Guardian of the Empire

[RiP]

Translation of the original novel by Andrey Burevoy. Страж Империи
If you see any unclear places, please let me know. Help make the translation better.


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Waving to the driver, I moved away from the cart and returned to my usual place to the left of the gate arch. Squinting, I looked at the blazing fireball that had already risen above the distant forest and was noticeably warming, dispersing the morning chill. And there was not a cloud in the sky today... The stream of people, bursting through the narrow neck of the gate into the city with noise and hubbub, as if frightened by the approaching daytime heat, melted away as if by the wave of a hand.

Good... Consider the hardest part of the day behind. In the morning, you rush around the eastern gate like a wind-up toy, like those Master Guillaume sells, and then the service goes quite calmly. The peasants and small merchants who came to the city market, who tried to storm the gates at dawn, will lose all their seething energy and will get back out calmly, without haste, without pushing, shouting, and cursing. Blessings...

Idly looking at the carts entering the dark mouth of the passage cut in the stone, which seemed to be the arch of the city gate, I could not help but yawn. If only I could sleep... And I shook myself, peeling myself away from the wall for a few moments. This idleness is so relaxing that it immediately makes you sleepy. Sighing, I pressed my rounded shoulder pad into a chip in the stonework, which gave good support, and froze. There really was nothing to do for now. Right now, suppliers from dozens of Kelm shopkeepers were rushing through the gates with fresh greens, slaughtered meat, and other food; a huge amount is needed to feed the forty thousand armada of townspeople. And this is only counting the original residents of Kelm, but the visitors also want to eat...

"Kar, are you asleep or what?" As he approached, Veld noticed that I wasn't even moving my head, indifferently watching the line of carts.

"Not yet," I responded lazily.

"I'd like to sleep too…" Veld said dreamily, ignoring my answer as usual. He moved his helmet, adjusting it more comfortably, and perked up: "Listen, did you manage to place your bet?"

"To today's show?" I asked, purely out of natural mischief, making a thoughtful face, as if I had just remembered the anniversary of the Battle of Meran.

"What else?!" Veld was amazed. He moved closer and whispered conspiratorially: "If you haven't bet on anyone yet, now is the time to do so. And I'll give you a friendly hint... I have a sure sign!"

"Which one?" I involuntarily became interested, although I had long since sworn off participating in Veld's adventures.

"Elmira, do you remember? That red-headed scribbler who keeps records at the Magistrate's office... She whispered to me: the other day the centurion scolded Dietrich for letting that gang of night robbers escape. He said he cursed him with the worst words, promising to demote him to a simple guard." And he concluded contentedly: "So it's a sure thing. We just need to put a decent amount of money on Dietrich. It's a pity I didn't find you yesterday. Will the foreman allow you to leave now?"

"And what benefit does she get from telling you all this?" I doubted the veracity of my friend's words. I remembered his red-haired girlfriend very vaguely, but the way they had a huge fight was clearly imprinted in my memory.

"I promised her a date at the Black Rose," Veld replied.

I looked at him in surprise. A visit to one of Kelm's most expensive taverns is expensive. Maybe just take a girl there once to impress her. But he seems to be well acquainted with this Elmira... What's the point of showing off if she knows he's a simple guard?

"I'm just trying to make a jackpot," my friend explained, catching my doubts, and said very quietly: "I borrowed gold for the stake… And I advise you not to be scarce."

"Are you crazy?!" I stared at him, dumbfounded. "Such a lot of money?! And if you lose?!"

"Be quiet!" Veld hissed, hitting me in the side with his fist. The blow was quite noticeable, since his hand was protected by a glove reinforced with metal pads.

"Oh, come on," I waved my hand. "Who can hear anything when the wheels hit the stones with such a noise?"

"That's no reason to shout about such a money-making matter to the whole district," Veld muttered. "Bets are accepted until midday. If everyone finds out about what I told you, then I won't see a fat jackpot. The bookmakers won't have anything to pay with... They're accepting bets on Dietrich at one to eight now."

"It's tempting…" I drawled thoughtfully, imagining for a moment how great it would be to get hold of almost ten gold coins out of thin air… They wouldn't hurt me at all… I could continue my studies at the sword school and with the greedy alchemist… And I sighed regretfully, driving away the sweet dreams in which I became a real rich man for a while: "I have nothing to bet anyway."

"Did you spend it all on teachers?" my friend asked pro forma - it was no secret to him where my money was going. And he advised: "Borrow from the moneylenders. You'll pay it back today anyway."

"No, I won't get involved with moneylenders," I refused point-blank. The last two years have taught me once and for all not to get into debt. From the salary that each guard was entitled to for a decade of service, I had a few coppers left, and the rest went to Trim the Rat to pay off the debt and interest on it. Life was not sweet at all back then, even if I managed to earn a good amount of money on my days off. No, I don't want to experience that pleasure again, so that in a year I'll have to pay back twice as much as I borrowed.

"And rightly so," the foreman approved of my decision. He had quietly approached us while we were engrossed in conversation. "Only usurers get rich from loans, while ordinary people suffer only losses from them."

"Yes, all this is clear," I waved my hand with annoyance, interrupting Roald, who intended to start lecturing. "You know yourself - I had no other choice then."

"Yes, you hadn't," Roald agreed. "And there's no point in sticking your head in the trap again."

I sighed, looking reproachfully at Roald. Of course, he was an old friend of my adoptive father's and had looked after me as best he could since his death, but sometimes he overdid it with his care. And he knew perfectly well that it was only the need to pay that damned duty of a quarter of the value of the inheritance that had forced me into the usurer's web...

"Foreman!" Roald was distracted from his intention to lecture by a man in a dusty travelling cloak. He jumped down from a grey-covered van that had pulled up to the gate.

"What's the matter?" Roald muttered discontentedly, turning around.

"Are you certifying papers?" the merchant inquired, coming closer. He moved the hem of his cloak and pulled out some rolled-up papers from a tube attached to his belt.

"So you won't be trading in the city?" the foreman asked, as expected.

"No," the bald man assured, throwing off his hood. He looked youthful, but the wrinkles around his eyes betrayed that he was not a youth. "We're going straight to the port, and then we'll load onto the Swallow and head to Aquitaine."

"Twenty-eight small barrels of 'Dark Vine' from Mother Rouillier's vineyards?" the foreman asked after examining the papers. He shook his head. "A solid load... It probably cost fifty in gold?"

"Something like that," the merchant smiled, not revealing the true value of his cargo. But Roald was unlikely to be mistaken, counting two gold pieces for a small barrel. The "Dark Vine" from the world-famous vineyards of Mother Rouillier cannot cost less. In a tavern, a glass of this wine will cost a silver coin, and in a barrel, as much as fifty liters.

"Kar, count," the foreman ordered. He unhooked a short staff from his belt with a small ball of transparent glass at the top, seemingly glued to the handle, and handed it to me.

Taking the anarch - a catcher of elemental flows of transformed bodies, as one of my teachers put it in a scholarly way, or, to put it simply, a determinant of the magic used, I moved the ring on the handle clockwise until it clicked and went to carry out the order. Having glanced briefly at the well-groomed, handsome heavy-duty horses, who, stepping with their shaggy legs, seemed eager to continue their journey, I approached the merchant's guards standing nearby.

I deactivated my protective amulet with the 'Shield of Light while still on the move so that it would not interfere with the anarch's work, and therefore, I began checking it without delay.

Two strong men in leather armor with crossbows and short swords reacted calmly to my manipulations. I circled them with the staff, as if trying to outline the enlarged contours of the figures. At the level of the neck of each of the guards, the anarch's sphere was filled with a dim blue glow. This clearly indicated that they had magical items with spells from the initial circles of the Air Sphere. Most likely, the simplest magical protection in case of unforeseen difficulties on the way.

The merchant's guards' weapons were, as expected, ordinary. However, even without an inspection, it was safe to say that no violations would be found. What fool would go straight through the guards with a prohibited weapon in his hands? But, in essence, the meaning of the anarch's inspection was different: the ball not only fulfills its main function, but is also used to identify night creatures that disguise themselves as people and are not afraid of daylight. And what if werewolves or, even worse, vampires slip into the city, as happened a couple of years ago in neighboring Marne? Then you'll have to chase them away, running off your feet, instead of calmly serving, occasionally strolling along the streets of our quiet Kelm.

After checking, the guards kindly lifted the curtain that concealed the expensive cargo, and I easily climbed into the cart.

The anarch's glass ball immediately filled with a smooth golden glow. Some harmless, and therefore permitted, magic, ensuring the safety of the valuable drink. Having moved the wand and made sure the glow it emitted remained unchanged, I turned the ring, extinguished the ball, and began counting the round-sided barrels.

I coped with this simple task easily; I didn't even have to move from my place. But to check whether the unknown merchant was trying to smuggle something in secret, I climbed around the cart, looking into all the cracks. As expected, nothing extra was found, but what can you do if the established procedure for checking cargo is exactly this, and you can't deviate from it?

After shaking my head one last time to make sure I hadn't missed anything, I couldn't help but pat the lid of the nearest barrel. Or rather, the magical seal that emitted a barely noticeable light yellow shimmer, certifying that this product was indeed made at Mother Rouillier's enterprise. It was funny to feel dozens of stinging sparks poking at my palm, as if trying to escape from the prison in which my hand had locked them.

But games are games, and the magic seals were not placed for my entertainment. And although I passionately do not want to part with these lovely barrels of fine wine, I cannot detain the merchant in vain. Sighing regretfully, I climbed to the back of the cart, to the thrown-back curtain.

As I was climbing over another row, I winced when my left hand, which I had leaned on one of the barrels for stability, went numb almost to the shoulder. Some kind of magic, a perfectly sensible thought flashed through my head. But the anarch showed nothing… Pretending that he had caught his foot on something and was now freeing it, I leaned over and once again touched the suspicious barrel, from which I had pulled my hand back in surprise at first.

A strange feeling... My hand feels like it belongs to someone else... And some kind of gnawing feeling goes straight to the very core. Incomprehensible magic... Something is clearly wrong here... Only my hands are not anarch. I won't be able to prove anything, even though I have the gift of feeling magical effects on my own skin. The duty mage will have to figure it out... And if I'm wrong, then many unpleasant days await me on guard duty somewhere on the wall... But if I'm not wrong and the prohibited cargo is discovered at the port during a full customs inspection, all ten of us will go to the same wall. And the guys will be angry with me. What if there is contraband there - when else will I get such a chance? No one has canceled the reward in the amount of a tenth of the value of the detained cargo. Eh, if only the feeling was familiar, then I wouldn't have to doubt, and I have never felt anything like this before...

Having finally gotten out of the cart, I waved to the guards to lower the curtain and went to report to Roald. He was holding papers in his hands and exchanging meaningless phrases with the merchant. I approached and cheerfully reported:

"Exactly twenty-eight barrels, Mr. Foreman!"

"Aren't you mistaken, Karridan?" Roald grinned without showing it, not taking my official address by surprise, although in our ten it was a conventional signal indicating an incomprehensible danger. "Looking at such wealth?"

"No, mister Foreman, I am not mistaken!" I barked, standing at attention.

"Well, as you say," said Roald, hinting that all the blame would fall on me if anything happened. Having attached the seal hanging on his belt to the papers, thus certifying the documents, the foreman reminded the merchant guest: "The road tax per cart is one copper coin."

"Yes, yes, here it is," the merchant remembered. Taking a large copper coin from his purse, he handed it to the foreman, and with a reverse movement of his hand deftly hid the returned papers in the tube.

"Go ahead," Roald commanded.

The bald man jumped into the cart that was moving towards the gate, waved goodbye to us, and turned away, having lost interest in the valiant Kelm guards.

"What did you see there?" Roald asked quietly, signaling to Veld to hold back the cart of Mark the greengrocer, who was about to quickly rush through the gate after the merchant.

"Who knows," I drawled discontentedly. It's annoying, but I can't figure out what kind of magic caused the strange sensations. "The anarch doesn't show anything... But when I touched it with my hand, it went numb. Either there's a tricky spell cast on one of the barrels, or there's a magic item hidden in that barrel."

"Okay, let's see," Roald decided, trusting my gift. He knew that I had never been wrong before, determining the magical content of various things by touch.

"Roald, are you really going to inspect my goods too?" Mark asked grumpily.

If we have to, we'll check it!" the foreman snapped, without even glancing in his direction.

The greengrocer puffed out his cheeks, preparing to burst into an angry tirade in order to expose the maliciousness and impenetrable stupidity of the guards, detaining a businessman, on whose neck a medallion adorned, confirming the status of a respectable citizen. He could not possibly be a smuggler or a vile saboteur who needed to be stopped for a thorough inspection of his cargo. All Kelm merchants specially acquired medallions so as not to be delayed at the gates, running from the city to the village and back. Annual checks by mentalist mages and a guarantee from the trade guild, issuing the sign, are sufficient evidence that this person is not carrying anything forbidden.

But no one was going to detain Mark for inspection. Roald simply needed the merchant's wagon to be the only vehicle under the gate arch so that nothing could prevent him from slamming the trap into which the bald man had unknowingly fallen. As soon as the wagon had passed the grooves cut into the stone bed, the foreman grasped in his left hand the green diamond-shaped crystal that hung on a thin silver chain at the level of the lower edge of his chest plates. With this magical key, he gave a mental command.

With a speed that was incomprehensible to the eye, a thick grating, gleaming with gray metal, fell down from a ceiling niche. The bared teeth on the ends of the bars landed right in the stone recesses that the van had just passed. Now this forged barrier could not be torn out by horses, nor could it be knocked out by a battering ram. And even a teenager could not squeeze through the narrow cracks.

At the same time, a second grate fell on the other side of the gate arch, blocking the merchant's passage into the city. And now he has nowhere to go. He will have to wait for the duty magician, who until now has probably been calmly drinking tea with his subordinates in the guardhouse near the city council building, to be raised by the alarm. And at the same time, investigators, priests from the Order of the Hand of the Lord, and a dozen more guards will descend. In short, the criminal has nowhere to go. Our city's defense is well organized.

"Mark, turn the cart around!" the foreman shouted at the gaping greengrocer. "You might get a bolt from a crossbow - and then I'll have to bury you at my own expense in the Temple of the Creator!"

Stunned, Mark blinked his eyes for a few seconds in confusion. And when the meaning of what he had heard reached him, he gasped and, flying off the cart on which he had been sitting so importantly until that moment, rushed away without even looking back.

Roald spat in frustration and barked:

"To battle!"

I pulled the bolt thrower off my shoulder and pulled the side lever, tightening the spring of the accelerating mechanism and driving the faceted arrow from the clip into the barrel. The loud click of the lock informed me that the weapon was cocked. And immediately after that, I began to shift to the left so that Roald, who was standing between me and the gate, would not interfere.

And Veld, being the most cunning and cautious, rushed to the cart abandoned by Mark and stood behind it. He always likes this... And what, actually, is there to be afraid of? Our protective amulets protect against magical attacks up to the Fifth Circle. The guard's reinforced steel armor cannot be penetrated by a regular crossbow.

It turned out like training. And the attitude to what was happening was somehow frivolous. I determined this by looking at my comrades. No one felt any danger. They did everything as they were supposed to, but it was hard to believe that these precautions would be necessary. Last year, a group of idiots who were trying to smuggle previously unknown creatures of Darkness into the city were caught in a similar trap. It didn't turn out to be anything terrible. We watched through the bars as clearly intelligent monsters tore apart their assistants who had failed to complete the task, and soon the magicians arrived and calmed everyone down at once. And these were ordinary people. And even if they were carrying contraband, they wouldn't flinch. They had a very real chance of getting off with a fine.

"Foreman!" the merchant called to Roald, approaching the grating. "Why are you greeting your guests so unkindly? You are harming the trade business..."

"I beg your pardon, esteemed tier, duty," Roald answered him calmly. "Perhaps there is something forbidden in your cargo, and therefore you will have to stay until the arrival of the duty magician."

"What nonsense!" the merchant said irritably. "Lift the grate, and I will immediately present any suspicious item from my merchandise for a thorough inspection."

Glancing sideways at Veld, I saw that he was looking at me with a grin. It seemed that he thought that I had caused a panic for no reason and was already figuring out what punishment awaited me for the unnecessary fuss.

I was distracted from my thoughts about my unenviable fate by the creaking of metal. The grate began to slowly rise, and at the same time, my eyebrows began to creep up. What had gotten into the foreman? After all, the trap wasn't supposed to be unlocked before the mage arrived, even in case of a mistake...

Looking at Roald with bewilderment, who had grabbed the magic key with his left hand, I saw that he was clearly shaking, as if he was shivering. Or as if he was overcome by terrible fear. What was wrong with him? We didn't accidentally trap the emperor to make him shake like that…

Shaking my head, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a crooked smile on the face of the merchant standing behind the bars, his gaze fixed on the foreman. Attacking Roald on a mental level? A panicked thought flashed through my mind. But how did he get past the defense? Anyway, later…

"Magician!" I exhaled and, raising the bolt thrower to my shoulder, made a quick and not very aimed shot. Flashing like gray lightning, the short arrow crashed into the grating bar near the merchant's head with a ringing sound and flew off to the side. And the bald-headed man didn't even bat an eyelid. However, I didn't really count on breaking the concentration of the mentalist magician. The bolt thrower needed to be unloaded: striking with a weapon cocked is a sure way to ruin it. I needed the bolt thrower now, precisely as a simple club.

Having shot the mage, I immediately rushed to the foreman and, having covered the distance separating us in three long strides, brought the butt of the bolt thrower down on his head with all my might. The helmet, padded with a layer of leather, of course, somewhat dampened the force of the blow, but Roald still got it good. He fell as if mown down. And at the same time, the grate fell back into the stubby openings with a clang.

"Sharras!" the bald man hissed in response to my actions and stepped back into the darkness that reigned under the arch.

"You..." I was at a loss, unable to find a worthy epithet in response to the false merchant's incomprehensible exclamation.

"You thick-headed ass!" Veld helped me with a suitable definition, expressing doubt in the businessman's mental abilities. "Sit locked up for now - think how many years you'll spend in hard labor for attacking a guard of the crown city!"

"Shut up!" I cut off Veld's fiery speech and sat down next to Roald to make sure everything was okay with him. "Or do you want your brains turned inside out, too? Let's sit quietly and wait for the magician."

"Oh, come on," Veld said quickly, excited by what had happened. "He won't dare do anything more. He's done enough." Unable to contain his joy at catching the criminal, he drawled contentedly: "How did we catch him, huh? Bam - and the bird is in the cage! And there might even be a reward for him..."

Pulling off my glove, I felt the rhythmically beating vein on Roald's neck and calmed down. Looking up, I saw Tim and Steve. The guys intended to move closer to us to find out what kind of commotion we had caused. I waved my hand at them to stay put. Rules are rules: even the braniac calms down, but still, we can't gather in one place. You never know... Although an attack by a magician is already an extraordinary event, we have always had always need to detain criminals, and even just suspicious people, but only a few tried to fight back. The court is such a thing - you can always wriggle out of punishment, especially if you have something to pay a good attorney, but resisting the guards will only skyrocket the price for release. It is unclear what came over this feeble-minded magician...

