Modern and spacious buildings stretched for several miles, and their every room had water and gas supplies. There were metalworking and glassblowing workshops, ovens, baths and balances, distillers, filtering and sterilizing equipment, and what not! Apparatuses of nearly any configuration could be made on site in one day. And they also had two labs of the highest magic safety.
Larkes put me in charge of a team of army alchemists that worked on the project, A Unicorn Horn; they occupied a whole building. My subordinates felt uneasy that they would have to report to a combat mage (for some reason, they didn't trust my degree in alchemy). I was also reluctant to work with them, but after being acquainted with all the lab facilities, I became so enthusiastic that my team members had no chance to skive off.
The problem we had to work with was the reverse of the one I had solved in the past: I had to find a cure against an extremely poisonous gas. A small bottle of it was enough to kill tens of thousands of people in a confined space. Our task was either to invent a shield or develop antidote against it. First and foremost, we needed to protect Ingernika's main weapon - combat mages - and guarantee their mobility, and only after that were we allowed to work on the safety of civilians.
Before my arrival, the team of army alchemists tried to develop a rubber robe with a proboscis and a big filter as a means of protection. I examined the prototype and realized it was so bulky and unmanageable that army mages would kill me for it. The idea of the robe with a proboscis was given up.
The scouts reported that Sa-Orio was about to start landing their troopers on the Southern Coast, so we experienced a catastrophic shortage of time. I began experimenting with dark magic - modified poison molecules with different dark spells - and I sent the results for antidote potency testing. The other group did the same with white magic, and we met every three days to discuss our progress.
Gradually we discovered two classes of spells, which affected the deadly gas. One of them used the presence of special, "tense" bonds in the poisonous molecules and irreversibly damaged them, while another utilized the difference in density between the lethal gas and the air. For the antidote we selected the first class of spells, and for the second one we planned to build shields. Our antidote amulets had to be suitable for everyday wear, or else we would face an additional problem of early detection of the poison.
The days flew swiftly and unnoticeably; the work was in full swing, and I completely forgot about artisans and my father's cache. I enormously enjoyed my creative and fruitful work, in comparison with which all my other experiences faded. My team of three dozen alchemists and magicians was laying down the foundation of a new field at the junction of magic and alchemy - technomagic.
For the field trials we were ready by the end of summer: fifty shields and fifty antidote-amulets were sent to the front line. All lab tests were successfully completed, and I was relatively free until we would get the results of the pilot tests. That's when I recalled my diary and father's cache waiting for me in Finkaun.
Shit! I got distracted for a second, and three months were gone. I went to my supervisors and requested a three-day vacation and a car. Obviously, noxious Larkes slandered me, because Kerpan's authorities reacted oddly to my request ("Do you have a problem? Would you like to talk about it?"). No, I did not want to talk about my father's cache - I was afraid they would confiscate it. I even called Bob Kvayfer, my supervisor in Suesson, to let him know that the army neglected the interests of the Roland Fund, because they forcibly drafted me!
The senior alchemist wasn't surprised with my sudden resurrection from the dead: "How are you doing, Tom? How's the defense of our homeland? Is it getting stronger?"
"At an insane speed."
"Take care of yourself there. Keep in mind, you won't get a quarterly bonus - ask your new employer for it."
It seemed that my sudden disappearance was explained to him by the needs of the army, and the sinister attempt on my life - by the machinations of foreign spies. It was smart of Larkes.
"I need to speak to Ronald Rest. I've left some important business unattended at home."
He didn't mind if my companions used the office phone. Next morning Quarters brought along Johan. The white apologized for the story about his passport.
"Forget about me." (I wasn't sincere. If I had talked to Johan face-to-face, I would have hit him in the face for not waiting a month or two before applying for a replacement.)
The white brightened up, "Our article is ready for publishing. Should I put your name in the black box?"
No, no! I didn't want the news about my "death" to reach my family.
Ron cheerfully reported on the status of the ore bacteria project (I was still paying for its implementation): "We can already make money on the biomining of copper. Johan is working on sets of organisms for nickel and chromium. We'll test whether they can operate simultaneously. I have applied for a patent on your behalf. Polak is away on a trip. He is negotiating with potential clients."
"Keep me informed."
"Uh-huh."
"What about my zombie?"
"Isn't Max with you?"
My heart skipped a beat, but I calmly continued, "Sorry, I meant my motorcycle."
"Ahh! I gathered all parts and pieces that survived the explosion. The wheels are bent in eighths, the frame's broken into tiny pieces, but the engine's okay - just a few scratches. Naturally, all the curses fell off."
Anyone would have dumped that scrap, but I, like a genuine Krauhardian, still worried about the deceased jalopy. "Do not throw out anything. I am hoping to fix it."
"By the way, Colonel Reich visited us recently with his team. They gave a heartfelt speech in your honour. And I understood more than half of it!"
Bastards! They wanted to have dinner at my expense! "Kick them out of the house. You all got out of hand! And Reich is especially unwelcome - he is a damn parasite!" The "cleaner" lost my dog, sponger!
