My Path to Magic

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  * * *

  The senior coordinator came to Baer in the late afternoon, black and as fearsome as an unrested corpse; with somnambulistic precision he found an unfinished bottle of whiskey behind the cabinet and began to pour its contents into a teacup. Angry Satal either forgot that he could just call his subordinate on the phone or decided to walk before he would talk and let his irritation subside.

  "Where is this underage fag? He was supposed to come today," Satal tipped the contents of his cup in his mouth, as into a sink.

  Locomotive winced: a drunken dark magician wasn't exactly what he wanted for Christmas.

  "He came to me."

  "Did you let him go?!"

  "No, I did not. I sent him on assignment," Locomotive decided that logical arguments wouldn't work at this moment.

  "Where to?"

  "To Mihandrov."

  Satal suspiciously squinted his almost sober eyes. "How do you know about Mihandrov?"

  "From the files. He's got a brother there."

  "Ah!" Satal leaned back in his chair with a pleased countenance, immediately losing his battle fervor.

  It was now Baer's turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously: "Is anything wrong?"

  "Nothing," the magician waved vigorously, almost knocking the empty bottle onto the floor. "I will... no, better you call them tomorrow and alert that our employee is coming. Let them meet him."

  "Is it worth it?" Locomotive hesitated, suspecting some kind of terrible villainy in that.

  "Yes, it is!" Satal announced with drunken peremptoriness. "I'll go to the capital after Christmas. I hope that at least Axel will be on my side. Did he need a magician? We've sent the best one!" The coordinator hiccupped loudly and uttered with some effort: "Confidentially."

  Locomotive figured out how much alcohol Satal had taken on per pound of weight and decided that his boss would last for five minutes, but then he would have to drag him to the guardhouse for the night.

  "Do you think our guy will cope?"

  Satal thoughtfully breathed through his nose. "I cannot deal with the white; they drive me crazy. Is his brother white? Yes! Exactly what we need. If Tangor did not kill his brother growing up, he will handle this."

  Chapter 27

  Protected by magic from any weather, the transcontinental express looked as if it had just rolled out of the train depot, as though it hadn't experienced the snowstorms of continental Ingernika, desert winds blowing over the capital's neighborhoods, and alternating sun, rain, and frost in between. Against the backdrop of Polisant's grassy hills, the train looked like a beautiful toy; only tiny human figures, bustling around the sleepers, betrayed its true scale. Hired carriages had already harvested newcomers and driven them through the hills to where the expanse of a great lake sharply glittered. Mihandrov was ready to welcome strangers who tired of snow and cold weather, and the express flew further into the arms of the humid tropics of the Southern Coast.

  "Disgrace, what a disgrace!" a well-dressed gentleman lamented; he wore a pin, "Thirty Years in the Police Service," that he had obviously inherited.

  "Do not worry, sir," a whiskered driver habitually comforted his boss. "It's not your fault! The station attendant on duty misled you."

  "Ah, Alfred, I could have seen him with my own eyes if I had looked around a little!"

  The driver did not argue with that. The only car in all of Mihandrov rolled along the winding streets, cheerfully sneezing. Not too fast though, as Mr. Clarence had to exchange greetings with all the passers, and there were a lot of them on the eve of Christmas.

  "Hello, Mr. Luhmann!... Uncle Barry… Aunt Melons… Happy holidays, Mr. Festor!"

  Clarence knew half of Mihandrov's inhabitants from his childhood, and the other half was related to him. If the only town's policeman had not worn his famous badge, the trip would have ended almost immediately—he would be required to talk with each passer-by.

  "It's already after 2 p.m.," the driver tried to reason with his superior (as a civilian employee, he wasn't paid for overtime). "It's Christmas Eve. Wouldn't it be better if we search for our guest tomorrow?"

  "You do not understand, Alfred! Dark mages are very quick to take offense. We have not met him at the station, and what if he doesn't get the room because of his dog?"

  "I think, sir, a dark magician can stand for himself."

  "That's what I'm afraid of!"