Shaking my head, driving away unnecessary thoughts, I looked at the prison of the false merchant, noticing where the arrow I had released was lying, so that I could pick it up later; otherwise, they would immediately attach legs to it. After all, it was a decent rod of good steel, and not some kind of wood. But suddenly, my gaze came across a small transparent-blue lump that appeared in the air near the gate.

"Ata..." was all I had time to shout when this air clot crashed into me with the speed of a fired bolt. 'Shield of Light' flashed, and that was all. The 'Air Fist' created by the magician hit me in the chest so hard that my vision went dark and my body soared above the ground. It was as if a giant had played lapta with me with a club. Having tumbled three times in the air, I fell to the ground about ten yards from the place where the magical blow had struck me.

"What the…" it escaped with a wheeze. This turn of events caused me genuine bewilderment. Coughing, I spat out a clot of blood and tried to rise. But, having barely lifted my body off the ground, I immediately fell back face down in the dust when my weak arms, for some reason, gave way. And I choked from a new flash of pain in my chest. I was hit pretty hard… The cracking of my poor ribs still rings in my ears.

And as if that wasn't enough, something fell from above and hit me in the back so hard that my eyes almost popped out of my head from the pain. How could I not curse the vile magician who started this mess!..

Everything was blurry before my eyes. With difficulty raising my head, I looked ahead and saw neither the cart behind which Veld was hiding, nor him, nor Steve and Tim. Apart from the prone Roald, no one and nothing up to the gates… As if everyone had evaporated. Gathering my strength, I pulled my arms under me and, leaning on them, was able to raise my head a little more and look around. And immediately, my comrades were found, as well as Mark's former cart, which had turned into a pile of rubble. And the wheel lying next to me was apparently the object that had fallen on me from above. It seemed that Veld's shelter was not very reliable… In any case, it could not protect him from the enraged magician.

"What the hell is going on?" I groaned, unable to understand and accept what was happening. Some mage scattered us like puppies, without even noticing our 'Shields of Light... And we don't have even fifteen mages in the entire city who could do that. An inspection? After all, everyone seems to be alive... They're moving around. No, such an inspector would have been quietly killed somewhere long ago. But why would a powerful Gifted One start such a massacre? He could have waited for the duty mage and explained to him that we made a mistake in detaining him, and then they would have reprimanded us. We know, we've been through this too.

Have we really caught a real enemy? Purely by chance... And he didn't kill us right away, not out of the kindness of his heart, but to buy time. After all, the reinforcement rushing to the gates is not in a hurry now, and if our lives are out, the whole city will turn into a disturbed anthill. Our amulets are tied to auras for a reason. The duty mage will immediately receive news of the death of the guard. But what's the point if the grate is still there? Only Roald, who is unconscious for now, can open it from here.

Having fixed my gaze on the grating that was doubling and tripling before my eyes and having confirmed its presence, I calmly lowered my head to the ground. It hadn't gone anywhere. And the mage, the bastard, wouldn't go anywhere either. He couldn't gnaw through the four-inch bars of reinforced iron or knock them out with the 'Air Hammer'... Even though the grating had turned brown from rust.

"Asshole!" I breathed out with hatred, realizing that the captured magician, having calmed us down, was now calmly engaged in his rescue from the prison. And, obviously, he has enough strength. Rust is pouring from the bars… Now, despite the pain, I will have to crawl to Roald, instead of calmly lying here, waiting for the healer.

Mentally indignant at the most vile magician who had invented such torment for me, I closed my eyes and stretched forward.

Damn... It hurts so much... And when you try to gulp air, it would be better to die quickly than to suffer like this. And I'm not a masochist to torture myself like this, but still, overcoming the pain, I crawl forward... Why? Why do I need this? To beg more from this enemy mug? We couldn't cope with this Gifted One, and that's it... Let the magicians catch him... And what can they expect from us?..

Trying to persuade myself to abandon the idiotic idea of trying to stop the magician, I didn't even notice how I crawled to Roald. I rested my head against his leg and tried to push the obstacle out of my way for a while until I realized that I had reached my goal. I opened my eyes and saw that I didn't have to crawl anywhere else. And I felt so good, as if I had won a dozen gold coins in the lottery. Indescribable happiness…

Having somehow wiped my dirty, wet face, covered in tears of pain, with the edge of my sleeve, I pulled Roald's bolt thrower towards me and, having unclasped the clip, pushed it away from me. Regular armor-piercing arrows won't help here. Although they can penetrate forged cuirass from five steps, against a mage, they are like a mosquito bite. But the ones that Roald keeps in a special case on his belt...

After a bit of struggling, I was able to lift the foreman a little and pull out from under him the case with a spare clip for the bolt thrower, which was clamped by his heavy body. While my hands were doing their usual job, unfastening the clips that fasten the case, I looked at the gate. It looked like the grate would hold for a little while longer… But I had to hurry.

The clip I got only had two arrows instead of the five as it should be, but I was incredibly happy about that. According to the 'City Guard' regulation, we are required to be issued weapons against creatures that cannot be put to rest with ordinary steel, so that's what it was. Arrows with ardolic grains fused into their tips, with the 'Frost Strike' spell. A magical embodiment of the Fourth Circle. True, its power quickly fades without daily replenishment. This is how they deal with "accidental" losses of these arrows, which could have become a very popular commodity.

Having loaded the bolt thrower, I suddenly encountered a big problem. I didn't have the strength to switch it to combat mode. I suffered so much, and all in vain... And anger did not help me master the damned lever that tightened the spring. Sweat poured down, and a crimson veil clouded my eyes. That was the only effect of my efforts. Angry at the whole world, I pulled the damned lever, and rested it on the ground, and then leaned on it with my body, but to no avail.

Coughing, I gave up the useless work and spat out blood angrily, watching as the rust-eaten grate split into two unequal parts, twisted out of its grooves, and flew to the ground. The magician knocked it out, not waiting for it to be completely destroyed by rust. And then he came out of the dark passage. Looking around, he did not start running, as he should have, but stopped and said something to his companions. He's not afraid of anything, the bastard... He probably blocked the second grate and calmed down.

Having caught my breath, I made another attempt to cock the spring – this time with my feet. I grabbed the barrel tightly with my hands and began to press the lever with my right foot. This was, of course, utter stupidity. If the locking device didn't catch properly, and this happens, then the bolt I had prepared for the magician would hit me right in my stupid head. But I couldn't let this bastard go…

And I did it! The lock clicked, clamping the spring, and the bolt took its intended place in the barrel. All that was left was to pull up the bolt thrower, aim better, and send the magician to meet his ancestors.

The bald one, however, noticed my movements and immediately turned towards me. I immediately pressed myself into the ground, feigning a lifeless body, but I doubt I would have fooled the mage with that. One of our men came to the rescue. The bolt thrower clicked, and a steel needle two palms long got stuck in a thickening lump of air right in front of the mage. And then, freed from the magical clutches, it fell onto the road. The gifted one sneered contemptuously and cast 'Air Fist', wanting to finish off the guard who had not surrendered.

This was the perfect moment to attack, and I did not miss it. I took careful aim and pulled the trigger, releasing the compressed spring. With a quiet whistle, the bolt set off on a short flight. And my heart sank in anticipation of the outcome.

Unexpectedly for the magician, a white flash flashed under his nose, and sparkling discharges scattered from the arrow stopped by the air shield. The 'Frost Strike' did not instantly penetrate the defense of the villainous merchant, which I sincerely hoped for, but it began to freeze him. The magician began to seem to be covered in an icy shell, so quickly did the moisture in the dense layer of air that protected him cool. The paved road under his feet immediately became covered with frost, and the sphere of cold began to rapidly expand, occupying its intended volume - six yards in diameter.

My shot caught the mage off guard, but the enemy managed to concentrate with a speed that was incomprehensible to me. Instead of freezing and turning into an ice statue, as he should have, he immediately strengthened his shield, pumping it with power. And no matter how hard the cold tried, it could not reach the mage, covered in a shell sparkling in the sun. And the effect of 'Frost Strike' is not infinite...

It became clear that the attack had not brought the desired result, and it was time to start worrying about my skin, since the enemy would clearly not ignore my zeal. But at that moment, the ice ball hanging near the mage shattered with a roar. The 'Air Fist, which had never been fully created, exploded, destabilized by the cold blow that froze the moisture inside it. Ice fragments struck the sides and scattered to shreds the transparent-shiny shell under which the mage was hiding. He staggered, and the cold surrounding him abruptly moved the vice, reaching almost to the body. Now it seemed that the ice crust was growing right on the mage's clothes, and not ten inches away from it. But this gain did not decide anything, since the Gifted remained alive.

As I watched the unfolding action, I had the seditious thought that we had accidentally captured an archmage. The city's protector, Tier Estin, a fourth-level mage, was much less effective during training duels. And I, a fool, took it upon myself to stop such a powerful Gifted One...

The reluctance to feel the wrath of such a serious enemy gave me strength, and I cocked the bolt thrower on the first try, ignoring the pain in my chest. Quickly aiming, I fired a second shot. The arrow pierced the icy shell with a ringing click and sank into the mage's forearm.

"Ar-r-ha-a!" The false merchant's mad cry hit my ears. I swallowed, imagining what it would be like to feel the wild pain in flesh torn apart by ice.

Having fallen silent, the mage swayed, no longer able to resist the attack of the cold, and looked at me. And such hatred was read in his eyes that I wanted to dig myself deeper into the ground to escape his gaze. I could not disappear from the scene of the incident, and I did not have time to roll to the side. The mage waved his arms with the last of his strength, destroying the ice covering him, and a clot of poisonous yellow fog flew at me.

I closed my eyes and quickly read a short prayer to the Creator, being sure that the end had come for me. But no, I felt nothing except goosebumps running all over my body. And when I opened one eye and carefully looked at the magician, I saw that he was lying on the ground like a frozen piece of ice and did not pose any danger. I sighed with indescribable relief and, letting go of the no longer needed bolt thrower, rolled over onto my back. This way, my ribs hurt less. A happy smile froze on my face, caused by the realization that I would not have to move anymore.

"What the..." Roald, who was lying next to him, groaned and, putting his left hand to the back of his head, tried to get up. Seeing what was happening at the gate, he shook his head in disbelief: "Kar, what have you done here without me?!"

It was difficult to describe what had happened in a few words. I thought about it, looking for a short and succinct phrase to blurt out right away and lie quietly, waiting for the healer and not disturbing my chest burning with fire. However, the foreman did not give me time to think. He leaned over me and, grabbing me by the shoulder, shook me, apparently deciding to bring me to my senses. Only it turned out even worse: my consciousness dimmed and I passed out for a while.

Apparently, I was out for quite a while. When I came to, a crowd of people had already gathered around. Reinforcements had finally arrived at the gates… A bit late, though.

"How are you feeling?" asked Tier Eldar, our old but still vigorous healer, noticing my movement.

"Great," I responded, taking a deep breath with pleasure and not feeling a drop of pain in my body.

"That's good," the old man nodded with satisfaction. "Calm down, they'll help you now," he said, watching me try to get up. "There's no need to strain yourself too much for now. And anyway, you'll probably have to do without any exertion for three or four days."

"So how is the hero doing here?" Timir Got, our centurion, who had appeared at the scene of events for some unknown reason, pushed the healer aside.

"Oh, nothing..." I drawled, not mentioning that I felt great, even better than before the skirmish with the mage. After all, it was the centurion who would decide how long I could shirk my duties, and a couple of extra days of rest never hurt anyone.

"The treatment will take four days and another decade and a half for full recovery. Nineteen days." Tier Eldar intervened. "And it is useless to ask him about his health, since I gave him a Tincture of Pagria."

No wonder I feel good, I realized. Of course, with such a painkiller... It's a pity I didn't have this tincture before, when the magician caressed me with 'Air Fist'.

"Two decades means two decades," shrugged Tier Got, agreeing with the healer's opinion. "Now they'll help him get home and let him rest..."

"Not so fast, centurion," interrupted a middle-aged man in the uniform of the Security Department. He approached with Roald. "First, we need to figure out what happened. The other guards can't give a clear answer about the fight at the gate yet."

"What is there to figure out?" the centurion frowned. "There was an attack on the guards; all their actions were justified."

"It's not that simple," the investigator shook his head. "There are too many uncertainties. There's even some doubt that the guards were aware of their actions... As if they all swallowed 'Sparkling Ice' and, having fallen into the clutches of illusions, did some mischief.

"Do you understand what you're saying, Lance?" Timir turned purple. "For such an accusation, you too can be thrown out of your uniform!"

"This is not an accusation," the investigator noted with a nasty grin. "An ordinary working hypothesis... And it has a right to exist when investigating such a strange case."

"When the guards have the same salary as the investigators, then we can say that we indulge in 'Sparkling Ice,'" I couldn't resist. "But for now, alas, unlike you, we can't afford such a pleasure."

"That's for sure!" the centurion chuckled approvingly.

"But nevertheless, questions remain," the investigator drawled.

"What?" I asked. "It was like this: a suspicious cargo was found, and it was locked in a trap according to the instructions. The merchant tried to break free. First, by mentally influencing the foreman, and then, having failed, he attacked the guards. And we, in response to obvious hostile actions, used weapons. That's all."

"No," Lance disagreed with me. "Firstly, nothing suspicious was found in the cargo. Secondly, the merchant's guards claim that one of the guards was the first to shoot their employer when he inquired about the reason for the arrest. All his actions were aimed at calming the inadequate guards. And the fact that you are all alive is direct evidence of this. The magician simply wanted to calm you down."

"Damn," I drawled, barely audibly. Suddenly, I felt uneasy. And the cramped little room of the Security Department suddenly seemed like a place of rest for the next two decades. What if I really had made a mistake and killed an innocent person?..

"There is no trust in these people," the centurion decisively dismissed the investigator's words. "We'll take them to the police station now and figure out what kind of lies they're telling."

"Of course, that's what we'll do," the investigator agreed.

"Lance, what have you dug up here?" The duty magician, Justin Olm, approached him and addressed him with extreme familiarity.

"Nothing significant yet, Tier Olm," the employee of the Second Department responded respectfully.

"I have nothing either," the magician said discontentedly. "There is no contraband in the cart."

"This cannot be," I said and rose from the cloak on which the kind people had laid me while I was unconscious.

They didn't hold me back; they even helped me stand up. And they let me slowly move towards the cart, which they drove out from under the gate arch. True, a group of people followed me. The centurion with Roald, the investigator with the duty magician, and the priest in a crimson robe hanging around nearby. I walked and tried not to think about what would happen if nothing forbidden was really found in the cart... Otherwise, that bastard investigator would definitely send me to hard labor, with his hostility towards the guards...

Someone had ordered the cart to be unloaded right at the gate, to make it easier to find the contraband. I had no choice but to turn to my gift, hoping to find that ill-fated barrel among its brothers, lined up in a neat row by the road. I even pulled the glove off my hand, so that nothing would dampen the magical emanations emanating from the contraband.

Carefully touching the tree, I froze for a moment, waiting for the sensation of gnawing emptiness to arise, and moved on to the next barrel. All to no avail. Tier Olm accompanied my research with a mocking snort. I had covered more than half the distance and had lost a fair amount of confidence in my abilities. But I still got what I was looking for.

"Here it is!" I breathed a sigh of relief and patted the lid of the barrel.

"Allow me," Tier Olm pushed me aside and activated his anarch, whose crystal ball immediately began to emit a rainbow glow.

But the riot of colors did not last long. Without waiting for an order, everyone gathered at the barrel blocked their magic trinkets and moved away. The ball immediately filled with a weak golden glow, and the magician, waving his staff, shook his head.

"Nothing?" the investigator clarified the fact that was already obvious to everyone and looked at me.

"The usual 'Cold Cover' for better preservation of wine and nothing more," the magician replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"Kar can detect magic better than an anarch with his hands," Roald stood up for me. "So the test you conducted doesn't mean anything."

"This is all nonsense," Tier Olm winced. "In order to sense magical emanations, one needs to be at least a master's level of fusion with the elements. And in order to determine the sphere of the magic being used with one's own hands, the boy must not be a simple guard, but at least a rebellious archmage. You must agree that this is nonsense."

It was as if the back of my head saw as ears of an official from the Third Department hanging around nearby perked up. His presence had stubbornly gone unnoticed by anyone. Unable to restrain my impulse, I glanced furtively at him and shuddered. The last thing I needed was the attention of these quiet, calm people in simple gray uniforms.

"Let's just open this barrel and be done with it," suggested the centurion. "Why waste time wagging our tongues?"

"I've already sent for the tool," Roald replied. "We'll get it done now."

As if sensing the impatience of those gathered, a cart rolled out from under the arch, driven by Bams, the owner of the Whoa tavern, just beyond the gate. Stan was riding with him. He was holding an empty barrel, bouncing on the uneven cobbled road.

Stan figured it out correctly. You can't pour such good wine on the ground. Especially since the smell will be so strong that guarding the gates will be torture for the guards.

"So, are we going to uncork it, honored?" Bams inquired in a businesslike manner, rolling up to us. Seeing such a representative group gathered in one place, he immediately realized that it would be better to do what was necessary as quickly as possible and disappear unnoticed.

"We need to carefully open this barrel," Timir told him.

"One moment," Bams promised, taking a tool from a canvas bag lying in the cart.

And literally in a couple of moments, he drilled a hole in the lid of the barrel. He just turned the handle of the crank, and the hole was ready. Experience is a great thing. Everyone was amazed by such dexterity. But the satisfied smile on the face of the innkeeper, delighted by the admiration of the tiers, quickly faded.

"It's not wine!" he explained, moving away. "I don't know what kind of nasty stuff it is, but it has nothing to do with drinking, I can vouch for that."

"Well, Lance, did you eat it?" our centurion smiled triumphantly. "So the guards are feasting with Sparkling Ice?"

"Tier Eldar, this is your expertise," the magician addressed the healer. "Please check the contents for poisons."

"Yes, yes, of course," the old man nodded. He fished out of one of the large pockets sewn onto his belt a diamond-shaped milky-white crystal, set in a silver frame connected to a short chain. The healer lowered the stone into the barrel through the hole made by the innkeeper, held it for a while, and took it out. The crystal still pleased the eye with its milky whiteness.

"The contents of the barrel are not poisonous," Tier Eldar delivered his verdict. In general, everyone already understood this.

"Bams, finish what you started," the centurion ordered.

"What's there to finish?" he grumbled, accepting the centurion's order without much enthusiasm. He no longer saw any benefit for himself in the matter at hand. "Tip over the barrel and let it flow out of it."

"No, the contents must be preserved," the investigator objected to this proposal. "Pour it into something."

