle to his chest. Wrapped in fabric, the object was the size of a thick book or a large briefcase, as we used to say back in my Earthly days. Who told you? I asked sternly, standing up. The old man with the pipe. The scary, small one. He was sitting with you, master. He said to give this to you and then he left. The boy pointed towards the Ministry of Offensive. I took the bundle. And then the short-lived spell of forgetfulness, used by that damn old man at each of our meetings, like back in the caf, dissipated. So, it was Kulu-Kulu! I exclaimed. Aha, thats what he called himself, the boy confirmed my guess. That crafty old man, when will he stop being so pretentious and mysterious? I dont have time for such nonsense, I grumbled into the void. Catching him was impossible. The old man had been hiding for a hundred and fifty years. Good luck finding such a master of disguise. And to think he had the nerve to converse with me, unrecognized! Master, why does your shadow have horns? In the sunlight, the shadow was clearly visible. The boy was too young to know about absolute curses. Thats because I didnt listen to my sister Alenushka. Drank from a puddle. Now Im turning into a goat. See the horns? You better go back to your parents; they must be worried. I took the bundle and sent the boy, puzzled by my silly answer, on his way. The bundle was heavy, as if filled with lead. A veritable weight. Weighing about five kilograms. I sat back down on the edge of the monuments base and began to unwrap the cloth. What could this be, I wondered?