  The driver tried to hide his heavy sigh in the background noise of the engine; the car reached the intersection, and he had to deaden the engine: he could not afford to drive the wrong way—turning around on the narrow streets was simply not an option.

  "Hello, Aunt Tusho!" Mr. Clarence called to a thin elderly woman in a bonnet with ribbons, mincing along the street with a plump parcel in her hands. "Have you seen a stranger with a dog?"

  "Yes, yes!" Mrs. Tusho smiled, delighted by the attention of an important person. "They went to the Mrs. Parker's B&B."

  "Thank you," Mr. Clarence kindly smiled, and Alfred pressed the gas pedal right away; he didn't want to waste half an hour, picking neighbors to pieces with the talkative old woman. Vain efforts! By the time they got out of town and reached the comfortable two-story mansion of Mrs. Parker, the guest was not there.

  "The young man checked in and left," said the landlady, a stout middle-aged woman with sparkles in her hair. "He did not say where to. If I knew it was important..."

  "Do not worry, madam, our business can wait till tomorrow!" Alfred resolutely took matters into his own hands. Noticing that his boss was ready to object, he quickly added, "Sir, I think the magician is off on a personal matter, and he'll not like it if we pursue him."

  "Yes, you are right, my friend," Mr. Clarence gave up. "Nothing can be done today; we will have to come back tomorrow. Madam Parker, I rely on you! Our guest should not feel uncomfortable."

  "Don't doubt even for a moment. Happy Christmas!" the hostess smiled coquettishly to Alfred and flew off to her own guests—the eldest son had brought her first grandchild for the holidays.

  * * *

  The boarding school of the town of Mihandrov looked impressive: delicately executed decoration on cast-iron gates (beyond comparison to the modern styles), heavily enchanted oil lamps (rare electric bulbs could shine so brightly), large light buildings, its own marina and park that even Quarters' uncle could not afford in Redstone. From the gate I saw cobbled walks fleeing into the distance, trees of great girth, a strange grove where flowers and fruits quietly grew side by side, a garden of flower beds where everything (absolutely everything) was in bloom. No comparison with Krauhard… I wondered how Joe was able to send Lyuchik to such a place without recommendation. Or had he managed to get some?

  I suddenly discovered that I knew little about my stepfather, even less than I knew about my deceased father. For a dark mage such lack of curiosity was normal; but it started annoying me—when I was ready to ask the right questions, something prevented me from finding the answers. I missed my chance to talk to Chief Harlik, for example...

  Deep in thought, I entered the gate and stood still with the silliest look; a leopard ending up in antelope paradise by mistake must feel that way. In the square outside the gate people were bustling (probably getting ready for Christmas), and they were all white, every one: students, their teachers, and those parents who decided to spend holidays with their children at school. In fact, educational institutions were recommended to keep the ratio of mages to ordinary people at fifty-fifty, but either the rest of the pupils left for the holidays, or the administration could not scrape enough ordinary children to follow the correct proportion. One way or another, even the porter meeting the guests in a spangled jacket and a cap with a large pink bow was one of the white. That was crazy...

  I must say that I had not thought through the moment of my meeting with Lyuchik. At the university, all white mages were adults, and at home the white were my own family. But a crowd of unfamiliar white kids with an unknown degree of sanity was a different story. How
should I conduct myself with them? I felt like falling into hysterics! Having made two deep breaths and filled voice with as much honey as my tin student throat could withstand, I approached the porter: "Hello. How can I find Luciano Tamironi?"

  Well, at least I had managed to recall his last name, and only because Joe wrote me letters.

  The porter looked at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, which usually took place when a guess had not reached one's consciousness yet but was already scary. Sweet. And I hadn't done anything yet.

  "Thomas!" it was a joyful cry from behind, and at the same moment Lyuchik jumped on my back (he seemed to put on weight).

  "Hi, bro!" I said when I managed to regain my balance. "Here I am. Not too late?"

  "Right on time! Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone." He already turned to the woozy porter, "This is my brother! He came to stay with me for the holidays."

  And Lyuchik pulled me around to scare people.