Bams sighed, seeing the glances directed at his cart, or rather, at the empty barrel standing there. He didn't want to spoil his property with some incomprehensible nastiness. He had hoped to get some good wine. And here, who knows what... But would they leave him alone now?

He sighed again and muttered to Stan:

"Help me," he said, and climbed into the cart.

Having removed the empty barrel, Bams and Stan placed it next to the full one and began pouring… water. That's exactly how it all looked from the outside. The fake merchant's barrel was filled with water. And that's very sad… Some kind of crazy smuggler was caught. Now they'll torture us with investigations… I even felt cold, and I shuddered, as if I felt the cold cellars of the Security Department.

"Stop!" the magician suddenly exclaimed.

Our workers almost let the barrel slip out of their hands. But nothing terrible happened. Tier Olm simply reacted to the anarch's ball, which began to fill with blackness. He finally got it going! Now there is no doubt that the dead false merchant had a prohibited cargo. And that means all my problems are cancelled. On the contrary, I will even be rewarded…

"Go on," the Third Department officer ordered Stan and Bams, stepping forward.

No one challenged his right to command. Not even the magician. After a slight hesitation, he nodded to Bams, who was looking at him expectantly, confirming the order. He came closer and lowered the anarch into the barrel that was filling with water.

The darkened ball began to brighten very quickly, returning to its original colorless-transparent appearance. But as soon as the magician pulled it out of the water, the crystal again became pitch black.

"A clever idea," said Tier Olm, rubbing his chin. "We'll have to figure out what kind of water this is."

"That's it, the barrel is empty," Stan reported.

And Bams muttered sullenly:

And mine is not full. There are not even fifty liters here.

"That means there's contraband hidden inside," the centurion concluded logically and ordered, "Open the barrel."

Bams smoothed the hair on the back of his head, looked reproachfully at Timir, but did not become indignant. He simply took a mallet from his bag and, tapping on the rim that held the top of the barrel together, moved the metal. Then he used a small hatchet to pry one of the planks of the lid and squeezed it out of the grooves. The remaining planks could be pulled out by hand. Bams stepped back, leaving this honorable right to Stan.

At the same time, the respected tiers, bending over the uncorked barrel, almost bumped heads. The centurion even grumbled discontentedly:

"Don't push, everyone will see everything now."

I also became curious about what was hidden in the barrel. I did not move forward only because I remembered the warning of Tier Eldar: I cannot strain myself yet. And without considerable effort, I cannot squeeze forward.

Stan, who had the dirtiest job, pulled out a small knife and cut the cords stretched inside the barrel. He released the contraband cargo held by the guy ropes and pulled it out… A woolly cocoon of some sort with bits of string.

But under the unsightly felt shell, like under a nut shell, there was a valuable core. In our case, the prize was a rather large wooden box. Or rather, just a well-made box without any hints of decoration or polish.

"Wait a minute," Tier Olm stopped Stan and brought the anarch to the contraband he had found. The sphere was black, but that was all. The magician shrugged and said, "Open it."

Stan used a knife to break the small locking mechanism on the side of the box and opened it. Everyone gasped at the sight of half a dozen anthracite-black stones lying in specially made recesses. Huge crystals, each the size of a child's fist.

"Stones of Darkness for making wands for appealing to the elements," swallowing his saliva, Tier Olm enlightened those gathered. "What a find..."

The employee of the Third Department, who had jumped up to Stan, slammed the lid shut and snatched the box from the guard's hands. And, looking around busily, he beckoned to Bams:

"Dear tier, you will be thanked for your invaluable assistance, and now you may go." And he clarified: "I hope I don't need to explain to you that today's incident should not be talked about?"

"No one will hear a word from me," the innkeeper assured him with an oath, delighted at the prospect of quickly getting rid of the problems that had arisen.

"And leave the cart. They'll give it back to you in a couple of hours," added the man in the grey uniform and turned to the centurion: "Tier Got, load up all these barrels and bring them to our office. And bring the wagon there with the body of the so-called merchant. And don't forget the guards accompanying him. Replace our brave guards with others and bring them all to me, too."

I glanced sideways at the indifferent father-inquisitor. It was strange that he had not bothered to confiscate the cargo, which clearly smelled of Darkness. However, it was none of my business; let them decide for themselves who would handle the magical smuggling – the Security Department or the Holy Inquisition. And our task had been completed entirely.

"So, you are taking this case for yourself, Tier Сovan?" the interrogator asked a purely formal question.

"I have to do this, alas," the employee of the smallest Department seemed to express regret. But it was not noticeable that he was saddened by the prospect of dealing with today's events.

"Well, to hell with these smugglers," Lance waved his hand and went home.

I looked around and also moved from the scene of the incident to the guys standing nearby. I had no business hanging around near the grey uniforms. The further away from them, the fewer problems. But, unfortunately, I didn't manage to get far.

"Karridan!" the centurion called out to me. "You can chat with your friends later. Let's go to the police station!"

Cursing, I turned around and went to the carriage where Timir was standing. I had to go with him and Tier Olm. At the very last moment, Tier Covan also dropped in. I had hoped that he had already forgotten about me...

"So, our valiant guard, tell us," the grey-uniformed man suggested, sitting down opposite me.

"What should I tell you?" I asked cautiously, remembering that it was easy to talk with the employees of the Third Department to the point that you would never see the light of day again.

"Everything, Tier Steini, everything," Covan waved his hand. "Start right from the moment when you changed the previous shift at the gate."

"Okay," I replied, pretending I had nothing to worry about, although I was unpleasantly surprised by how knowledgeable this man was. We hadn't been introduced to each other, and he already knew my name.

Slowly, so as not to blurt out anything unnecessary, I told about the events of this morning. There is nothing to tell, really – everything was as usual, except for the incident with the smuggling.

"So it turns out that you, Tier Steini, can determine the magical component of objects simply by touching them?" Covan narrowed his eyes, listening to me attentively.

"Something like that," I replied.

"A strange gift," chuckled Tier Olm and asked, "You have no ability to create magic at all? Not even the slightest?"

"No, I haven't," I shook my head, trying to make my answer sound as convincing as possible. Well, I can't cast spells, that's all! And no one should know that I have a true fusion with all the elements. Otherwise, they'll definitely brand me as a rebellious archmage, and then I'll have my share of grief. Especially since my abilities are of no practical use. Neither for me nor for the city guard. All I can do is penetrate magical barriers. If I were a thief, such a talent would come in handy, but as it is…

"Have you ever considered, Tier Steini, that this gift could seriously help you in your career advancement?" asked Covan. "A man with such a unique ability would be very useful to us."

"I thought about it, of course I did," I nodded. "But here's the catch... I can only determine magical emanations by touching objects... And sticking my hands in random places is a sure way to lose them. So no, promotion at the cost of acquiring stumps doesn't appeal to me."

"Nobody will send you to check the magic traps, so the risk is small," the grey-uniform man objected. But seeing that I didn't want to hear about a new job, he calmed down. "However, let's leave it at that. We'll talk about this topic sometime later, when you've rested and healed your wounds.

"Yes, Karridan," the centurion supported him. "Now Tier Covan will take your testimony, then go home to rest." He smiled good-naturedly: "Just don't think about leaving the service during your rest time."

"Why would I even think of such a thing?" I was amazed. "To spend so much effort to get into the city guard, and then leave?"

"Well, you never know..." Tier Got said hesitantly.

"You're kind of a rich man now," the magician explained with a smile. "The reward for the intercepted contraband cargo will be very impressive. Even the twentieth share due to you will come out to no less than fifty in gold."

"That's right," Timir nodded in response to my bewildered look.

"Wow," I squeezed out, trying to imagine the size of the wealth that had fallen on me. It was a poor attempt. The house left by my adoptive father was valued at a quarter of a hundred gold, and this was twice as much. For such a premium, you could really fight the mages...

"There are, however, some bad sides to your heroism, Tier Steini," Cowan said thoughtfully, ruining all my joy.

"And what kind?" I asked in a low voice.

"I'm afraid that the cargo was transported not by ordinary smugglers, but by the followers of the Order of the Dark Advent... And among them there is a widespread superstition that the murdered will not find a worthy afterlife if the culprit of his death is not punished," said Covan.

"I don't think it's all that bad," Tier Olm shook his head. "Your words about some of the dark minions' prejudices are certainly true, but a mage was killed here. And they don't shift the matter of retribution onto the shoulders of their comrades. They prefer to do it themselves, making full use of posthumous curses. That's why there are such losses when destroying yet another dark coven that they manage to reach." Without going into details, he optimistically stated, "In general, Karridan would already be dead if he had managed to finish off a dark mage."

"So… so… some kind of spell hit me at the end of the battle…" I said hesitantly. After Tier Olm's story, I felt somehow unwell. Even sick.

"What?" The magician raised his eyebrows and asked angrily, "Why didn't you say so right away?"

"When?" I was indignant and wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, and then quickly said: "And I didn't think it was dangerous... The bald man threw some kind of poisonous yellow cloud at me, but it seemed to me that the 'Shield of Light' reflected it completely."

"Breath of Harm!" the mage exhaled. "Incredible! A third-level spell... That dead dark one was at least a master..."

"So what does this mean for Kar?" the centurion asked him. "He seems to be alive and well. Maybe he got away with it?"

"No, Timir, it didn't work out," the magician shook his head, looking at me with sympathy. "It's a spell of delayed death. Karridan has no more than three days left to live."

"Damn..." I muttered, shocked by the wonderful news of my imminent death. Even the promised bonus instantly stopped making me happy.

"So is there nothing that can be done?" the centurion continued to ask. "Three days is not a couple of moments. Is there any way to heal Kar?"

"I don't know of any such methods," replied Tier Olm. "Probably some archmage could have dealt with this nastiness, but there are no such masters in our city, and no one can save Karridan."

"Yeah, right," Timir grunted. "And there's no way to get to the capital in three days…"

"So, can't my death be postponed for a little while?" I asked dully. "It takes four days for messengers on replacement horses to get to Laidek."

"That's not the problem, Karridan," sighed Tier Olm. "You're not a royal person... It's unlikely that any of the archmages will accept you. And I'm not sure that they will be able to help."

"I see," I smiled bitterly and, turning away, stared out the window.

And yet, Tier Olm acted with dignity: he did not console me with unrealistic hopes, but told me everything as it was. It is understandable: who needs it - to save some unknown guard...

"Wouldn't Sir Roderick help Kar?" Timir asked the magician. "According to rumors, he didn't certify the transition to the next magical level purely because of his unwillingness."

Having stopped grieving over the unexpectedly ruined life, I pricked up my ears. The centurion was right - our military commandant, Sir Roderick de Stanbury, is no worse than the capital's archmages. And getting to him is much easier and faster.

"I don't even know," Tier Olm thought. "But you can ask him yourself. Sir Roderick seems to favor service people. Maybe we can convince him to help our valiant guard."

"Let's do it this way, Ker," the centurion turned his head towards me. "You urgently resolve issues with Tier Covan - and come straight to me. We'll figure out how to arrange a meeting for you with the commandant."

"Don't worry, I won't keep you long," the grey-uniformed man promised me. "We'll write down some of your story, and that's all."

Revived, I nodded, deciding to collect my thoughts and put my upset feelings in order. When the carriage rolled up to the four-story building in the center of Kelm, I was already almost calm. I drove the anxiety and despondency deep inside myself and locked them there, not allowing them to stick out.

Tier Olm and the centurion got off right at the square, at the doors of the Security Department, and I rode on with Covan. We turned the corner and got out of the carriage there. All the offices are located in one building, with only the entrances differing. This is beneficial for the investigators: they can sneak straight from the square and arrive, but we and the Security employees have to go around to get to work. The guards have the left entrance, from Uter Avenue, and the gray uniforms have the right entrance, from Bell Street. Although if necessary, you can sneak through the central entrance - inside the building, it is easy to move from one office to another. There is one problem: the investigators do not like us and always raise a howl that we are hanging around there for no reason. However, we feel the same way about them. And there are no fools at all who would poke their nose into the part of the building that belongs to the Security Office.

Entering the office after Covan, I looked around with curiosity. Everything is the same as ours. Except maybe a little cleaner, because there aren't that many people wandering around the corridors. But the underground cells are probably quite different. Ours is a regular dungeon, no frills. However, I hope that they won't give me a tour of the torture chamber.

"Let's go," Covan hurried.

I hurried after him.

We went up the stairs to the second floor. My companion, unlocking the penultimate door in the long corridor, waved his hand, inviting me to enter. I followed his instructions and found myself in a fairly spacious, light office. It would have suited even the senior attorney of the magistrate. Just think – three windows!

"Yes, it is possible to work in such conditions," I said barely audibly, looking enviously at the work desk and the bureau made of expensive sandalwood standing next to it.

"Sit down, Tier Steini," Cowan invited, settling himself at the table.

Having settled down on a soft chair with a curved, comfortable back, I calmly waited until Сovan unlocked the bureau with the key he had taken from his pocket and took out the papers. And then I repeated my story about the incident at the gate. The employee of the Third Department quickly wrote down what I had said, and at the end, he ordered me to read and certify the testimony. There was no intimidation, threats, or other things. Everything was quiet and peaceful, without any hassle.

"So, can I go?" I asked, looking at the wall clock. The hands pointed to the approach of noon.

"Yes, Tier Steini, go ahead," nodded Covan, writing something down on a new sheet of paper. "I can't keep you in such circumstances. And you explained everything clearly, without any inaccuracies. So in any case, there are no questions for you."

Having gotten up from the table, he walked me to the door, saying at last:

"Thank you for your help, Carridan. I hope you will still manage to escape death.. Here," he handed me the paper, "take it. This is a letter to the commandant asking for help for you. From the Security Department. Maybe it will come in handy."

"Thank you," I sincerely thanked Covan. He turned out to be a decent person, even though he worked in an institution known for its shady dealings.

Without going outside, I moved to my native Department. It was faster that way. And I couldn't care less about possible hints from my colleagues that I had started working as an informant in the Security. There was no time for such nonsense now.

Having reached the office of Tier Got, I knocked and entered. In addition to the centurion, Roald, Tier Olm, and our old healer were also there.

"Come on in, Kar," the centurion, who was sorting through papers spread out all over the table, raised his head.

"How are you feeling?" asked Tier Eldar when I closed the door behind me.

"Okay," I replied, referring to my physical condition. It's unlikely that the healer is interested in my mood.

"Anyway, Kar, we've been thinking this situation over, and this is what we've come up with!" The centurion found some paper and shook it. "The easiest way for you to meet the commandant is to go and calm him down today. Yes, I know," he didn't let me object, "Sir Roderick will be drunk, and it's not clear what will come of it. But it's the easiest way to get to him."

"Don't worry, he won't immediately put you out with some nasty spell," said Tier Olm, and a little later, he decided to cheer me up: "And you can't think of anything worse than 'Breath of Harm'…"

"It's true, there's nothing to worry about," Timir supported him. "Although his jokes are quite mean, he doesn't cross the line."

"And when you think of Sheridan, the foreman, you begin to doubt Sir Roderick's kindness," I grumbled, reminding everyone of last year's incident. The military commander, being very drunk, played a cruel joke on the corporal sent to calm him down. He put a nasty spell on Sheridan, and he would start to have an attack of bear disease whenever swords clanged. That was the end of his service in the guard.

"Kar, you just don't know what's what," the centurion said. "In fact, I'm even grateful to Sir Roderick for Sheridan. He was involved in some shady dealings. And I couldn't fire the foreman - he was covered by his cousin, the magistrate's adviser."

"So that's how it is," I drawled. It turns out that all these horrors with the military commandant's jokes are happening for a reason... It looks like someone is cleaning out the ranks of the guards in this way.

"Just keep quiet about it, Kar," the centurion asked, seeing that I had compared this interesting puzzle with the annual punishment for guilty foremen.

"Get to the point, Timir," Roald urged him. He glanced at me furtively with sympathy.

"Oh yes," he remembered and handed me the paper: "From this moment on, you, Karridan, are the foreman of the city guard."

"And what about the Magistrate's approval?" I asked, taking the news of my promotion quite calmly, although at another time I probably would have been overwhelmed with joy.

"I have the right to make a temporary appointment," the centurion explained. "Then, within a decade, the Magistrate will have to approve you for this position. Which is unlikely to happen. But in your situation, it is unimportant." And he added: "At the same time, I will appoint you a monetary bonus, based on the salary of the foreman... While they still sort out the smuggling and write off the bonus... After all, if Sir Roderick does not help you, then it turns out that you will not receive a copper for your heroism."

"Thank you," I thanked our centurion. He is a kind-hearted man after all. He is always for us.

Yes, Kar, we won't have time to fit you with new armor, so you'll get a dress uniform from Olaf now and show it off," the centurion continued. "You won't be on duty anyway."

"First, you will come to me," noted Tier Eldar. "Since you have no time for bed rest now, it is necessary to do everything so that you can stand on your feet. Put a tight bandage on your ribs, and other little things..."

"What else is there?" I asked the hesitant healer.

After looking at me carefully and being silent for a while, the healer came to some conclusions and nodded:

"Okay, let me explain. You see, Kar, the death spell used by the dark mage leads to a rather painful death… And I'm afraid these three days will be a worse punishment than death itself, unless your body's sensitivity is reduced with certain potions."

"Is it really that bad?" I asked after some time, when I had come to terms with the sad news of the coming torment.

"I can't say for sure," Tier Eldar answered cautiously. "But some people who suffered from this spell began to gnaw and tear their bodies from the pain by the end of the third day. It's somewhat reminiscent of the torment of the unfortunate who were left without their next dose of 'Elven Dust' or 'Solar Dew'... The only difference is that in your case, a similar effect occurs despite the use of painkillers. And what would have happened without them, I don't even want to imagine."

"Damn," I said sadly.

"Don't worry, Kar," the centurion decided to cheer me up. "Sir Roderick, even if he doesn't save you, will certainly relieve you of pain."

I stretched my lips into a sad smile. I wonder what Timir is hinting at? Maybe the commandant will kill me so that I won't suffer if he sees that he can't help?

I shook my head and sighed. It was a shame, but what could I do? Apparently, my parents weren't so wrong to throw me out on the street right after I was born. I thought it was all just my flawed talent, but it turns out I'm also unlucky. And all my plans to achieve something in life, to prove my importance to unknown relatives, weren't worth a green penny.

"Pull yourself together, Kar," Roald said, patting me lightly on the shoulder. "You might just get it all sorted out..."

"You, Roald, keep an eye on him, so that everything goes well," the centurion gave him the task. "And take someone else with you."

"No, I'm not going to go on a rampage or do anything obscene," I said with annoyance, guessing the true reason for the centurion's excessive concern. But then I waved my hand. Let them keep an eye on me. Better that way than to end up locked in some closet until the appointed time. Not everyone in the centurion's place would have decided to let the condemned man out on the street. It was unknown what he might do, tormented by the agonizing expectation of imminent death.