Next I called Larkes. The senior coordinator patiently listened to my indignant rants, but showed no understanding: "You should've learned the laws of inheritance. Your companions could not keep your zombie due to the lack of dark magic abilities. Colonel Reich wasn't mentioned in your will, he wasn't related to you, and the dog was sent to the division for disposal of hazardous artifacts."
"Make them return my zombie immediately!"
"They can't. They've lost it."
"What?"
"Do not shout. I myself learned about it just a few days ago. Your hairy bastard pretended to be a stuffed animal, and the clerks decided that a zombie on the invoice was a joke."
"Where is he now? I need to go there immediately. I have to find Max!"
"No fuss. The dog hadn't gone mad; otherwise we would have heard about him by now. Yes, he could have collapsed, but it's too late to rush, anyway. An armed conflict with Sa-Orio has escalated; our amulets of instrumental control recorded the presence of imperial vessels in the territorial waters of Ingernika. They will begin any day now. As soon as the problem is solved, you'll get everything you want. Remember this: the damage your rabid zombie can cause is nothing compared to the losses in this war. Be patient."
I was gloomy as death, though nobody noticed it, because we all tensely waited for the results of the field trials. One empath attempted to make friends with me. I asked him whether he really wanted to have a friend-necromancer. The white guy disappeared, and his place was taken by an unpretentious man, looking like a sleeping heron, who followed me everywhere. Shit! Another curator!
Management tried to load me with more work: "Don't you want to practice magic? You seem to have a double degree. Our magic department is engaged in the reconstruction of ancient artifacts. You could really help with guessing its purpose."
On the same day a neat untitled folder appeared on my desk. My first move was to burn it, but curiosity won: why did they bother to work with the artifact, if its functions were unknown? What if they wasted time on something as useless as an antique magic lighter?
The diagram caused associations with the control module of a golem from Undegar's mines. The army experts wrote in conclusion that any ritual performed in accordance with the attached scheme was meaningless. Naturally, it would look like that if the main, functional part of the artifact wasn't present there. I guessed that the sectarians' ritual was like a switch for something bigger, turning it on/off. I had no idea about the function of the primary part and where it was hidden.
The diagram could be separated into seven independent blocks. I lined out the alleged blocks and went to boast about my brilliant insight. The head of the magic department showed me seven disks with colored metal inlays. But they didn't match the blocks on the scheme! I held the glass discs in my hands and felt like an idiot - reality had nothing to do with my fantasy.
"Are you sure the diagram is for these disks? Where did they come from?" I asked the seasoned dark mage.
He shrugged, "My superiors didn't tell me. The diagram was drawn by a witness of the ritual. The disks came later, through other channels."
Did Charak imply in his last visit that artisans acquired these disks?
"Could they be forged?"
The chief's eyes glistened with interest. "I didn't think about it. I'll check."
"Please do." If I was right, the army experts were fooled. The artisans had replaced the originals with forgeries.
I felt that I was stuck in the labs, wasting time, waiting and waiting for the imperial navy to begin its attack.
A few days after the war began: the Island of Horta was the first target of the imperial fleet. The wind from the sea blew on the island, making the use of poisonous gas safe for Sa-Orio's warriors. Two hours before dawn, catapults from imperial ships started shelling chemical bombs on the shore, and ripples of dense yellow fog crept in all directions. The death of the islands' defenders seemed to be imminent.
At dawn the ships began lowering boats for landing; the place had to become an outpost for Sa-Orio's attacks on the mainland. The empire's commanders were confident that with new weapons they could defeat Ingernika's sorcerers (they didn't have another choice - habitable areas in Sa-Orio were shrinking year after year).
The boat landing went as planned. When a few feet remained till the shoreline, silhouettes glowing green rose from the rocks, like ghouls from the tombs. Nostrils and the mouths of the monsters exhaled orange fire; the purple yarn of dark magic weavings writhed in the air above them. Without wasting time on angry screams or offers to surrender, the monsters hit from close range, and the surf became thick from dead bodies and blood.
In a moment, a carefully planned military operation turned into a nightmarish disaster. Sa-Orio's combatants could not withstand the counter-attack of Ingernika's army mages, but the ships continued to lower boats into the water - the empire lacked resources, the Marines weren't expected to come back. And hundreds of people meekly sailed toward their death - the enchanted warriors obeyed without questioning: spiritual patronage was a common thing in Sa-Orio.
If civil authorities had been represented on the bank of the Island of Horta, the carnage would have stopped, but the astute General Zertak made sure that the humanists didn't hang around. The general didn't want to worry about detaining and healing the half-witted imperial Marines. Zertak just casually mentioned to the curators that means of protection against the poison were still undergoing testing. The civilians chose not to risk their lives.
The surf was crimson from the blood, and the waves were bogged down in a dense mash of bodies and wreckage. Having rid itself of extra human burden, Sa-Orio's ships turned into the open sea, and the Imperial Marine Forces ceased to exist.
Chapter 21
We had won! National newspapers informed us about the Incident at the Island of Horta in a couple of lines, but the army alchemists celebrated the event for three days.