  "This is Ms. Aster, a teacher of botany. My brother came to me for the holidays! Mr. Tanat, a teacher of math. My brother, for the holidays! My classmates. My brother!"

  And wherever we went, a tail of shocked silence waved behind us.

  "Listen, what did you tell them about me?"

  "That you are the best dark mage in Krauhard!"

  Hmm. I hoped nobody would choke at the banquet table. The garden and the guests quickly left behind, but Lyuchik pulled me further: "Now we let the directrix know that you've come, and then I'll show you my room!"

  Okay, the guests would have time to recover and decide where to run. Well, did I really care about their heart attacks?

  Nevertheless, some incidents did happen. We had been searching for the elusive headmistress for a quarter of an hour already (I suspected that she ran after us, but was one turn behind), when a gray-haired, middle-aged white appeared from the depths of the park. The magician wore a slightly old-fashioned frock coat with a handkerchief in the upper pocket. He plodded, deep in thought, without looking around and, obviously, not in the direction of the Christmas party.

  Lyuchik's behavior changed dramatically: he stopped jumping, ceremoniously took my hand, and muttered in a low voice, "This is our assistant principal, Mr. Fox."

  Well, I could understand his timidity before superiors; even I, a fearless dark magician, committed the same sin, for example, in relation to Satal...

  We, as cultured people, approached the gray-haired gentleman and politely greeted him.

  "Sir," Lyuchik showed his best manners, "this is my brother, Thomas. I told you about him. He came to celebrate Christmas with us."

  Mr. Fox allowed himself to notice us. His reaction was strange: when he looked at me, his eyes widened, and his face became contorted by a grimace of almost mystical horror—as if he met a speaking ghoul. Though it lasted only for a moment and was hidden by his curly white beard, I did notice his impression of me. The elderly man looked worse than deceased in coffin.

  I even started feeling ashamed.

  "Nice to meet you!" I held out my hand, but the teacher looked at it as if it were a live cobra.

  Well, that was the first strikeout. I thought that the main problem would be the kids!

  But as soon as I started to speak, Mr. Fox came to senses and, with some effort, pulled himself together. In short, he finally shook my outstretched hand.

  "Thomas... uh?" he smiled questioningly.

  "Tangor! Thomas Tangor," I tried not to shake his hand too vigorously.

  "Luciano...?"

  "We have the same mother but different fathers."

  "I see..."

  Mr. Fox's face slowly regained color.

  "I've heard a lot about you."

  "I'm flattered!"

  "Have you ever been to Mihandrov before?"

  "Alas, no."

  "How do you like our town?"

  "It's pleasantly sweet."

  He stared at me as though he suspected a dirty joke. What did I have to say? "Not a bad village, but not enough brothels?" Wisely deciding to ignore my responses, Mr. Fox finally drew himself up a bit and even assumed a dignified air.

  "I suppose you won't stay for the banquet," he said in a secular tone.

  "What is your problem, a shortage of food?" I asked to clarify.

  "Food has nothing to do..."

  Ah! He must have seen a lot of drunken dark magicians.

  "Do not worry; I'm not inclined to abuse alcohol!"

  At least not in his company.

  "We will not serve alcohol," he said with some glee.

  "Even better." I always wanted to know how the white were having fun. "I can tell a few anecdotes."

  "Please don't," Mr. Fox was very serious.

  "Okay, I won’t," I said agreeably.

  At that moment Lyuchik found a chance to intervene. "Thomas will stay for the party," he said with some pressure. "I talked about him with Mrs. Hemul, and she didn't mind."

  "She simply did not believe your brother would come," Fox smiled indulgently.

  He was an atypically nasty white. What else would he say in front of the child?

  "Do you possess telepathic abilities?" I asked with awe in my voice, trying to catch his eye (that used to be very unnerving to the white). "Are you so intimate with Mrs. Hemul?"

  "Who spreads dirty rumors about me?" a melodious female voice cheerfully sang behind us. The local headmistress was young, pretty, and a white mage at that, as her daisy brooch of rock crystal clearly indicated; the brooch seemed to be a symbol of one of the schools of healers. Judging by her tense look, she was already informed about my visit and came to rescue the situation.