"I'll take Veld," Roald decided, glancing sideways at me.

"Okay," the centurion nodded.

"Since everything has been decided, we will not delay with the bandaging," said Tier Eldar, seeing that everyone had fallen silent.

"Oh, and one more thing," I remembered, already at the door. "May I ask you not to spread the word about the misfortune that has befallen me? Otherwise, these three days will turn into a long funeral feast for me…"

"A fair remark," said Tier Olm, exchanging glances with the centurion. "And I would not wish to watch the mournful faces of friends and acquaintances around me, instead of living a little for my pleasure."

"Okay, Kar, no one will find out anything from us," the centurion promised for everyone.

"Then the last thing," I said. "I'll be treating everyone at the Herring this evening. To celebrate the promotion.... If anyone wants to come by, you're welcome."

To get to the medic's room, we had to go downstairs. It was there, on the underground floor, that our tier Eldar was hanging out. And all because he was a very passionate person. He was constantly toiling away at developing new potions. So they sent him far away, to the basement, so that the persistent smell of unknown potions wouldn't hang around the administration.

Roald helped me take off my chainmail armor and bracers, and I pulled off my thin underarmor and shirt. Tier Eldar quickly wrapped me, like a spider wraps a fly, in a long strip of bleached linen. My chest was completely hidden under this peculiar cocoon, but overall it turned out well. Of course, you can't breathe in full chest, but the bandage doesn't cause any particular inconvenience. And it's not even noticeable under the shirt.

"Drink this," the healer handed me a glass, into which he dripped some strange rusty-brown potion and splashed some water.

Without thinking twice, I tipped back the glass, trying to get the contents into my stomach in one gulp. Otherwise, it might turn out that the potion tasted disgusting. Better to get it over with right away.

"Ah..." I croaked, my eyes wide open, when my throat burned and something hit me in the head. I was very wrong about the water...

"Yep," the healer teased me, grinning. "Pure spiritus!" And he lightly patted me on the back when I started coughing.

"And will this last him long?" Roald asked.

"For a day, for sure," answered Tier Eldar confidently. "And tomorrow you'll have to come to me again. I'll see how things are going and pick out a suitable potion."

"Then thank you, Sorf, we'll go," said Roald, picking up my armor from the bench.

"Yes, go ahead," the healer nodded. "And good luck to you, Kar, in your search for a cure for the dark curse," he whispered at last.

On the first floor, not far from the domain of Olaf, our quartermaster, we were caught by a breathless Veld.

"Phew, there you are," he exhaled heavily and handed over the helmet and bolt thrower I had left behind at the site of the fight with the mage. "Here, Kar, I'm tired of carrying them." And then he complained: "This Covan has worn me out completely. Such a fox, he'll come at me from one side, then from the other. I'm already confused myself, how it all happened..."

"Forget it," Roald advised him. "Everything is fine here; there won't be any problems with the Third Department."

"That's great!" Veld rejoiced and shrugged his shoulders: "And here I thought these ghouls would never leave us alone." After falling silent for a moment, he took off his helmet and, smoothing his hair with his left hand, asked: "Where are you going?"

"To Olaf," Roald answered briefly and walked on.

I followed him. Well, and Veld, of course, tagged along. But, before I had taken a couple of steps, he grabbed my shoulder and quietly asked:

"What's going on? The centurion kept fiddling, but didn't explain anything... He said. Consider it as if you've got three extra days off."

Looking at my friend, I thought. Not for long, really. There was no point in telling him anything. There was no point in dumping my worries on others. Especially since Veld couldn't help me in any way. And I wouldn't tell Roald about my troubles, but he already knew about it himself.

"There will be a weekend," I nodded. "But a little later. After we deal with the reveling veteran of the Battle of Meran."

"Screw you!" Veld froze in place, as if he had run into a wall. "Why did they do it to Roald?! And us?! We did everything right!"

"Everything is fine," I chuckled, looking at my friend, who was shocked by the treacherous trick of the authorities. "Don't think that this is a punishment that they came up with for us. It's just necessary."

"What is necessary?" Veld was indignant and grabbed his head with his hands. "I didn't bet on Roald... My gold has floated away..."

"You won't lose anything," I assured him. "The bookmakers didn't take me into account."

"What does this have to do with you?" Veld asked, puzzled.

"Well, I was promoted to foreman, and I was tasked with calming Sir Roderick down," I replied, and immediately explained, to add to Veld's enthusiasm: "We'll be celebrating this matter today at the Herring."

"So why did you keep quiet?!" he blurted out indignantly, immediately forgetting about his bets.

"It's impossible to put in a word against your speech?" I remarked reasonably, causing Veld to choke with indignation.

"Kar, come here, you can chat later," Roald urged me, already opening the door to Olaf's treasury.

Even if the four rooms occupied by the quartermaster were not actually filled with gold and diamonds, he had a lot of all sorts of goods. Olaf is not only in charge of the guards' uniform and weapons warehouse, but he is also in charge of the confiscated goods. And what hasn't accumulated there... Things confiscated over many years from not very honest citizens and not put to use according to the law "On property of uncertain ownership". Mostly, of course, there are all sorts of sharp and cutting objects that God knows who throws at the sites of fights right before the guards arrive at the scene, but there are also more amusing things. For example, a hookah carved from rock crystal and decorated with silver was recently found by the night shift at the fountain in the city square. And, surprisingly, it is completely ready for use as intended. As if someone was just about to relax heartily, and suddenly disappeared.

"Throw away all the armor," Olaf ordered with a wry smile, apparently having already been informed by the centurion about the need to issue me new equipment. "Foreman…"

"What's wrong? He's quite a foreman, better than many others," Veld intervened, taking Olaf's exclamation for disdain.

"Take off your belt with your weapon too," the quartermaster added, ignoring Veld's words as I pulled off my greaves and threw them on the table.

I had to take off my boots too. And all the heavy guard armor that had been given to me less than three years ago went back to the vault. And instead, Olaf picked out a dress uniform for me that fit. As expected, it was made of durable cloth, but seemed almost weightless after the chainmail armor.

"The folds are visible here and there," Olaf noted, glancing at me from the side. "Oh well, they'll smooth out."

"Well, Kar, now you're just like a foreman," Veld heartily slapped me on the shoulder, admiringly examining my new uniform.

I winced as a sharp pain shot through my chest, and it didn't escape Roald's notice.

"Veld, stop with your pats," he frowned. "Kar was already hit pretty hard, and now you. Besides, there's no reason to be delighted. The only differences are in the uniform - the city coat of arms embroidered in silver thread on the left side of the waistcoat, and the gate and cuffs are not blue, like a simple guard's, but red."

"There are a few differences, but it is immediately obvious that the foreman is walking," Veld noted.

"Sign the papers," Olaf told me.

When I had signed the account book, he went to the massive safe standing in the corner. Opening it with a fancy key, he pulled out a tin box. He took out a brand new guard's badge and handed it to me.

"Twenty-seven?" Veld peered over his shoulder. "That's a good number. Better than seven hundred and forty-two."

"Two-digit numbers are always better than three-digit numbers," Olaf teased as he locked the safe.

I chuckled. Olaf had noticed correctly. The difference in the number of digits signifies the difference in the status of the token holders. Three-digit numbers in Kelm are only for simple guards. The same employees of the Security Department show off with two-digit numbers. True, their badges are different. We have a shield with crossed swords, a crown on top, and a number below engraved on a steel plate, while theirs has a wolfhound on a trail in the center. Well, the main difference is that the foreman's badge is silver-plated and therefore stands out against the background of the guards' badges. This, as Roald grimly jokes, is so that law-abiding citizens immediately notice the elder and know who to complain to the magistrate about. Moreover, two digits are easier to remember. Although all this is nonsense now...

"Kar, are you asleep or something?" Veld nudged me lightly.

"Never mind, I was just thinking," I answered and hung the chain with the badge around my neck. And on my head I put on a round cap.

"And weapons," Olaf dumped the last items of my new equipment on the table.

All I had to do was put on a brand new leather belt with a rectangular silver buckle and attach the "sharp iron" to it. On the left a falchion, on the right a narrow dagger. And that's it. Just a little over three pounds of equipment versus the usual thirty when you have to lug around in chainmail armor and with a bolt thrower on your shoulder.

"Now let's go to the treasurer," said Roald. "For money."

"And will we, by any chance, get anything there?" Veld immediately asked.

"You'll have time to get yours," the foreman waved him off.

"They'll evaluate the contraband and then they'll issue a reward," I said to my friend, who sighed in disappointment. "About five gold coins..."

"Wow!" Veld didn't believe it.

"Or maybe even more," I said as convincingly as possible. "Tier Olm says that the cargo we intercepted will be worth over a thousand gold roldos."

"Oh, that's it!" Veld was overjoyed. "Oh, how we'll live now!" He was about to slap me hard on the back to express his delight, but he came to his senses in time when I stuck my fist under his nose.

"Veld, you go change for now," Roald ordered him, stopping. "We won't need armor today." And he hurried the thoughtful guard: "Go faster. I'll need to take off my armor too, and we can't leave Kar alone."

"Why not?" asked Veld, casting a puzzled glance at me. "What will happen to him?"

"It hit him hard," Roald explained. "That's why the healer told me to keep an eye on him, otherwise it might get worse."

"Gotcha," Veld nodded and rushed off to change into the small room that belonged to our ten. He galloped so fast. He was obviously going to share news with the others about the cash reward and the upcoming drinking party.

Meanwhile, we reached the treasurer's office and burst into it. Looking at me with surprise, Tier Laurent did not immediately notice the papers handed to him by Roald. It seemed that my jump up the career ladder had had a strong effect on him. All appointments were scheduled for a couple of years in advance, and then, such a marvel of wonder - a guard who had not served even three years became a foreman. And it would be fine if he had high-ranking patrons or a bottomless piggy bank, but everyone knows that I am short of money, and I have no relatives at all.

However, the treasurer's surprise did not allow him to completely lose himself. Having familiarized himself with the papers, he again returned to his usual appearance. He frowned, pressed his lips together, and, rubbing his chin with his hand, on the little finger of which a gold ring with a ruby the size of a hazelnut was flaunting, he glanced at me from under his brows. He looked at us with suspicion, as if we were costumed robbers who had decided to take possession of his money by deception, and then muttered:

"There is no money. We have overspending of the treasury." He pushed away the order to issue a monetary reward.

"Loran, to hell with your tricks and gimmicks," Roald said irritably. "Come on, give us the coins and stop messing with our heads. He's overspending... You've been given an assignment, so carry it out."

"I don't know anything," the treasurer refused. "Maybe Timir made a mistake and entered the wrong amount. Or he just forgot how things are with our payroll."

"You're such a bug, Loran," Roald shook his head disapprovingly and suggested, "Go see the centurion yourself and make sure there's no mistake."

"Okay, I'll do that," Loran nodded, seeing that we weren't going to leave empty-handed.

Having thrown us out of the office, the treasurer went to the centurion, and we remained propping up the walls.

"Such a miser!" Roald said angrily. "He'd strangle himself for a copper coin. As if he was taking money out of his purse."

I kept silent. Some kind of indifference rolled over me... Why do I need this money, actually? Perhaps to drink myself to death. You can't take it to the grave with you...

Veld stomped in, and Roald went to take off his armor. The treasurer had disappeared. And the moments of the short time allotted to me flowed away like water.

"Look, Veld, what would you do if you found out that you had, say, very little time left to live?" I asked out of curiosity, continuing to think about my own.

What do you mean very little time left to live?" Veld blinked his eyes in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, just like that, a thought came into my head," I answered, and, in order not to let him suspect anything, I added: "For example, if you bet not one gold piece today, but ten. And you lose. What would you do, waiting for that close day when the moneylenders' people start sending you to the cemetery?"

"Oh, come on!" Veld waved me off, annoyed, apparently considering my words a prick at his unhappened bet.

What a tightwad. And he's still sulking. And he hasn't lost anything. The bookmakers will give him everything back, but he still looks at me like I'm a bitter enemy who has deprived him of his last hope for happiness. And he seems to have forgotten that, thanks to my mercy, a ргпу reward awaits him.

"I probably won't invite you to the Herring today to celebrate my promotion," I said quietly, turning away.

"Oh, come on, Kar, what are you saying?" Veld immediately forgot all his grievances and sighed regretfully: "It's a pity that I won't be able to while away the evening with Elmira now." And, after a pause, he said: "And if I knew that I would die, say, by tomorrow morning, I would have acted simply. I would have gone on such a spree that in the next world I would have something to remember… I would have bought a hat with a strange feather right away… New clothes… And to the pub… To have a spree… And I would drink nothing but the best wine… And then I would have picked up a couple or even three girls…" Dreaming, Veld clicked his tongue. He liked the picture painted by his imagination so much.

"Where would you get the money?" I chuckled, bringing him back down to earth.

"Yes, I would have borrowed it," he grinned. "I won't give it back anyway."

"Then, if you decide to die, just know that I won't lend you any money," I warned, laughing, thus turning the conversation into a joke. Although what kind of laugh is this, when in fact I will soon be laid to rest in the cemetery.

The treasurer returned from the centurion. Without saying a word to us, he unlocked the door and, shaking his head, invited me into the office. He quickly found the money owed to me and silently counted out a quarter of a hundred full-weight silver roldo and a couple of silver coins on top. And he made such a gloomy face, as if he were giving his children to an orphanage.

Leaving the treasurer, I tossed the purse, now quite weighty, and thought about it. If I added to this five silver roldos from the stash left for a rainy day, it would be a good sum. Three whole gold ones… More than enough to have a hearty party with friends and buddies. And somehow not enough for a spree on the occasion of an imminent departure from life…

"What, Kar, are you crazy with joy?" Veld, who had come unstuck from the wall, interrupted my thoughts.

"Yeah," I smiled wryly and suggested, "Let's have a glass to come to our senses."

"Are you nuts?!" Veld gaped. "Do you even have any idea what the commandant will do to us if, God forbid, he sees us drunk on duty? We won't get off with a decade of arrest... We might even get the whip..."

"Yes, to hell with them and their punishments," I carelessly waved away my friend's warnings. It seemed that the medicine of Tier Eldar had finally worked. Such recklessness had come over me...

"Did you get the money?" Roald asked, coming up and staring at Veld, who was open-mouthed and completely surprised by my words. Usually, on the contrary, I dissuade him from all sorts of stupid things. "And what's wrong with you?" he asked.

"So Kar is suggesting we go for a drink!" Veld blurted out indignantly. "He's making fun of us, the bastard!"

Roald looked at me and shrugged.

"Why not?"

"But..." Veld almost fainted and, realizing something, laughed with relief: "You're kidding, right?"

"Have you forgotten what Timir said?" Roald objected. "What problems can there be with drinking when we are free from duty for three days?"

"Oh, right," Veld's face brightened, and he immediately asked me: "Should we go to the Herring?"

"It doesn't matter," I replied. "We're not getting drunk. Just having something for the mood."

We left the office, and almost in unison, we said:

"Uf-f..."

The heat is unbearable. How come the rocks aren't melting? However, 'The Herring' is not far away; we should get there alive.

"Let's go, boys," Roald commanded, and we hurried after him.

The clock on the tower struck noon loudly as the sign with the herring in a fur coat became clearly visible through the haze above the pavement. I have two days and twenty hours left… Or just a little more… Or less…

Entering the tavern, I caught my breath. It's chilly here at Garth's...

"Oh, guards!" the owner of The Herring greeted us, raising a palm as wide as a bear's paw. And he urged us on, grinning: "How about a glass of cold beer? It'll go down really well right now..." And, rolling his eyes in delight, he smacked his lips.

Veld swallowed involuntarily and glanced at me. This Garth is a real villain. He's worn out more than one pair of boots on the cobbled streets of Kelm while on guard duty, and now he's making fun of us... He's deliberately teasing us, seeing our badges and thinking that we're on duty.

"Think for yourself," I said to Veld, shrugging my shoulders. "I'll still order some wine."

Roald and Veld, tempted by the cold drink, ordered a couple of beers, which were immediately poured for them by Garth, who scratched his head in surprise. The wine arrived a little later, when Lima, either the tavern owner's cousin or niece, filled a jug of 'Dark Vine' from the pantry.

Having taken a sip of wine, I listened to the conversation of my companions. Veld pestered Roald, demanding that he confirm my words about the huge bonus awaiting our ten. How distrustful. He will get the money. And I, unfortunately, will not see it. Yes, it is a shame that I will not be able to squander it in the time remaining to me. I will have to somehow get by... You can't go wild on a couple of gold coins... But if I use Veld's idea, I can fix things. After all, there is someone to approach with this question.

"Well, have you finished your drink?" I asked.

"Almost," Roald replied. "Don't you want to sit in one place and wait for the evening?"

"I'm thinking of dropping in to see an old friend," I said with a wry smile. "Are you coming with me?"

"Where are we going to get away from you?" Roald was surprised and lifted Veld from his chair by the collar.

He started whining: Why go somewhere in such heat when it's cool and nice here? And the beer here is wonderful, but it might be worse elsewhere…

"Wait, you forgot the most important thing." I turned away from the very doors and headed towards Garth, who was bored at the counter.

After a bit of haggling, I bought some booze for the upcoming treat for my fellow comrades. Several medium-sized barrels. A two of light Kelm beer and one of strong red wine. In theory, that should be enough.

Having ordered Garth to treat all the guards who came by, I left the tavern. Veld squinted at the sun and tried to calculate how long it would take to fry a fish by throwing it on the pavement. Having consoled him by saying that we were not fish, I left the porch.

It's not very pleasant, of course, to wander around Kelm in the hottest part of the day, when all the townspeople are hiding in the shade, making the streets practically deserted. Oh well, there will be something to remember in the other world. What ordinary summer days are like...

But after three blocks, the heat stopped seeming so exhausting. I guess I got used to it. And the uniform is not a suit of armor heated by the sun's rays; you can live with it.

"Wait for me here," I said to my companions a few hundred yards from the target, and went on alone.
* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *
Trim the Rat's low house, huddled among its taller brothers in Greasy Dead End, still struck us with its squalid appearance. The facade had never been renovated, the roof was dilapidated, the front door was cracked and dirty-gray. At first glance, it looked like some kind of den, not the home of a wealthy person. And inside, everything was squalid and dismal. The varnish on the furniture was peeling, the carpets were dirty and worn through with holes. Even a junkman would disdain such junk.

"Karridan Steini," Trim said with a hint of satisfaction. He glanced at me and continued his unsuccessful attempts to rub a red stain in the corner of some iron tray or mirror with his thumb. "What brings you to my Creator-forsaken hole?"

"Oh, just a small money matter," I replied, looking at the moneylender, who had noticeably gained weight since our last meeting.

"Does the Magistrate pay the foremen poorly?"

I was amazed by Trim's incredible powers of observation. He saw everything he needed to in a short moment.