In the reports about the field tests of our gadgets (they were very touching - combat mages attempted to write in literary language), the new ammunition was praised by the majority of soldiers. This happened for the first time in twenty years! You bet! Our amulets made the Army men look so monstrous that they didn't need to use operational curses: the enemies were dying from fear. Only the Army commanders were unhappy: the gags in their mouths didn't let them swear. I wondered what they would have said about a hoodie with a proboscis.
I congratulated my team on their success and recommended them for promotions. I myself was going to leave the Kerpan labs. First, I had to find Max. Rustle commiserated with me and gave some hints in which direction to look for my zombie - in the far south. How Max reached the Southern Coast was a mystery, and I was afraid to think what my dog was doing there.
My risky trip required thorough preparation: the Southern Coast of Ingernika was almost alien territory for me. If I was caught in something semi-illegal, Larkes would not help, because the chief of Southwestern NZAMIPS was Axel, a squalid old man, who began hating me at first sight. Orthodox dark magicians like him were unable to like people. If you managed to attract their attention - you were out of luck, and I inherited from my father a propensity to show off.
Ideally, I would have been well-equipped to meet Axel, if I had taken from Suesson my bug-golems and collection of alchemical potions, but it was a bad idea. Of course, artisans weren't watching my grave, but a rumor about a dark magician raised from the dead would have spread and reached them. Then all my troubles disguising myself were in vain! I decided to appropriate some stuff from the Kerpan labs - they had to compensate me for my inconveniences. I "borrowed" from their warehouse so many valuable ingredients that it would have sufficed for an average "cleaner" for two years. No one in the labs really minded my misuse of government assets. For my alchemical work I earned a hundred thousand crowns and, as a bonus, three sets of documents in different names (a gift from Larkes). One was my original passport, and the two others were into obscure dark and white names. Should I view the white name as recognition of my acting talent or as a subtle insult? I decided to travel under my own name and hid the ambiguous gift at the bottom of my roomy gripsack - the only piece of luggage in my possession at the moment.
I still needed to get rid of the heron from support services, stubbornly following me everywhere. I knew it was against the rules to flee from your curator, but they would need to catch me first and then read out these same rules against me - what if I, stupidly, wasn't aware of them? I guessed the guy was my personal curator, but why were we not introduced to each other officially? Regrettably, the gloomy bastard did not want to get drunk or swallow tea with a laxative.
Time was ticking. After finding my dog, I needed to search for my father's missing library, not to mention the mysterious ancient artifact. I was close to just beating the curator, when fortune smiled on me: I found out that both labs of highest magic safety had two exits, and from one you couldn't see another. The rest was trivial. The drunken and happy director signed my resignation letter, which I cleverly wrote on a quarter of a sheet, so it looked like a requisition form for ordering supplies. I put the letter on the secretary's desk five minutes before the end of the work day. My curator was sitting on a bench in front of the lab, when I left through another exit without saying farewell to my coworkers.
A night train picked me up at an unnamed station and drove to the south. The trip was going to take a whole week, as opposed to travelling on the transcontinental express that could have delivered me in four days. Longer was actually better - I needed to heal my nerves.
A beaten-by-life locomotive steadily pulled the train through the populous northwestern region, across eastern Suesson, and through the western edge of Inner Desert and Polisant, where we
were making noticeably fewer stops: it was a hot, deserted area. After Mihandrov we stopped just once, and it was a forced break - conductors had to inspect the wheels. While their voices and hammers clanked outside, twilight fell, and a colored glow began to play over the flat hills. I saw a similar harmless illumination in Krauhard, but here it made conductors nervously look around and hurry up. I was told that strange things often occurred in this part of Polisant: all the water from a lake could disappear in one day, or minus twenty Celsius frost could hit in the middle of summer. This mess was viewed as the weather after-effects of White Halak.
The Southwestern division of "cleaners" was based somewhere nearby, but they couldn't tightly control the situation with the otherworldly on such a godforsaken territory. So a barrier was established to separate Polisant from the Southern Coast, which was a tourist attraction. The Barrier was a masterpiece of dark magic and the most powerful warding curse in the world.
I looked forward to encountering this gimmick. They said it was created by a team of over forty magicians, and some of them were sacrificed at that. I had never participated in a ritual with sacrifices! The university did not teach us that. I learned about forbidden magic practices by accident - when I rummaged through Uncle Gordon's rarities. Artisans kill people as they see fit, while decent dark mages aren't even taught the principle.
Conductors went through all carriages and advised passengers to stay calm. The locomotive, spitting dense steam, crept into the Golden Gate Canyon (literally "golden"; gold is one of the best known materials to hold magic). The outer layer of the Golden Gate barrier consisted of regular warding spells, but the core was many orders more complex, unbelievably intricate and transcendentally intellectual. For a moment I felt someone's attention and managed to say Hello, but the feeling was quickly gone - the artifact identified me as one of its own kind and let me go. I wondered what options were available to the Golden Gate, if the Barrier didn't like somebody.
The Fixer Of God's Ways (retail) Page 13