  "You see, Mrs. Hemul, Luciano's half-brother came here for the holidays," Fox said pointedly.

  Why was he talking about me as if I was absent? I firmly took the initiative, moved him aside with my shoulder, and smiled most charmingly: "Thomas Tangor, at your service! Unfortunately, I haven't been introduced to you. Lyuchik was telling me so much about the school that I could not resist the temptation to view it. I hope I did not cause any problems?"

  "Not at all," she weakly protested, and I grabbed her hand and kissed it.

  Mr. Fox almost winced. An old lecher!

  "I will go and make arrangements for another seat," Mrs. Hemul flew off, flushing from embarrassment.

  "Are you staying for just one day?" Lyuchik asked cautiously.

  "Why?" I was surprised. "I will stay with you for the entire two weeks. You live in a gorgeous climate. I just got off the train; tomorrow I will bring gifts. If you do not like some, you'll give them to your friends."

  Fox snorted indignantly. What did I say wrong?

  We toured the school property, accompanied by the watchful assistant principal: we walked through the garden and greenhouse, looked at the pond and the brook (why did they need that parody of the swamp, when a real lake was a stone's throw away?), visited ponies in the school's stables, and sat in Lyuchik's room. I wished I lived like that... To be honest, that place was worth the money I paid.

  The alcohol-free banquet promised by the assistant principal began exactly at a quarter past seven.

  Naturally, they didn't put kids next to me (except Lyuchik), but that was even better: adults had longer hands when you wanted something to be passed over the table. I methodically tried every unfamiliar dish, placing on my brother's plate the most delicious (in my opinion) pieces. Among the treats, meat was clearly underrepresented but, thinking what could happen if the white kids saw a whole roasted piglet, it was certainly better to stay away from the meat.

  Lyuchik didn't care about the food; he hastened to narrate the events of the past four months in great detail. I nodded as usual and wondered how he managed to remember not only what and where he saw things, but also what he thought about them at that moment. I wish I could dump on someone my own experiences, curse my teacher obscenely, grumble about the blatant monster (Rustle was inaudible today for some reason), and complain about my ruined youth. However, it would
be induced psychosis, the dark do not behave like that, and excessive talkativeness for a combat mage is generally considered pathology. Preoccupied with those thoughts, I ate twice as much as usual and almost fell asleep.

  There were no interesting neighbors at the table. A couple across from me discussed with their child the style of her summer dress ("white lace?" followed by "lace, lace!"), and it was all about the lace for ten minutes in a row. Edan Satal did not seem so vile at all, in comparison. Before I wondered who wrote strange books about talking rabbits, in which all the characters expressed themselves as if they had no brains, but hydraulic brakes instead. Good that alcohol was not served—from the first glass I would have lost control over my tongue, and the sweet children would have learned a lot about human physiology and student life.

  Should I flee maybe? I mean finish the trip earlier. I would not stand two weeks in such an environment. But as soon as I recalled that Redstone was now cold, nasty, and snowy, and Quarters had become gay?... the company of the white didn't seem so bad.

  After an unbearably long two hours at the banquet table, the guests were offered a break to warm up and dance. I was as good at dancing as a wild boar in ballet; besides, I ate too much. While pupils and their parents volunteered for an amateur orchestra, I managed to drag my chair to the opposite corner of the dancing hall and settle there in comfort.

  I quickly gathered an audience around myself. Such attention did not bother me: the white were like sparrows; the worst they could do would be taking a dump on my head.

  "Is it true?" the bravest kid had the courage to ask.

  "What exactly?" I asked good-naturedly.

  "That you are a dark magician," he blurted out, looking as if he demanded that I confess to cannibalism.

  I experienced a rare attack of good manners: "You needed to say a 'combat mage'," I gently reproached the kid. "Yes, I am a combat mage."

  Then came tense silence—I was closely examined to see if I had any unusual parts of the body. I wondered whether those guys had seen even one dark in their life?