"No, not bad. Only when will it come, this salary?"

"And what do you want from me?" the moneylender grumbled grumpily. "To give you a salary?"

"No," I chuckled. "I urgently need ten gold coins."

"Don't you need to date the Emperor's daughter?" Trim asked seriously, putting his piece of iron aside.

"I wouldn't refuse such an option," I admitted. "But just money will do."

"Why do you need so much?" Trim asked, putting his hands together and tapping his fingers.

"This is a lucky opportunity," I explained, rubbing the new badge with my sleeve cuff. "I received a temporary appointment, and I'm counting on turning it into a permanent one. I just need to bribe someone in the Magistrate."

"That's reasonable," Trim responded approvingly to my idea and asked, "And if the deal falls, how will you repay the debt? You'll have to save up that amount for a very long time."

"No need," I shook my head. "The promotion is a trifle. I have a big bonus waiting for me. Haven't heard about the commotion at the Eastern Gate yet? How did we chase away the smugglers there?"

"I've heard some rumors," the moneylender said thoughtfully and asked, "For how long do you want to borrow?"

"Well..." Pretending to be doing some calculations, I looked up at the ceiling and then said, "For three decades. While the treasury evaluates everything and issues a bonus..."

"Okay, then you'll owe two gold coins on top of the borrowed ten."

"Have some conscience, Trim!" I was indignant. "Honestly, they take a fifth share per year, not per month."

"Go to the moneylender's office," Trim suggested indifferently, shrugging his shoulders. "But I have different rates. For the risk."

"It's still too much," I noted sullenly. "Before, you took a tenth share."

"My percentage depends on the circumstances. The larger the sum and the more serious the risk, the higher the percentage. Oh well, you're a reliable person, you've never let me down before, so be it - I'll knock off five silver coins."

"Ten," I decided to insist on my own. "Or I will never come to you again. And I will dissuade all my friends from contacting you."

"Eight," Trim said, looking at me with a grin. "And I'm making this concession only out of the kindness of my heart and respect for the valiant guard."

"Damn you," I cursed and waved my hand.

Smiling contentedly, the moneylender pulled out a drawer of his desk and pulled out a skinny velvet purse.

"Here you go," he threw it to me.

Having loosened the strings, I made sure that I had received exactly ten gold roldos. Nodding, I said goodbye to this money-grubber.

"Just don't forget to pay on time," Trim said after me as I left the room. "Unless you want to meet my cute rats."

Hints at the persistent rumors circulating in town that he feeds debtors to these vile rodents so that no traces are left.

"Uh-huh," I muttered, not turning around, so as not to show the grin that had appeared on my face. "It's terrifying. It would be. If only I weren't going to die in three days."

Carefully closing the door behind me, the rusty hinges of which made a piercing creak, I went out into the street. The stuffiness fell again. However, the mood after the successful scam was elevated, which allowed me to ignore the incredible heat.

"Well?" Roald and Veld asked, hiding from the sun in the shade of the balcony of the corner house.

"Trim approved of our plans for the upcoming fun and contributed to their implementation," I replied with a smile.

"How much did you get?" asked Roald.

"Ten gold pieces."

"Kar, are you crazy?!" Veld twirled his finger at his temple. The amount named stunned him. "With that kind of money, the entire guard could party for decades! And how much would we have to pay back later?"

"Do you think you did the right thing?" Roald looked at me carefully, understanding my plan.

"It is not for nothing that the Holy Fathers say in their sermons: Do not do evil to your neighbor, for you will be rewarded for it doubly," I answered. "That's how it turned out…"

I wanted to say that Trim had made five gold pieces off my needs, but had lost ten because of it, but, glancing sideways at Veld, I remained silent.

"Where do we go next?" Roald sighed, waving his hand. "To other moneylenders?"

"No," I thought and shook my head. "Let's go to your place?"

"Why?" Roald was surprised.

"I want to ask Triss to sew me some new clothes," I shared my thoughts with the foreman. Rubbing my stomach, I added, "And let's eat at the same time!"

"Oh, that's it," Veld supported me. No wonder - Roald's wife cooks so well that you'll lick your fingers after trying her cooking.

"Very well," laughed Roald. "Come on, you gluttons."

"We'll just go through the shopping district," I decided.

Triss will buy the material herself if I can convince her to take on the job, but I still need to go shopping. Buy some presents for Lina and Troy. I have plenty of money, so why not do something nice for the kids?

Veld also thought it was not right to visit empty-handed and supported me. Roald had to resign himself to the necessity of making a considerable detour on the way to his house. In general, having learned about the misfortune that had befallen me, he became surprisingly restrained. Previously, he would have pulled us to his place without regard for any customs or decency.

"Roald?" Triss was surprised by the unexpected appearance of guests in the house. "You're on duty until the evening, aren't you?"

And the kids, without even thinking about why their father had returned home so early, rushed to him. Then to me. They know that I almost always try to grab something interesting for them. Sometimes multi-colored glass balls, sometimes a toy. But they certainly didn't expect a whole box of funny trinkets from Uncle Kar…

"You shouldn't have spent money, Kar," Triss shook her head, smiling. She had already managed to talk quietly with her husband. "I would have made you a new suit anyway. I don't have any urgent orders right now." And she carefully took the teddy bear from the children who were arguing over the toy. But they immediately took another one from the box.

"It's okay, let them play," I reassured Triss.

"Okay," said Roald's wife and asked, "So when do you need a new outfit?"

"Preferably tomorrow."

"Wow! Can't you wait?"

I smiled a little sadly and spread my hands:

"Alas, no."

"Well, fine. If I try, I can make it in time," Triss decided. "I have your measurements, and I think you need a suit that's not like the magistrates' officials."

"No, no," I quickly shook my head. "Not this nightmare of heavy velvet with lace! A regular, good suit, so that you wouldn't be ashamed to go into a noble house." Taking a gold roldo from my purse, I gave it to Triss: "Here, this is for material."

"You're not thinking of getting married, are you, Kar?" Triss suspected something was wrong. "You don't just throw that kind of money away on ordinary clothes."

"No way?" Veld, who had been silent for a long time, could not resist. "Before getting married, you need to meet at least someone! I have already set him up with so many people, and he still turns up his nose!"

Triss laughed and invited us to dine. We readily agreed. Veld lives with his relatives, but I rarely get home-cooked food. The Herring has the same fish every day, and cooking for myself is a lost cause. Unless you eat in a decent tavern, no salary would be enough for that.

For a while, I even forgot about my trouble. We ate deliciously, drank a glass of wine. Good... But everything ends sooner or later. I rested a little - and that's enough.

We walked back to the police station slowly. And silently. We were too lazy to talk after a hearty lunch. Veld, however, didn't last long. He began to spin tales about his adventures in the port quarter. He took advantage of the fact that we didn't want to wag our tongues and dispute his words, so he began to tell such tales. But in fact, if even a tenth of the stories he told are true, then he should be given a monument in his lifetime. For his services to the fatherland.

Of course, he's lying. He doesn't go to the port quarter alone at night, even though he lives right next door. And the ships from Numia, with female crews, call on us so rarely that you'd be tired of waiting for such joy.

So, listening to Veld's chatter, we reached the square. Looking at the big clock on the tower rising above the magistrate, I gasped. Almost four hours had passed completely unnoticed.

"Shall we sit at the office?" Roald asked me. "Or should we go somewhere else? It's still a long way until evening."

I, looking at the carriage passing by, scratched the back of my head and slowly turned to the foreman, throwing out with annoyance:

"We are such idiots! Why did we work out our legs when we could have comfortably ridden where we needed to go? And it would have taken much less time…"

"What does this have to do with us?" Veld was offended. "We weren't given such bonuses to ride in cabs."

"Okay, let's hush it up," I said on the go, heading towards Bell Street, or more precisely, towards the carriage yard located there.

It worked out well. We managed to intercept a free cab before the rich people from the central quarter ordered it for evening rides around the city. The fat cats will do. It won't hurt them to shake off some fat. And if they are really lazy, let them take a carriage. And we will take the open summer cab with a canvas top to protect from the sun.

It's not worth showing up at the council office before eight o'clock in the evening. What's the point of sitting there if the commandant only starts causing trouble at dusk? Just driving around the city is more interesting than sitting in one place and waiting, waiting. And it's better to sort out all the business today, and spend the remaining two days enjoying yourself without worries and troubles.

I gave the driver a bonus on top of the amount I had paid the coachman. He immediately stopped grumbling about driving in such heat and fully approved of my proposed route. Roald and Veld were willing to go anywhere anyway.

The first thing we did was visit the shopping district. There, I picked up some trinkets and grabbed a couple of bottles of old, rare wine. And then we went to my teachers with the gifts. So that they wouldn't remember me with a bad word later.

And so the day flew by. And although we weren't moving on our own two feet, we were terribly tired.

In the evening, we had a bite to eat at the 'Golden Spoon' on the square near the magistrate. After sunset, we showed up at the council. Veld immediately asked Roald for half an hour off and disappeared somewhere, and we went up to the centurion's office. We settled in there and began to wait.

Not for long, fortunately. The night had barely come into its own when the show began. The first fireball, flying in from the port with a wild howl and exploding with a deafening roar over the magistrate, made us shudder.

Looking through the window at the fiery rain falling on the roofs of the buildings, Timir became alarmed:

"Sir Roderick has drunk himself into oblivion again! I asked him not to launch his fireworks over the central part of Kelm!"

"We need to check here, too, how things are with fire protection," Roald chuckled. "Not only should the port residents suffer."

"There is no point in covering the roofs with inflammable stuff across the city code!" Timur responded to the remark.

And I chuckled. Even completely wooden houses would be a pain to set on fire with regular fireworks. The military commandant uses combat magic – that's the whole problem. At least he doesn't fire at specific targets to burn down half the city for sure. Even without that, the 'Tears of Fire' he uses as fireworks will set more than one building on fire.

The fact that Sir Roderick's salute had affected the central quarter greatly accelerated the matter. A messenger from the Magistrate galloped up demanding that the atrocities of the veteran of the Battle of Meran be stopped immediately. And of course, he brought a letter certified by the city council and the mayor. There was no other way. The only way to deal with the commandant was to issue a decree to put the city under martial law. After all, in order to be able to fully perform his official duties, Sir Roderick had to be sober. And he was forced to take a hangover potion.

"Kar, let's go," Roald touched my shoulder.

I came to my senses and took the paper Timir was handing me.

"Where are you wandering?" The centurion attacked Veld, who stuck his head into the office.

"Yes, I was away on business…" he tried to justify himself and immediately asked: "So are we going to do something or let the whole city burn?"

We laughed. It was unheard of for Veld to show such zeal for service.

But, leaving the office, Roald still scolded:

"You asked for half an hour off, but were gone much longer. Where have you been?"

"Yes, there was a little business," Veld hesitated. "Especially since I wasn't late. As soon as the first blow hit, I was already at the office."

"Let's go to the Shell," I said to the cabbie, who was staring at the fiery flashes, as I climbed into the carriage.

"But you, Kar, don't go nuts..." Veld asked, looking warily at the festive fireworks. "Otherwise, the commandant will get angry and give us a hard time... And we won't have time to escape."

"You'll stay on the street if you're so afraid," I decided.

"How can I leave you in a difficult moment?!" My friend got worried.

"Of course!" Roald snorted, barely holding back his laughter. "There will be free drinks there!"

"So what?" Veld was offended and muttered, turning away: "They pour free drinks at the Herring too, but I didn't stay there."

"So that's what you were doing!" Roald said angrily. "I suppose you want to spend your next shift on the wall?"

"And what about me?" Veld said, embarrassed, having accidentally blurted out something too much. "I came in for the sake of the cause to check if Garth was holding back on his beer."

There were few people on the streets, and those who came out huddled against the walls and gathered under the balconies. They admired the show put on by Sir Roderick, while worrying about where the next blow of the fiery element would fall. Perhaps it would be their houses…

The cab driver turned out to be smart. He understood why we were going to the Shell. Hurrying up the horses, he quickly carried us to the port quarter. The Shell is an excellent tavern, better only than the Black Pearl. But this establishment is mostly frequented by nobles and rich merchants. Sir Roderick, although he received a hereditary title from the emperor, remembers that he came from the common people, and does not disdain simpler taverns.

"Someone's already lucky!" Veld chuckled, pointing at the craftsman crawling along the sidewalk.

Got himself into trouble, poor guy. He accidentally ended up in the same pub where Sir Roderick started celebrating the memorable day. So he had to drink until he dropped. Otherwise, he couldn't leave. Unless, of course, he wanted to anger the commandant and try some vile spell on himself. Only pregnant ladies are allowed to leave on their own two feet.

"Well, Creator save us," Roald sighed as we climbed out of the cab.

A small crimson-red ball flew out of the open window of the Shell and soared upward, swelling in flight. Veld immediately moved to the very tail of our tiny squad. As if that would help him if the magical blow fell on us.

Having climbed up to the porch, I pushed the door of the Shell, which opened both inwards and outwards, so that the owner would not have to repair it daily due to the mistakes of drunken visitors. Inside was as quiet as in a morgue. No noise or drunken revelry. Most of the visitors who were in the Shell at the time of Sir Roderick's arrival did not stand the challenge and were sleeping. Some on benches, some even on the floor. Only the strongest remained and now sat silently at the same table with Sir Roderick. The battle mage of the second stage of initiation of the spheres of Air and Fire settled down near the window.

"Here come our valiant guards!" the commandant laughed hollowly, noticing us. "Quickly, quickly!" And he waved his hand invitingly: "Come and have a drink with us."

Clutching the papers in my left hand, I approached the rather youthful-looking Sir Roderick. A magician. That's it. Even at ninety, he looks like others at forty.

Stepping over the snoring and sleeping visitors of the Shell sprawled on the floor, I hesitated a little. Someone sitting with the commandant had managed to fill their goblets. Sir Roderick stood up and, holding onto the edge of the table so as not to fall, since he was being tossed from side to side, said, looking at us:

"Let's drink to those fine fellows who remained on the Meranian Plain, so that we can now live in peace!"

The lovers of free booze supported their leader for the day with a roar of approval and immediately thrust a huge cup filled to the brim into our hands. And Sir Roderick, squinting, stared at me. It seemed he had prepared everything specially. It was impossible to refuse: it was not humane not to raise a cup for the fallen. And according to the regulations, it is forbidden to drink intoxicating beverages on duty. Sir Roderick could not help but know this.

But I have nothing to lose. So what if the commandant determines some punishment for violating the "City Guard" regulations? I'll give no fuck with such a setup and calmly go home. He won't kill me anyway. And let them kick me out of the guard.

Taking a sip from the cup, I grimaced and, holding my breath, closed my eyes. I had a hard time not coughing. The trap was not in the offer, but in the drink itself. Juniper. Infused with pure spiritus, as Tier Eldar says. And there was probably no less than a quarter of a liter in the cup…

Sir Roderick gave us a real test, like the ones all the guards have to go through every year. Perhaps even more difficult in some ways.

Having emptied the cup and put it on the table, I caught my breath and shook my head. Terrible. If I drink such portions of booze, I really would have to crawl out of here.

"Gromar, repeat," Sir Roderick ordered, not even wincing after drinking the juniper. And, fixing his gaze on me, he proclaimed: "And now let us drink to our sovereign! Many years to the Emperor!"

"Kar, don't sleep!" Veld hissed, poking me in the side, seeing that I was staring at the newly filled cup. "If you don't drink to the Emperor, the Security Service will immediately pin treason on you!"

"Oh, come on!" I said decisively, putting the cup thrust at me on the table. The last thing I needed was to lose half of the remaining two days lying drunk under a bench. Or suffer with a headache for another day after taking a sobering potion. They specially make us drunk, filling the cups to the brim, and only splashing out a little for themselves.

Having handed the papers to the commandant, I said:

"Sir Roderick, Martial Law has been declared in Kelm by decree of the City Council. Please familiarize yourself with this decree."

"Well, well…" Sir Roderick said, squinting and taking the letter.

Having read it carefully and made sure that the paper was drawn up correctly and could not be disputed by citing inaccuracies, he sighed regretfully. Roald immediately pushed me aside and handed the commandant a small bottle of hangover potion.

We moved away from the table and turned away so as not to disturb Sir Roderick as he tidied himself up. The potion made his face so twisted that it was scary to look at.

"Gromar!" The commandant's displeased roar was heard. "Drive the carriage here, we'll go check the city's readiness for military action!" And, apparently, for our sake, Sir Roderick added: "Let's start, perhaps, with the Guards!"

We exchanged glances and turned to face Sir Roderick, pretending to be loyal servants. Now, all three Departments and the townspeople from the registered militia are completely dependent on his will. It's a good thing it's only for a day. Otherwise, Kelm would have had a hard time...

"So..." the commandant drawled, looking from Roald to Veld. "Where are your badges, guards? Have you already drunk them away?"

"No, your grace, we didn't drink it away!" Veld blurted out.

"What, you didn't make it in time?" the commandant smiled wryly.

"The badges are handed in at the end of the shift, your grace," Roald explained.

"Ah, so we only have one guard on duty," the commandant drawled, losing interest in my companions, and turned to me: "Yes, the foreman?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"I don't really remember you," Sir Roderick said, looking at me thoughtfully. "What did you say your name was?"

"Karridan Steini."

"No, I have never heard of such a foreman of the Kelm guard," Sir Roderick shook his head regretfully and asked, "And why did you drink on duty?"

As if you didn't know! A sarcastic remark almost slipped from my lips. He forced me to drink, and now he was blaming me for that. But, holding back my indignation, I made a calm face and declared:

"I haven't drunk a drop today!"

Sir Roderick was taken aback by this statement. He looked at the cups on the table in surprise and then stared at me. Then he frowned and asked:

"Are you kidding?"

"No way," I shrugged. "People get drunk for pleasure, but I used booze as a medicine."

Hiding a malicious grin, I stared at the ceiling. You won't prove me wrong. Everything is according to the rules and regulations. And if you have a question about who invented this medicine, ask Tier Eldar.

"And what are you trying to cure yourself of?" the commandant squinted. "Could it be a hangover?"

"Karridan was hurt in the incident at the east gate today, your grace," Roald interjected. "That's why he was given a temporary promotion. So he could meet you."

"And what happened at the gate?"

"A dark mage has been caught!" Roald reported laconically. "He tried to smuggle contraband into the city, but when he was discovered, he resisted."

"Are there any losses?" Sir Roderick frowned.

Only Kar was hurt. The others got off with scratches.

"What's got you, guard?" Sir Roderick asked me quickly.

"Tier Olm said the mage used the Breath of Harm," I answered quietly, so that only Sir Roderick could hear.

"What a nasty thing!" The commandant cursed through his teeth and looked at me sullenly, playing with his jaw muscles.

"What, no chance?" I smiled wryly, understanding everything from the face of the most powerful Kelm magician.

"I can't heal you," Sir Roderick admitted the obvious. "I have a slightly different specialization after all…" He shook his head and winced: "That's it. I'm not thinking clearly right now; nothing useful comes to mind. And I should probably dig through the books… Let's do it this way. Tomorrow at noon, I'll be expecting you at my house. Maybe by then a solution to your problem will have been found."

"Okay, I'll come," I promised. "Thank you."

"No problem for now," Sir Roderick waved his hand and asked, "Will you find my house?"

"I will, no worries," I answered.

"Then don't be late," warned the commandant and turned to his men: "What are we sitting around for? Run and get yourselves in order! Otherwise, because of you, we won't have time to check all the units!"

Having said a short farewell to us, Sir Roderick left the tavern, and the company sitting at the table tumbled out after him. We surveyed the disorder reigning in the room and also decided to leave the sleepy kingdom. Let someone else bring the drunks to their senses.

"You're such an ass, Kar!" Veld said, going outside and making sure that the commandant had already left for the office. "Was it hard to drink the second cup? You made us walk on the edge!" And then he asked curiously: "And what is this 'Breath of Harm' you were discussing, from which you need to be cured?"

"It's a terrible thing," I drawled, making a sad face. "It stops the body from absorbing spiritus. And that's it, no more pleasure from drinking! And the worst thing is that this nasty thing is contagious!"

Veld blinked, opened his mouth, then slammed it shut. He snorted angrily and, without saying a word, sat down in the cab. And turned his face away.

"Oh, come on, stop sulking," Roald nudged him with his shoulder. "Kar's just had enough of this 'Breath of Harm' today."

"Oh, screw him," Veld grumbled. "He can't even come up with funny jokes."

"It's not fun," I muttered and, rubbing my forehead, decided to tell my friend the truth: "You'll be heading back to the gates in three days, and I'll be heading to the cemetery… I'll be standing guard there…"

"You're kidding," Veld said incredulously, turning to face me and glancing sideways at Roald. He nodded, confirming my words.

"That's how it is," I said, throwing up my hands and smiling sadly.

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" Veld was indignant and, waving his hand in annoyance, muttered: "And I'm here like a fool…"

"But you're not a healer," Roald noted. "How can you help Kar? That's why we didn't tell you, so as not to spoil anyone's mood."

"That's not how we do things," Veld snorted. "You don't keep things from your comrades... Whether it's good or bad."

"Just try to tell anyone about it! I'll come running from the graveyard to you!" I threatened, alarmed.

"I'll keep quiet," Veld said, looking at me sullenly. "So, is there really no way to get rid of this nastiness?"

"You heard it. Sir Roderick said to visit him tomorrow. Maybe he'll find something worthwhile in his books. Or maybe not…"

Having fallen silent, I began to look at the houses rushing past us. Not the most interesting activity, but there was nothing else to do. Neither I nor my companions wanted to chat. They did so because they did not know what to talk about with me or how to cheer up a suicide bomber, and I simply did not want to.

When we pulled up to the Herring, I was amazed by the noise and hubbub coming from the tavern. The stone walls shook from the shouts and laughter. It felt like the building was occupied by a horde of demons who had learned about the free booze and decided to throw a party in honor of it.

But there was no need to call the inquisitor for help. All of our own had gathered – the Kelm guards. Mostly quite drunk, but still able to stand on their feet. However, there were unexpectedly many people… Almost fifteen tens. Almost all of them were free shifts.

"Oh, here come our foremen! The old one and the new one!" Tim shouted and waved his hand: "Come on!"

Our ten reunited at the table. But of course, we weren't allowed to sit quietly. They demanded that we tell them how we clashed with the dark mage at the gate. Neither Steve nor Tim could explain anything clearly. We had to hire Veld for this matter. And he didn't let us down. He composed an epic about the battle with the dark forces that were encroaching on our peaceful town. Like everyone else, I laughed until I cried, listening to his fables, and forgot about my troubles for a while. And this red-haired scoundrel kept raising toasts, so we got drunk quite a bit.

"A glorious story," Olaf praised Veld as he approached us. He was holding a bundle in his hands. "So, Karridan was promoted for good reason." He moved some of the dishes off the table, placed an oblong object wrapped in unbleached linen on it, and boomed: "Own it, foreman."

"A gift to you from the Brotherhood of Kelm Guards," Veld explained, although I understood what was going on.

Having cut the strings with a knife, I unfolded the canvas and was stunned. An arrow thrower. Not the usual grey and rather crudely made machine that is in service with the guards, but something comparable to a work of art... The butt of the precious mahogany is varnished. All working metal parts are polished white steel. The casing and sides are made of scarlet silver with an applied pattern. And the clip is something else altogether... Made of transparent tempered glass, pulled together at the corners by a steel frame. Inside, five silver arrows with bluish sparkles of agate on the tips are visible.

"Blessed Moonsilver!" Olaf told me proudly. "The best remedy against dark creatures and their masters! And the crystal tips carry the 'Blades of Light'. They are, of course, created to pierce the protective aura of various monsters, but I think they are also quite suitable for hunting enemy mages. A good weapon. And just right for a shooter like you.

"Thank you," I said, swallowing the viscous lump that had formed in my throat.

What a glorious brotherhood we have, what can I say? How much money did they spend to present such a gift?

"Don't worry, you haven't led us into embezzlement," Olaf smiled and clapped me on the shoulder, catching the unspoken question in my gaze. "This toy has been gathering dust in my warehouse for a long time, waiting for its time. We put it up for a quick bargain among our own and bought it at a reasonable price. Only we still had to persuade Tier Olm to update the magic component."

After the gift was presented, the party began to escalate. The drinks I ordered were not enough for such a crowd, and I had to buy another barrel of beer and wine. However, money for a good cause is not a pity. Especially other people's money.

After midnight, when everyone started to go home, we left too. We woke up the dozing cabby and went to my place. My guardians and. Or protectors. The demon will sort them out. In short, defenders of glorious Kelm and its respectable citizens from the terrible me. Although I didn't seem to have planned anything that could leave a terrible memory behind me…

Having told Fry to pick us up before sunrise and rewarded him with another silver coin, we all came to my place. My house is not small – there was room for everyone. Roald got the guest room, Veld made himself comfortable on the sofa in the living room, and I finally made it to my bed…

From the report of As-Tarkh Covan to the head of the Security Department, Count de Noel, dated the third day of the sixteenth decade of the year four hundred and fifty-seven:

…It is obvious that our protégé suspected something, since there is no other way to explain such a sudden change in the method of transporting contraband cargo. Now, after the uproar that has arisen, we can expect that all the threads leading to the head of this hydra will be cut. The chances of catching the traitor red-handed are becoming completely illusory. The only clue is the amount paid by the adepts of the Dark Coven. Undoubtedly, the high patron of the smugglers will be blamed for the loss of the cargo and will be required to return the money. Let's hope that the traitor will be forced to take some action that will allow us to expose him.

Overall, I must admit that it was only thanks to the impeccable work of the guards that we were able to detect the contraband cargo. Therefore, I am petitioning for an award for the distinguished guards. And I ask that Karridan Steini, the main hero of the events, who destroyed the dark henchman, be presented for the award of the Order of the "Guardian of the Empire" of the third degree. Posthumously.

* * *

 

[RiP]

* * *

"Oh-oh..." I groaned, clutching my head with my palms, and carefully opened one eye. And then I closed my eyes again, blinded by the bright sunbeams penetrating the room. I forgot to close the window shutter yesterday.

Having finally woken up, I jumped up in bed and immediately fell back, choking from a flash of piercing pain. A skull splitting into pieces is still a familiar thing after a serious drinking bout, but fiery needles piercing the chest are no joke.

Having caught my breath, I stood up carefully and, swaying, approached the window. I took only five steps, but how difficult they were... If I don't improve my health urgently, then it would be better for me to die right now, rather than suffer for two more days.

Looking at the cab standing at the porch with the driver dozing on, I shouted, or rather wheezed:

"Fry!"

"Ah?!" The cab driver jumped up and turned his head.

"What Ah?" I asked angrily, clearing my throat. "When was dawn? Couldn't you knock?"

"So I knocked. I pounded on the door so hard that the house shook. And I screamed," Fry assured me, rubbing his sleepy eyes with the back of his hand. "Only I didn't get through. And your neighbors promised to throw slop on me if I don't stop screaming here at the crack of dawn. So I'm waiting quietly."

"Okay, one moment," I promised, having calmed down. What can I do now - I can't bring back the time that's gone by.

I walked up to the old mirror in a massive dark wooden frame standing by the far wall and looked at my reflection. Creepy. I was afraid I might be mistaken for a ghoul who had crawled out of the graveyard. Disheveled and rumpled. My face was as white as white… And there was no tan. Dark gray bags under my eyes and bloodshot eyes – expressive strokes to the portrait of a hopeless drunk. And you can't prove to anyone that you only sat there for an evening and didn't drink for a good decade.

I waved my hand at my reflection and turned away. I didn't even want to look at such a mug. I slapped my way to the door. As I walked, I grabbed the weapon belt lying on the rug, but I overestimated my acrobatic abilities. When I straightened up, I was pulled to the side and almost knocked over that stupid Loim vase standing on the pedestal by the wall. I should have thrown it out a long time ago or given it to someone as a gift. It was no use anyway. Well, let it stay now. Maybe Roald and Triss will find a use for it when the house goes to them.

"Veld, are you alive?" I called my friend from the top of the stairs.

"I don't know," he groaned after a while.

When I went downstairs, I found two half-empty bottles of wine on the table by the stairs and immediately grabbed the closest one. I took a sip and immediately felt better. It was a real healing potion, not wine.

"Give me a sip too," Veld moaned, opening his eyes. Pulling his shaking hand out from under the pillow, he extended it toward me.

It took at least a quarter of an hour to recover. But we perked up, and life stopped seeming so dull. True, I continued to be bothered by flashes of pain in my chest, but I had to put up with it.

"Kar, where did you want to go at dawn?" Roald asked. "I somehow forgot..."

"No way now," I waved my hand in annoyance. "We overslept."

"We were going to the port," Veld recalled. "To sit on the open balcony of the Black Pearl and look at the sea."

"We'll go to the Office," I said, carefully touching the cocoon wrapping around my body. "I need to drop in on Tier Eldar."

"If we have to, then we have to," Roald rose decisively from his chair.

Fry must have decided that we were late for something started to drive so fast that my eyes popped out of my head. It felt like my chest was being hit with a club on every stone that jutted out from the pavement. And this was only the first day… What would happen next? Would I really have to lie motionless and whine in pain?

Getting out of the cab near the Police Station, Veld asked why I was so gloomy. What can I say? Citing excessive drinking, I winked at my friend and, overtaking him, walked forward.

"How are you, Kar?" Asked the healer, who was there.

"Oh, so-so," I shrugged. "My head hurts a little, and my chest is on fire."

"That's nothing, we'll fix it now," Tier Eldar reassured me, pouring some lilac potion from a bottle into a glass.

Having swallowed the composition that burned my throat, I began to cough. And with surprise, I felt how quickly the pain that was bothering me subsided. Our healer is simply a genius of his craft.

"And just in case," said Tier Eldar. Having poured an additional portion of the potion into the flask, he handed it to me: "Here you go. If things get really bad, take it. But try to get by with something simpler, at least the same wine. Or something like 'Elven Dust'..."

"Can't you make more of the potion?" Roald asked, coughing to attract attention. "What use would you have for all this junk?"

"This is an experimental potion," the healer explained, shaking his head sadly. "It is very strong and at the same time safe for health. But there are some shortcomings... In particular, there is an addictive effect... And the third dose of painkiller taken in a row will not ease Kar's suffering. Therefore, it is better to delay using this potion for as long as possible. And until then, use other means."

I shrugged and smiled wryly:

"What's the problem? I'm not in danger of getting hooked on dope anyway. So why not?" And he thanked the old healer: "Thank you, Tier Eldar."

"No problem, no problem," the old man waved his hands. "When else would such an excellent opportunity arise for a thorough testing of my potion!"

Looking at my gloomy face, the healer quickly suppressed his joy and, embarrassedly lowering his gaze, began to fussily rearrange the bottles on the table.

"Well then, let's go," Roald broke the silence that hung in the doctor's room.

"Yes, go," Tier Eldar nodded with relief and said after me: "But if things get really bad, Karridan, come to me right away. I have some other ideas on how to relieve your pain."

I nodded. What else could I do? I would have to become a test subject in experiments if that was going to help in any way.

"So where next?" Roald asked me with exaggerated cheerfulness, pushing me towards the door. "Maybe we'll stop by my place, have a proper meal, and then go to the commandant?"

"No, probably not," I said, thinking for a moment as I walked. "We'll go to the shopping lines. There'll be somewhere to grab a bite to eat there."

"What are you planning to buy?" Veld asked.

"Nothing," I replied, climbing into the cab. "We'll just take a ride just like that."

"Okay. If just like that, then just like that," the usually very inquisitive Veld did not press further.

Apparently, it is noticeable that I feel lousy at heart and have no mood for chatter. Some kind of dull melancholy has rolled over me... I want to howl... This is probably how hunted animals feel: wherever you rush, there is death everywhere...

With an incredible effort of will, overcoming apathy and indifference to life, I bit my lip. I have two days. And a little hope for Sir Roderick. We'll flounder some more.

Fry got us there pretty quickly, despite the morning crowds on the streets adjacent to the market square. It seems he wants to get another silver coin or two from us, so he tries to show his diligence.

I told Fry to stop near Oil Street, which leads from the square toward the port, and got out of the cab. I glanced briefly at the noisy crowd bustling about the market stalls and approached the corner house. Running my hand over the chipped stones, I turned toward the bakery and squinted. Everything was almost the same as it had been a decade and a half ago. Only now it was not the voluptuous Longa who was selling the goods, but her daughter-in-law. Although you couldn't tell them apart at first glance, if you didn't pay attention to their faces. Otherwise, it was the same hustle and bustle, townspeople rushing about their business, and the amazing smell of delicious buns...

I ran my hand across my face and smiled wryly, remembering how I had stood by this wall, swallowing my saliva, looking at the ruddy sides of the huge buns with raisins. I couldn't take my eyes off the seemingly miraculous vision of baked goods...

I was so hungry... The storms had just started raging before, and there was practically nothing to profit from in the port. Neither fishermen with their catch nor traders appeared on the streets... Then hunger drove me to the market square. Here I could try to get at least some food. Steal, pilfer, or beg for something edible... But not buy. Because where could a homeless boy get money? Steal? You still have to be able to do that. And it's too dangerous... Earn money? But who needs a six-year-old worker?..

I was swallowing my saliva, looking at the buns, and trying to put the stubborn spider in a homemade slingshot to launch it onto the counter. It was a huge beast, the size of my palm at the time. A grey-black hairy spider... I so hoped that at least this monster would scare the baker and make her forget about the goods for a moment. The first attempt with a live mouse, unfortunately, failed...

And when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder, I myself almost died of fear. I turned around and froze, looking at the huge armored guard, so similar to the dashing port people, with this crooked scar running across his left eyebrow, and a face overgrown with many days of stubble.

"What are you doing here?" the guard, who had quietly approached me from behind, asked in a stern voice.

Frozen with horror, I even forgot that I hadn't done anything bad yet, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

"I want to sell a spider..."

"Oh, you really have some fine merchandise!" the guard laughed, noticing my furry monster. He patted me on the head and said, "Well, that's nice. I thought you wanted to steal something."

Taking a copper coin out of his purse, he gave it to me for the spider. Twice as much as the largest bun with raisins costs…

Sighing, I shook my head in annoyance. How many years have passed, but these memories remain as clear and vivid as the day after my first meeting with the foreman of the Kelm guard, Laen Steini. Who later replaced my unknown parents…

Lightly tapping the wall with a clenched fist, I turned around and resolutely moved towards the cab. What was past was past. Let's see what happens next.

"Let's stop by the Black Pearl for a bite to eat," I said to my companions. "We'll have just enough time to get there and back before noon."

"As you say, Kar," Roald and Veld responded in unison.

"Come on, Fry, drive to the Port Quarter," I ordered the cab driver, grinning.

Breakfast for three at the Black Pearl cost sixteen silver coins. It was no pity, of course, but what was striking was that they didn't serve us anything outstanding, but instead charged us a ton of money. For what? After pondering over a bottle of wine, we still couldn't find an answer to this question.

However, having eaten and drunk, we came to a good-natured mood and waved our hands at the impudent rip-off. We called Fry and went to Sir Roderick.

Having driven up to a three-story mansion with a bunch of turrets on top, they stopped at the locked gates. A wrought-iron fence protected Sir Roderick's property and did not allow passersby to wander around the green lawn in front of the house. Although there would have been a great many people willing to walk on the grass. There are too few houses in the city that have a piece of land to boot. Unfortunately, the fortress walls cannot be pushed apart with magic...

"If only I could live like that," Veld said enviously, looking at the huge mansion.

"Well, maybe in fifty years or so, as a reward for your service, the Magistrate will give you a couple of square feet of land in the central district," Roald chuckled.

"Sure. The most you'll get out of these bureaucrats is a spot in the cemetery," grumbled my friend.

"Come up to the porch," the gatekeeper ordered, coming out of the booth and unlocking the gate. "They'll meet you there."

And so it happened. The carriage was still crunching on the multi-colored gravel, rolling along the path, and Sir Roderick's servant was already standing on the porch near the column.

"Please, tiers," he bowed briefly, opened the huge door of the mansion for us, and let us go ahead of him.

Once in the hall, we were a little confused, overwhelmed by the luxury and splendor of the setting. We had never been in a palace before.

"Which one of you is Mr. Steini?" the valet inquired, coughing quietly into his fist.

"It's me," I responded.

"Sir Roderick will see you immediately. Alone. And your friends may go into the drawing-room and wait there."

"Okay," I nodded.

"Follow me," the footman ordered and snapped his fingers. It was unclear what this meant, but another servant in exactly the same white and gold livery immediately materialized next to my companions.

I was escorted to the library, located in the left wing of the building, where I found the owner of the mansion. Sir Roderick was enthusiastically scribbling something on a piece of paper, glancing at the open books in front of him, and did not notice us right away. And at first, I forgot to remind him of my presence. Looking around the large room with high ceilings, filled with shelves containing thousands of books, I opened my mouth in admiration. This was not some small reading room with two or three dozen entertaining books, like those of some city tycoons, but a real library! I wanted to rummage through it!

"Is my collection impressive?" Sir Roderick asked, smiling good-naturedly and waving his hand to send the servant away.

"You bet!" I expressed my admiration with complete sincerity.

"I've been collecting for almost fifty years." There were notes of pride in the noble sir's voice.

I glanced around the library again and nodded respectfully. It's a good thing to collect interesting books.

"Well, we'll talk about that later," apparently remembering my trouble, said the commandant. "Sit down, let's talk about pressing matters."

"Thank you," I thanked him just in case for the warm welcome, and sat down in a soft chair by the table. And, unable to contain my curiosity, I glanced sideways at the books. I wonder what our commandant is reading…

"And there's nothing to thank me for," Sir Roderick became serious. "I've thought about your problem in my spare time and now I can say with confidence: it's not in my power to cure you."

"Well, I didn't really count on it," I sighed in disappointment, immediately losing interest in the folios lying in front of me.

"Alas," Sir Roderick shook his head regretfully, "healing is not my strong point." And, looking closely at my joyless face, he added: "But in the books I managed to find a real way to get rid of this curse…"

"And what do you need for this?" I literally perked up.

"The very first thing is your desire," the magician answered. "And you will also need willpower and unshakable faith."

"What kind of method is that?" I asked, puzzled, not understanding a thing. "You can't be healed just by wishing for it… I'm not some kind of saint."

"One must have the desire to follow this path in order to find deliverance from the filth that is eating away at one's flesh," Sir Roderick explained somewhat vaguely.

It seems our commandant is being secretive... What did he come up with?

"Which way?" I asked, looking intently at the magician who was glaring at me.

"Dark one," he said, not taking his eyes off me.

My jaw dropped. Wow! The Inquisition had crawled into every nook and cranny, and here heresy is nesting right in the center of the city! It's crazy.

"Oh no, I don't agree to sell my soul to demons," I shook my head, barely coming to my senses after such an unexpected offer. It just doesn't fit in my head: a person respected by everyone, "and, it turns out, he's flirting with the Darkness!"

"And there's no need," the magician chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "It would be an unequal deal."

"Then what do you propose?" I asked, deciding to listen to the end, although my first impulse was to get up and leave.

"Fight for your life," Sir Roderick answered laconically. "In a dangerous game." And after a pause, he added, "I see no other way for you to survive, Karridan. But it is up to you to decide, of course, whether it is worth it or not."

"So what kind of method is this?" I asked after thinking for a bit.

"It stems from your problem, Karridan," the magician began to explain, clasping his fingers together. "The so-called 'Breath of Harm' does not pertain to purely elemental spells. It is rather one of the complex varieties of summoning spells that do not require ritual actions. It rips out a very vile semi-material creature from one of the lower layers of existence and instills it in the victim. Or rather, a whole host of creatures. It is somewhat similar to the most ordinary colony of mold, which is now trying, so to speak, to take root in you. But since the symbiosis of man and this filth is impossible due to the differences in the energy of material carriers, your death is inevitable. You will literally be dissolved... First, this um... mold will feed on your life energy and become more material... It is like introducing a very caustic substance into your body..."

"I think this will be quite a specific pleasure," I muttered, looking sullenly at Sir Roderick. "Can't the priests drive this crap out of my body and send it to the demons?"

"Unfortunately, no," the magician shook his head. "The Breath of Harm was not invented by a fool. This mold has absolutely nothing to do with the struggle between Light and Darkness. It is unreasonable, and therefore practically invulnerable to the power of the holy word. The only thing the holy fathers can do is burn this filth out of you. But the result will be disastrous and exactly the same as if you did nothing at all."

"In general, I'm in deep shit," I concluded with a sad smile.

"In general, yes," Sir Roderick agreed with my conclusions. "Therefore, I see the only way to save you as an attempt to drive this abomination out of you. By settling a stronger otherworldly entity..."

"Are you kidding?!" I stared at Sir Roderick, dumbfounded. "Of my own free will, get in touch with demons? And stain myself with the Darkness?" I shook my head sharply: "No way!" And after cooling down a bit, I remarked, "What benefit do I gain by exchanging one painful death for another? Do you think it's better to die at the stake?"

"Have you calmed down?" asked the magician, looking at me calmly. "Then listen. We are not talking about demons. You cannot cope with them. And you will not stain yourself, since the summoning will not be carried out by you. And most importantly, this is a real way to help you." After a short silence to let me think about his words, he continued: "We will implant a lesser imp in you. It is not so dangerous, and it is easy to drive it out even without the help of an exorcist. No harm will happen to you if you act clearly and decisively."

Yeah, it's not dangerous... It's a lost cause to mess with otherworldly creatures. The proverb was invented for just such a case: 'The claw gets stuck - the bird is lost.' Although what else can you do? If the problem can't be solved otherwise...

"Well, if just an imp," I said, scratching the back of my head. "I have to deal with this little rascal."

"If you can't, that's no big deal," Sir Roderick assured. "The main thing is that he helps you. And so let him even expect to continue living in your body. And even against your unwillingness, dictated by the will of the demon, I will drive him out in a couple of days."

"It all sounds quite reasonable," I looked with respect at the noble sir, who had come up with a completely feasible, albeit rather dangerous plan for my salvation. "The only thing is - why would the imp help me? On the contrary, he should be pleased if I die..."

"The temptation to live in our world is too great," the magician explained. "Who are the demons in their world? Just small fry, dragging out a miserable existence. But here they can do whatever they want, having fun to the fullest."

I rubbed my forehead thoughtfully. Sir Roderick was certainly proposing an adventure, but was there another way out? So far, no one but him had suggested anything sensible. And imps are not demons. They do not lay claim to souls and are more likely to be ordinary parasites than true enemies of the human race. In addition, they are weak... They cannot always gain full control over a person, even after years of living in his body, and here it was only two days...

"Well, since there is no other way of healing, then we can try," I decided.

"Well, that's right," Sir Roderick nodded approvingly. "It's the weak who give in to adversity, but the strong must persevere, no matter what."

Taking with him a couple of large folios and a sheet of paper covered with writing, Sir Roderick led me to another part of the house. Somewhere in the right wing of the healthy mansion was the spell chamber.

At first, when we entered the dark room, I even decided that Sir Roderick had ignored the regulations "On the construction of buildings and structures in the city" and that his mansion had a room without windows. However, he is not one of those simple citizens whose houses are simply torn down for such a violation... Only when the commandant lit the lamps by the door, it become clear that there was a window, just covered with thick material that did not let in a single ray of light.

But I no longer cared about the windows. I saw a round stone plate in the very center of the room, and on it a pentagram of Light enclosed in a double ring, glittering with lunar silver. Next to it stood a three-legged stand with a manuscript lying on it, and a large mirror ball hung from the ceiling. The floor beyond the summoning circle was covered with a thick layer of salt. Even the cabinet by the wall stood on this scattering of grayish crystals.

"Do you have any consecrated objects?" The magician inquired casually, placing the books he had brought on the shelf with fewer than ten other volumes.

"I haven't."

"Then stand in the middle of this stone," Sir Roderick pointed at the pentagram of Light, and he went further, to the cabinet standing by the wall.

Slowly approaching the outer circle of the pentagram, I stopped. Some kind of anxiety penetrated my soul... Sir Roderick is not a demonologist, but he has such a spell-like peace... Why, I ask?

"Make up your mind quickly," the magician urged me.

I glanced at him, nodded in time with my thoughts, and stepped onto the stone slab. Still, Sir Roderick didn't look like a man who had planned something bad. And there were too many witnesses. You can't shut everyone down. So there was nothing to be afraid of.

Stopping in the inner circle of the pentagram, I turned to face the magician. I wanted to say that I was ready, but it was not necessary. Sir Roderick had already begun to act. A pale blue haze appeared before me, and a deafening silence fell. As if my ears were blocked.

The magician seemed like a fish out of water, mouth gaping silently. Without looking at me, he read aloud the spell from his sheet of paper. But nothing happened. There were no flashes of light, no sounds coming from the other world, no inexplicable horror. None of what is rumored to happen during rituals to summon demonic creatures.

It seems that Sir Roderick is not very good at this area of magical art either, since he can't do anything; I only managed to think. The next moment, my legs gave way, as if they had gone numb for a moment. I almost fell. And then the bubble of blue haze that surrounded me disappeared.

"Well?" the magician asked anxiously. "Did it work?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, listening to my feelings. "It seems like there's no imp inside me."

"He's probably hiding," the magician concluded, looking at me thoughtfully. "He feels my presence nearby, that's why he doesn't want to show himself."

"What does he have to be afraid of?" I didn't understand.

"Who, not what," the noble sir chuckled and explained, "How would he know who summoned him? Maybe some crazy sorcerer decided to capture him to get a demonic servant. For free."

"And how can I lure him out for a conversation now?" I wondered.

"He will get out as soon as he feels that nothing threatens him."

"So what should I do now?"

"Continue to implement the things you have planned," the magician advised me. "The imp will not be able to hold back. He will definitely stick his head out."

"Okay, I'll try," I agreed.

"Go ahead, try it," Sir Roderick nodded approvingly and asked, "I hope I don't need to explain to you that what happened here must be kept secret even from friends?"

"No need. I'm not a fool, I understand that a too-long tongue dramatically shortens life."

"Excellent," the magician grinned, "then I won't keep you any longer."

Sir Roderick led me to the living room, where my companions were relaxing in low armchairs. They were drinking aromatic coffee with cakes, and apparently did not think about me; they liked the hospitable house so much. However, seeing me with the owner of the mansion, they jumped up.

"So?" Veld asked immediately after we said goodbye to Sir Roderick. He didn't even wait for us to leave the door.

"Nothing," I replied. "It's complicated. There's a real chance that I'll manage to stay alive, but I might also die. It'll be a matter of luck."

"Well, at least that's something!" Roald was delighted. "After all, until now, no one even hinted at you surviving."

"All the more so because you're lucky," Veld encouraged me.

"Let's hope we'll be lucky here too," I said, smiling slightly.

"Where are we going?" Fry asked as we climbed into the cab.

"To Roald, probably," I said, looking at him. "Maybe Triss has already finished my order."

Roald nodded and began to explain to the cabbie how to get to his house. And I thought... How can I lure this damned demon out?..

So what do you want? A foreign thought appeared in my head. Right in front of me, out of nowhere, an imp appeared. Why the hell did you drag me out of the Edge? Is there nothing better to do than distract decent imps from important matters?

What are you so cranky? I asked, confused, already stunned by the sudden appearance of an otherworldly entity right under my nose.

Dark brown, like a furry toy, the imp settled on the railing of the carriage and, with sparkling eyes, bared small, sharp teeth. But it still did not look like a terrible monster. It seemed more like a funny furry creature with short, widely spaced horns on an excessively large head, with legs ending in hooves, while the hands were quite ordinary, and with an incomprehensible face covered in thick hair. And so it is not immediately clear what is more in this mug - pig or human ... A small snout is definitely a pig's. A wonderful creature ... And even with a long tail with a tassel on the end.

So, the evilly grinning demon continued his mental communication. Bring me back immediately, or I won't be responsible for myself!

Any moment, I assured the demonic spawn, coming to my senses. Just help me a little, and you'll be on your way right away.

Yeah, screw you! snorted the demon. Call someone else to handle your business. I don't have time to bother with you!

What are you so busy with? I asked, deciding to try to establish normal communication with the summoned creature.

I am sharing my experience! declared the indignant imp. "I am teaching our youth the tricks of malice, since I myself have achieved great success in this matter!

What? I was amazed.

That! The imp flared up, losing his patience. I am the Master Mentor! And he almost screamed: Do you even imagine what the little imps will do there without me?! You dragged me right out of class!

Oh, I was puzzled. Sir Roderick got something mixed up about the lesser imp...

Send me back!" the imp demanded again and threatened: Or you'll regret it!

Okay, I agreed, deciding it was time to take the bull by the horns. Take away from me the filth that is devouring my body, and then you will go to your place.

Who do you take me for? The imp was indignant and, turning his back to me, pointed his finger at his back and asked: Do you see wings?

No, I was puzzled by the strange question.

Exactly! The imp turned around, seething with indignation. "So why did you take me for an angel? I'm a demon! And my job is not to help people, but to harm them! Or, by offering to do a good deed, do you want all my merits to go down the drain? You get nothing!"

Then your little imps will be left unattended! I got angry.

It's okay, they'll last two days! The imp blurted out in response and gloated: You won't be able to hold out any longer! And he disappeared, not giving me a chance to object.

"Kar, what's wrong?" Veld nudged me in the side.

I almost jumped. It wouldn't take long to lose all connection with reality if you often converse with an imp in your thoughts! Glancing sideways at my friend, I saw some concern on his face. So, I was the only one observing the inhabitant of the Lower World.

"Everything's fine," I assured Veld. "I was just thinking."

"Ah…" he sighed with relief. "That's good. You've got such a face… Your eyes are glassy and your jaw is hanging open… I thought you were already…" And he twirled his finger at his temple.

"It's you already ..." I said with annoyance.

"Okay, Kar, let's drop it," Veld suggested peacefully. "I just wanted to know what we're going to do this evening. Maybe we'll have some fun with girls?"

"I was just thinking about what to do," I said discontentedly. "And you distracted me from my thoughts."

"Well then, think, think," Veld fell behind.

I leaned back in my seat, pushed my cap down over my forehead, and closed my eyes. Let them think I was taking a nap. Maybe then they wouldn't bother me. After all, I really needed to think hard about what to do with the imp's spawn.

It is not noticeable that this horned bastard wants to settle in my body, as Sir Roderick claimed. On the contrary, he wants to get away as quickly as possible. And he does not even want to listen to anything...

"Imp?" I mentally addressed him. But I received no answer.

He's hiding, the tailed one... If only I knew how to lure him out... But, unfortunately, I haven't studied demonology... However, the holy fathers talk a lot about otherworldly creatures in their sermons. It's quite possible to form an idea of the guest who has settled in my body. The tendency of imp-possessed people to all sorts of excesses and vices is often mentioned. Almost every priest emphasizes this... Such is the influence of the imp entity. Sir Roderick also said that the horned ones want to have fun without restraint... And this means that there is still a possibility to tempt the demon with life in a human body. I just need to throw him a more tempting bait. After all, I don't know what he likes most of all...

We'll have to check. After all, we have a suitable nest of vice and debauchery in Kelm. Not as luxurious as the capital's dens, of course, but quite decent.

"Veld, Roald," I said, pushing my cap back and turning to my companions, "I've just had an idea... Would you like to spend this evening at the Silver Ringing?"

"I wish!" Veld blurted out immediately, but, remembering something important, he moderated his delight and carefully asked: "And are you paying?"

"Of course. Three silver roldos are not such a large sum."

"But it's not a small one either," Roald noted. "Especially because you'll have to pay it just to enter the establishment. And then there's God knows what other expenses awaiting you..."

"Oh, that's nothing," I waved it off. "I still have nine gold pieces left. Isn't that enough for us to party?"

"Well, if not to play, then of course it's enough," Roald agreed. "You can lose more in an evening at dice, but if you drink and squander that amount... No, we can't afford it."

"We'll have to try," I chuckled. "We have two days." And I corrected myself: "Or rather, one and a half..."

Due to grandiose plans for the near future, our company was forced to split up at Roald's house. Veld went home to get himself in order before visiting such a prestigious establishment as the Silver Ringing. You can't show up there in a simple guard's uniform.

It was easier for Roald and me. Triss sewed me a great suit, in which I wouldn't be ashamed to show up even in the capital's "Golden Ringing", let alone in ours - "Silver". And the foreman had no problems with good clothes before. With his wife, after all, a craftswoman.

After having lunch with Roald, we also had a few drinks. We celebrated my new clothes, so to speak. And then Veld showed up. We had another drink with him and went to buy the last of our purchases: boots and a hat. Dressing like you're going to a parade means dressing up completely.

Soon, the object of Veld's dreams appeared on my head - a wide-brimmed hat with a long feather, coal-black with a blue tint. For the third decade, the whole city had been guessing from which bird such a beauty was plucked, but no one could clarify this point. To tell the truth, the impudent merchant took advantage of the situation and sold to everyone who wanted not just feathers, but hats with them, but that was his business.

Veld couldn't resist the temptation and bought himself a hat after unsuccessfully trying to talk the merchant into selling him only a feather. However, his friend was so pleased with his purchase that he didn't even complain about the clever deception when we left the counter.

During my walk through the shopping arcades, the curse of the slain dark one caught up with me. At first, I didn't even understand what was happening to me. It seemed like a coincidence: sometimes my fingers would go numb, sometimes my side would sting. After all, everything passes almost immediately. But a little later, my torment began… It wasn't that it was painful – rather unpleasant. It felt as if I had frozen over and had jumped from the cold into the warmth. My poor bones were aching…

At least after a good portion of wine, it felt better. But it was clear that it wouldn't last long. I immediately remembered the advice of Tier Eldar - to take some drugs. It looks like I'll have to take advantage of it. But that's not a problem - you can find anything in Silver Ringingl.

In general, the time until the evening flew by almost unnoticed. It's even offensive. When you stand on the wall for a shift, you suffer and suffer, and the hands on the tower clock are as if lifeless. You get tired of waiting for an hour to pass. And here, almost a quarter of a day flew by in an instant.

We pulled up to the Silver Ringing at dusk. The brightly burning street lamps gave us enough light to appreciate the impressive size of the thugs hanging around the door. It would have been better if there had been semi-darkness by the porch, because looking at these bone-breakers in stylish blue uniforms with silver embroidery, it was hard to hold back laughter. Clowns, and nothing more. Who could have come up with the idea of dressing these bone-breakers like that? Looking at these villainous mugs, you just want to exclaim: "These are not security, but robbers!"

"What are you standing there for, Kar?" Roald asked me as he climbed out of the cab.

"Yes, I'm looking at this circus," I replied, smiling, and, pulling down my sleeve, moved forward.

"Oh, what people!" Veld whistled, spotting one of the two guards who made bored faces at the sight of the guards heading towards them. "That's Kolun! Did they really let him go?"

"And you didn't know?" Roald was surprised. "They put him on bail until the trial." And he asked Kolun himself: "When is the trial?"

"In five days," he grumbled and asked, "And what brought you here, Tier Foreman? You don't seem to like this kind of entertainment, do you?"

"We're on a raid," Veld enlightened him with a grin.

"And who are you catching?" The security became wary, exchanging glances. And Kolun's friend blocked our way and, scowling, declared: "Private property. You have no right to enter without permission from the magistrate."

"Don't worry, dude!" Veld, who had reached him with some difficulty, patronizingly patted the guard on the shoulder and laughed: "We'll only be catching luck and pretty girls. So go ahead and open the way!"

"So, are you playing?" Kolun asked incredulously.

"Of course," I promised, and, going around the bouncer, pulled the massive door towards me.

Behind the doors, we found a very small hall, where two more bouncers were hanging out in the same ridiculous suits, and behind the desk sat a girl who had simply blossomed at the sight of us.

"I would smile like that too if everyone gave me a silver coin," Veld whispered to me when three coins of the established fee migrated into the girl's hands.

"You're greedy," I reproached. My friend snorted indignantly in response.

Behind the next door was the actual gambling hall. The soft, subdued light pouring from dozens, if not hundreds lamps perfectly illuminated the vast room and at the same time created some kind of cozy charm. It felt like you were coming home after a shift. Only, of course, the furnishings were too expensive…

"It's normal," Veld said condescendingly, although it was obvious that he was impressed by the luxury that reigned in the gambling house.

"Shall we have a drink first?" Roald asked, nodding towards the bar.

"Let's go," I agreed.

Our friendly company rushed to the counter.

A wide carpet leading from the entrance to the bar divided the room into two almost equal parts: on the left, the game was at the tables, and on the right, a visitor tired of the games could take a break, have a drink, and a snack. All so that the players would have no reason to leave this establishment. And on the second floor, according to Roald, there are rooms for a short nap or other rest. You don't have to go home until you've spent all your money.

"There aren't many people playing," Veld noted as he walked. "We must have arrived a bit too early."

"You think people come here just to throw dice?" Roald chuckled mockingly.

"Indeed," I chuckled. "Richard even demands that his establishment be called a club, not a gambling house."

"He would have been better off calling it a bunch of overgrown idiots who have nothing better to do than sit here at night and spend their parents' gold," Roald snorted. "Otherwise, look at that - it's prestigious to spend an evening at a club with friends."

I smiled, glancing sideways at Roald. Prestige is, of course, good, but I think that's not the only reason people flock here. There are a lot of people here, and the service is top-notch, and there are no drunken fights, like in some decent establishments closer to the port quarter. And most importantly, there is entertainment for every taste. You can not only try your luck at roulette or dice, but also just sit with a girlfriend over a glass of fine wine. And you don't necessarily have to bring a girl with you. There are already a lot of them hanging around here. It's too promising a place to catch wealthy suitors... In addition, many children of rich people indulge in "Sparkling Ice" or "Solar Dew"... And here you can get whatever your heart desires.

"Kar?! What brings you here?" I was intercepted almost at the bar by a Malvian girl who had fluttered out from somewhere on the right in a light summer dress of a completely wild, bright color.

"Well, I decided to have a little fun in honor of my promotion," I replied, recognizing my old friend.

"So you are our hero-savior? The one who defended the city from the invasion of the dark ones?" Kaylee was amazed.

"You exaggerate my merits," I laughed.

"Well, probably not so much, if you were promoted right away," Kaylee said, smiling charmingly. "I heard you were even nominated for an order for services to the Empire."

"I don't know anything about that, I chuckled." And shook my head. Interesting rumors about me are going around town. "Did you come with friends?" I asked the girl hanging on my arm.

"No, I'm alone," she answered, and, narrowing her eyes slyly, moved closer and asked in a whisper: "What, do you want to collect an old debt from me? I'm always willing... to satisfy any of your whims." And she burst into charming laughter, seeing my embarrassment.

"So that's how you are?" I shook my head. Accepting the game and hugging Kaylee around the waist, I clarified: "Just any whim?"

"Yes, tier foreman, that's exactly it," the malicious girl whispered conspiratorially, looking down.

I laughed again.

"Kaylee, look, you know everything here," having laughed and remembered my plans, I said quietly. "Help me with one thing."

"What do you want?" Kaylee asked, still smiling. "Do you want me to hand over all the criminals hanging around here to you?"

"No, I have simpler wishes. Help me get something like... well, let's say, Sparkling Ice."

"Have you decided to have a blast?" the girl asked with no small amount of sarcasm.

"Yeah," I admitted. "So, will you help?"

"Just for you or your friends too?"

"Exclusively for me. But a lot…"

"How much?" Kaylee asked nonchalantly.

"On the gold one."

"Why do you need so much?" Kaylee's eyes widened in surprise.

"Let the good times roll," I joked.

"Is that so?" the girl asked, looking at me intently. After coming to some decision, she nodded: "You'll get Sparkling Ice. But you'll have to wait a little. I'm broke today, and I need to catch up with some friends to borrow some cash."

"What are you saying, Kaylee?" I stopped the girl who had moved away from me. "I don't demand that you pay for the purchase out of your pocket. I was going to treat you at my own expense." And, taking a gold coin from my purse that glittered in the light, I put it in Kaylee's hand.

"Kar, you're adorable!" Kaylee squealed enthusiastically, clutching the money in her fist, and kissed me on the lips in her excitement. Then, promising, "I'll be right back!" she literally vanished from my arms.

Looking around and not seeing my friend anywhere, I pushed my hat down onto my forehead and scratched the back of my head. Just a wish-fulfillment demon, not a girl.

Shaking myself, I continued my way to the bar counter, where my companions had already sat down on the empty chairs. They were fast. Or maybe I had gotten carried away chatting with Kaylee. Before I could sit down on the next chair, Veld had accosted me:

"Who is that girl? Do you know her?"

"Yep."

"So what kind of friend are you, Kar?!" My buddy immediately snapped. "It turns out he has a Malvian girlfriend, and he didn't say a word!" And, leaning his head toward me, he eagerly asked: "So what's she like? Better than ours?"

"Veld, get off." I frowned. "We're just acquaintances."

And Roald, hearing our conversation, grinned:

"Don't stare at dark-skinned girls, Veld — nothing good will come of it."

"Why not?" The remark struck a chord with Veld.

"But you are a redhead!"

"So what?" Veld frowned, not understanding anything.

"Can you imagine what your children will look like?" Roald asked cheerfully. "They'll definitely be black-red. Spotty. Well, if you're really unlucky, they'll be striped."

I laughed, imagining such the wonder and shock of the townspeople meeting Veld and his family on a walk.

"Ugh!" Veld spat in frustration. "I'm not going to marry her! And she's not that dark-skinned."

"Yes, that's true," Roald agreed. "Clearly not a purebred Malvian. Right, Kar?"

"Uh-huh," I responded, momentarily breaking away from my conversation with the bartender, who came over to take our order.

"So how do you know her?" Roald asked. He seemed interested in where I could have met the Malvian woman.

Taking a sip of wine, I lifted the brim of my hat that was hanging over my eyes with my index finger and began a leisurely story:

Last year, just the day after St. Yorick's Day, I had finished my work at Jim's and was going home. It was well past midnight. And so I was walking along, calmly, and then there was shouting and screaming. Someone was fighting right by Sleepy Lane... I picked up my pace. I looked and saw some sailors on a spree, smashing a couple of lanterns, so it would be dark, and they were harassing some girl.

"How did they get so far from the port?" Veld asked incredulously. "Drunk people would never have made it, and sober people would never have gone that far."

"Do I know?" I shrugged. "The fact is that four scoundrels did not find worthy entertainment for themselves in the port quarter and found it almost on the other side of the city."

"And how did you calm them down?" Roald asked.

"They were completely drunk. I quietly approached them from behind and knocked out two of them at once — they didn't even have time to realize what was happening. I hit them on the head with the hilt of my rapier, and they fell. The rest weren't fighters either. One of them grabbed a knife, but what good is a gut knife against a falchion? I drew a little blood, and he calmed down. The last one had no idea where he was or what he was doing, so I didn't bother with him. That's how I met Kaylee."

"Why did you keep quiet about such an adventure?" Veld said indignantly.

"Well, that's how it turned out," I dodged the question.

There was a reason. There was. The smart thing to do was to hand over the sailors to the first patrol, but I didn't do it. Kaylee asked me not to blow the story. The sailors only managed to scare her. She was too kind. Although those ship rats wouldn't have spared her. As soon as they escape to shore for a couple of days, they lose the rest of their minds. And then they roar like beluga whales in court, swearing that they don't remember anything... They cause nothing but trouble in the city. And for the girls, such a meeting at night is just a living nightmare. Not only will they deprive you of your maiden honor, but they'll also do some nasty thing. They'll cut your face or beat you up so badly that no healer will be able to help you get your former beauty back.

But the beautiful Malvian convinced me not to wait for the guards… I had to simply give the scoundrels more so that they wouldn't come to their senses any time soon, and rip off their clothes. After all, twenty lashes are the penalty for appearing on the street in an indecent state… Then I also bought some beer for Slow-witted, who was then the city executioner, so that he wouldn't have to hold his hand…

So there was no way to tell this story - internal security would immediately get on our nerves. We stole the clothes and took the little money the sailors had. And the very next day, we spent the silver in the Black Rose...

However, the main reason I didn't mention meeting Kaylee was different. I was very attracted to her at the time. I hoped to get to know her better and then surprise Veld. But it didn't work out... Kaylee is, as they say, a lost soul. She got caught up in the circle of wealthy young people who don't know the value of money. And now she flits like a butterfly from one fancy party to another and expensive bars, without thinking about the future. She has fun, as usual, in their circle. Dancing until she drops, expensive wine by the glass, and, of course, drugs. She is firmly addicted to drugs... "Sparkling ice" is our everything! And yet she has neither rich parents nor her own fortune. But Kaylee has no money problems either, because she does not consider it shameful to accept expensive gifts from her wealthy friends. Of course, not for nothing.

So it's a lost case, really. Even if you really want to keep something like that, it's way too expensive for a regular guard, and sharing your girlfriend with others isn't really that fun. Besides, when I tried to convince Kaylee to quit "ice," she made it very clear that she would not tolerate interference in her personal affairs. She said she would do whatever she wanted, poison herself with whatever she wanted, and sleep with whomever she wanted.

Kaylee later explained it this way: she doesn't claim anything, so it's strange to demand anything from her. She's not averse to being friends, but it's better not to expect anything more. Marriage and a quiet family life don't appeal to her.

Nevertheless, we have developed a friendly relationship. Probably, first and foremost, because Kaylee has an incredibly easygoing personality. It is as easy to communicate with her as it is with Veld, even though we have known him for more than a decade. You can't find girls like Kaylee even with fire in daylight…

"Kar, are you soaring into the sky again?" Veld nudged me lightly. "Wake up!"

"Here I am," I smiled and suggested, "Let's take a table. We can't sit at the bar all evening."

However, I was unable to carry out my plan in its entirety. We hadn't even left the bar when Kaylee appeared next to me. She smiled sweetly, greeted my companions, and apologized for kidnapping me.

"And where are we going?" I asked Kaylee, who grabbed me by the elbow.

"You'll see now," Kaylee promised in a conspiratorial whisper.

It turned out that she was leading me to booths located along the wall, designed for companies seeking privacy. Mythical, of course, because cloth screens are not stone walls. Still, it was cozier there than in the hall: quieter, and very comfortable to sprawl out on the low sofa. You can't sprawl out on a chair.

We entered an empty booth, and Kaylee pulled the screen behind her and pushed me onto the couch. Without ceremony, she immediately sat down on my lap. Villainess.

"Here you go." Shaking a tiny box out of her sleeve and into her palm, Kaylee handed it to me.

"Open it," I asked when it became clear that I couldn't open the box with one hand, and the other one just didn't want to move from Kaylee's waist.

Nodding, Kaylee used her nails to pry open the stubborn lid and spilled a whole bunch of tiny golden balls into her palm.

"Eighteen pieces," the Malvian girl considered it necessary to clarify the number of portions of dope. "On the street, of course, 'ice' is cheaper, but here it is of better quality."

"You can take a couple," I offered.

"Thank you!" Kaylee exclaimed happily and quickly hid the golden ball in a secret pocket hidden in the folds of her sleeve. She poured the rest into a box, leaving only one in her palm.

Then the box of dope moved into the inside pocket of my jacket, and Kaylee, looking sideways at me, asked with a smile:

"Let's check if I was deceived?"

"Go ahead," I agreed.

Malvian girl narrowed her eyes slyly, as if she had something in mind, and, looking away, began to peel the golden ball, removing the foil from its contents. She quickly finished this simple task, and soon there was a tiny pile of crystals in her palm, resembling melted snow and glistening in the lamplight. Licking her lips as if anticipating the pleasure to come, Kaylee glanced at me again and, smiling broadly, did something unexpected. She didn't lick the ice off her palm, but pressed her lips to it. Three times. Until all the icy crystals stuck to her moist, glistening lips. Then Kaylee turned her head toward me and whispered with a provocative smile:

"Kar, you chicken out to kiss a girl?"

"Not at all," I replied.

What should I be worried about? That I won't be able to resist the latest trend among the golden youth, the 'succubus kiss', and will pounce on Kaylee right here? She probably knows about this possibility. If she's making such a suggestion, it means she's not worried about the consequences. I have nothing to worry about either. The main thing is not to ruin the illusion, or else I'll be embarrassed for the rest of the evening.

Kaylee, bad girl, got me to agree and then decided to really go for it. She started kissing like a young lady on a first date, just light touches of the lips and no licking. She was teasing me.

The ice gradually melted, slowly being absorbed into her moist lips. The kisses became more and more passionate and sensual. Each touch of the lips brought more and more pleasure. It seemed that the "sparkling ice" had nothing to do with it, but rather it was all about the burning passion that had arisen between us.

The euphoria of incredible sensual pleasure that overwhelmed me slowly destroyed what remained of my common sense. Only one desire pulsed in my head—to rip off the thin rag that Kaylee called a dress and throw the provocative woman onto the sofa. So that the passionate pleasure we were experiencing would be complete.

It took a tremendous effort of will to hold myself back. I couldn't lose control of myself. This was just a fun challenge. Kaylee would have suggested another place to enjoy the 'ice' if she wanted to have fun with me.

"Well, how do you like it?" the girl asked with a smile, moving away.

"You'll never forget something like that," I smiled, gently running my right hand over Kaylee's face, from her temple to almost her chin. And I adjusted the flat moon silver plate hanging from a thin chain from her earlobe, which had four slits in the shape of elemental runes. "What funny earrings..."

"Do you like it?" Kaylee asked.

"I like you," I replied, looking into the dark pools of eyes sparkling with passion.

"What's the problem?" She raised an eyebrow. "There are nice rooms here..."

"Is this a hint?"

"No, that's a direct offer," Kaylee shook her head, trying to look serious. But she couldn't hide her smile.

"So..." I said, thinking about how to fit this into my plans for the evening. If I accept Kaylee's offer, I can forget about luring the imp. There would be no time for that. And in my situation, that would be tantamount to death. Besides, Kaylee might not want anything like that; she might just want to repay me for that incident long ago. Otherwise, there's no explanation for her affection for me. I'm not rich, and I'm not some handsome dandy. Somehow, it's not quite right...

After thinking for a bit, he said:

"In general, I wouldn't mind spending the evening with you, but only if you really want it."

"Kar, who do you take me for?!" Kaylee was indignant. "I only sleep with whoever I want!"

"I don't mean to offend you," I assured the girl. "I just don't want this to look like payment for rescuing you from the sailors' clutches."

"I'm not offering to have some fun as a thank you, Kar," the Malvian girl sighed and, rubbing her cheek against mine, said barely audibly: "We could just have a great time to our mutual pleasure..."

"Okay, Kaylee, let's do this. Let's hold off on the bedroom activities for now, because I came here with my friends, and it wouldn't be right to leave them. I should stay with them for the sake of propriety. And I'd like to play some dice... And then, if you don't change your mind..."

"Why should I change my mind?" Kaylee smiled slyly. "After such a wonderful foreplay... Especially since it can be repeated if I suddenly cool down."

"Not in the booth!" I said, pretending to be very frightened. "Otherwise, I'll ravage you right here."

Kaylee laughed and, adjusting her little hat, which didn't cover even half her head and was held on by stilettos, rose from my lap:

"What are your friends going to do? Are they going to be bored all evening alone? Maybe you should introduce them to someone?"

"Red is ok," I answered. "But Roald is married, and if he goes on the loose, I won't be able to hide from Triss even in the graveyard. But with Veld, it's not that simple either - it's unlikely that any of the girls here would be attracted to an ordinary guard."

"Why not? Anything can happen," the girl replied, preening herself. "Although, of course, it's not easy to find a suitable partner here right away. But if you have a little silver, you can simply invite the girls to your table. There are many sociable ones here... They won't let your friends get bored."

"No problem, we'll pay if necessary," I shrugged.

"Then I'll pull some girls over now," promised Kaylee and playfully threatened with her finger: "Just don't even think about looking at them! I'm with you today!"

"Okay, I won't," I smiled. And I had no intention of changing anything in the arrangement that suited me completely. And I don't believe that Kaylee would invite girls prettier than herself. If only because there are only a few of them here. At least, among those who at first glance might be tempted by silver. If we were walking around with gold, then yes, there would be no end to the beauties who would like to join our fun.

Having sat down at the table occupied by Veld and Roald, I said to my friend, who was looking askance at the company seated nearby:

"Now the girls will join us too."

"You've been negotiating this with your Malvian girl for so long?" Veld immediately egged me on.

"No, we just chatted about life," I grinned and made a sober face.

"Yeah, right," Veld said sarcastically. "You just 'chatted' for a quarter of an hour."

"We haven't seen each other for a long time," I wriggled out and immediately changed the subject: "You sit while I try my luck, okay?"

"No problem, Kar," Roald responded. "Don't worry, we won't get lost here without you."

"Ker? How are you doing here? Aren't you bored?" Kaylee asked. She brought a couple of pretty girls of about seventeen to our table - a blonde and a brunette.

"Of course, we miss you!" I said, although the Malvian girl had only been absent for a short time.

Kaylee introduced us to the girls, Isha and Lary, and we drank to our acquaintance. We sat for a bit, chatted about nothing, and then I went to play with Kaylee, who did not want to wait for me at the table.

"What are you going to play?" Kaylee asked, casually greeting some of her acquaintances.

"Well, I'll probably try everything."

Looking at Kaylee, I admired her again. She's beautiful! Sparkling Ice certainly makes itself felt, raising the mood to dizzying heights and making you admire even the most ordinary things. But even without the foolishness, she makes an impression.

"Everything?" Kaylee asked, surprised.

"Well, yes," I confirmed. "I can't play anything smart anyway. So I'll try dice, roulette, and cards. Maybe I'll get lucky at something."

Or something the imp will like. But Kaylee doesn't need to know about that.

We stopped at the first table where there was no dice thrower. The croupier immediately pushed the faceted dice of transparent red glass towards us, so that everyone could be sure there was no catch in them, and smiled encouragingly. In his heart, he was probably laughing at the young simpleton who had taken up dope and, out of little intelligence, had gone to squander his money instead of doing something more interesting with his beautiful companion.

I picked up the dice from the dark green baize table, and a couple of elderly matrons, who were bored without the main player, immediately perked up.

Looking at them, Kaylee suddenly decided:

"I'll play a little too! I'll bet on you, Kar!" She settled herself in a chair at the long side of the table, where there was a place for betting on the outcome of the throws.

The chips were hardly used here, so I took a handful of silver from my purse and poured it at my end of the table.

"Let's start with the minimum," I said to the croupier, who was looking at me impatiently.

He nodded briefly, scooped out a silver coin from my money with a shovel that looked like a poker, and dragged it away to himself.

The smallest of the silver coins remained there. The first and second throws - and both times an eight came up. Another silver coin left its girlfriends and crawled to the dealer. And again, failure. And then another. And so seven times in a row. So after that, it's hard to believe that beginners are lucky.

* * *