Brannon spread Blackwhit's map on the housekeeper's desk. Redfern took a predatory aim at her, amulet in hand. The pyromaniac's eyes burned, his nostrils fluttered, his lips parted in a half-rock, revealing white teeth. The Commissar had already seen a similar expression on another face - when that man was breaking out from under Longsdale's guise.
"Or I'm imagining it because of what Jen said about their kinship," Brannon frowned. However, if the pyromaniac told him his real name, then it makes sense to dig deeper in this direction. But later.
The pyromaniac reached out over the map and muttered an incantation in a language Nathan did not know. The amulet boat rhythmically rocked back and forth; out of the corner of his eye, the commissar noticed that the policemen at the entrance crossed themselves, one even folded a fig and showed it to Redfern's back. A deep irritation rolled over Brennon. How long to?! He's used to it!
The monotonous mumbling ended. Redfern froze, eyes closed. The amulet still swayed until a pale spark appeared in the green crystal. It flared up into a flame that filled the entire crystal from the inside. The amulet froze, pulling on the chain. The boat pecked downward, the chain slipping in a trickle between Angel's fingers. The amulet described several wide circles above the map and, having made an arc from Kintagel to the center, swerved towards the park, fell and darted around it. Redfern released the chain, the amulet slid into the green square in its entirety.
"It won't be more precise," the pyromaniac assured. "Only if we get closer."
Brannon put both hands on the map and hovered over a large square of the park.
"And on the street will you find the trail?"
"Of course," Redfern replied irritably. "Otherwise, why the hell I make it?" he put the amulet in his pocket and traced the park with his finger: "Is there a plan of this place? What's inside?"
The Commissar pondered. Longsdale had gotten the Parks' plans in abundance somewhere, but how do they get into his house without Jen?
"What the hell did he forget there?" the pyromaniac muttered, looked out the window. "It is already getting dark, but all the same surely he wouldn't perform rituals in front of the public?"
"The public is optional," Nathan said suddenly. "In the park there are all sorts of gazebos, pavilions, these, like their... rotundas. Okay, there's nothing to sit around," the commissar jerked up and rushed to the door, calling out as he walked: "Kelly! Byrne! The maniac was spotted near the park. I go there, ten volunteers with me! And you?" he turned to the pyromaniac. "Are you waiting for fanfare and silk carpets under your feet?"
"The habit of commanding is indestructible," Redfern grunted and slipped past the commissar to the porch. Detective Byrne ran out of Stilton's apartment and hung over the railing; his one eye anxiously fixed on Brannon.
"Will you go without me, sir? With this one?"
"This one" silently pierced the detective with an unblinking, snake-like gaze.
"And ten more volunteers," Brennon reminded him. "Finish with the apartment, interrogate the neighbors and guard here - a frightened bird can fly to the nest. Send someone to report to Broyd."
"Sir, but you are sure... Maniac... what if he rushes at you?"
"Don't be afraid," Redfern said venomously. "I'll be there!" and proudly withdrew, leaving the front door wide open. Brannon hurried after him and caught the Pyromaniac by the arm just as he was nestled in his carriage.
"I'm with you," Nathan said calmly in response to the menacing, indignant look. The pyromaniac hissed obvious obscenities in a foreign language and whipped the horses. The horses let out a screeching whinny, more like a howling scream, and dashed forward so fast that Brannon instinctively grabbed the seat.
Ignoring the pedestrians, Redfern drove straight for the Park, only the wind whistled in the ears, and the police carriage was hopelessly behind at the beginning of Rosemont road. Nathan practically on the fly was trying to figure out how many slaves the maniac might have under his command right now. It takes at least two people to get Longsdale and his hound from Kintagel to the Park, because one of them is going to overstrain carrying bodies from the Church to the cart. But is there still a third to watch over Margaret?
"Can you neutralize him?!" The commissar shouted, trying not to think about what would happen if the maniac captured Redfern. The pyromaniac threw back his coat in response, revealing a holster on his hip.
"Not to death!"
"We will see!" the niece's mentor said, but his eyes flashed so wildly and anticipatingly that Nathan realized that he didn't need a reason.
The gray wall of the park flashed in front of them, then a closed cast-iron gate appeared. The Commissar barely had time to figure out if the carriage would pass in them and where to get the keys, when Redfern barked something, and the gate was blown off like a lace curtain. The horses, without slowing down, rushed into the park.
"Take it!" the pyromaniac handed the amulet into Brennon: the boat jerked like a crazy, poking the green crystal somewhere to the left.
"Keep left!"
The carriage heeled at the sharp turn, and Redfern pulled on the reins, forcing the horses to slow down. They rushed past a pair of marble maidens (symbolizing something there), and Nathan tried to figure out where they were going. Ahead of them some kind of wide alley lay with lanterns, benches and shape trimmed bushes. The amulet pulled on the chain, jabbing right into the bushes.
"More to the left!" the commissar hissed and involuntarily closed his eyes when the horses rushed into the thicket.
"In ignis!" Redfern shouted; the bushes flared and crumbled to ash and coals under the onslaught of a bay pair. The carriage bounced on the curb.
"Straight! A little to the left," commanded the commissar. Snow poured from under the hooves, and Brennon thought that his salary for six months would not be enough to repair such damage to the lawn, bushes and park property.
They swept across the lawn between two rows of stately ship pines, and then the amulet told them to get out onto the path and drive to the right. Fortunately, Brennon recalled, after the third corpse, the management of the park thought of closing it to visitors, what came under the kelp's hooves. Benches, lanterns, bushes and flower beds merged into one blurred background.
"Easy, easy!" Nathan shouted at the pyromaniac. "We are too distant from my people!"
"You can jump!"
Still, Redfern pulled on the reins slightly, the wild flickering slowed a little, and soon the Commissar realized that the amulet had led them into the old park. Sometimes no one appeared here for days, except the park keepers. The paths were not cleaned, the bushes were not cut, and the further, the more the park resembled a forest. People did not like to be here, because once this place was part of the domain of the imperial governor - a garden around his pavilion for dancing parties.
"Pavilion!" Brennon howled, jumping into the seat. "I'll be damned!"
Redfern turned to look at him. The pyromaniac's eyes grew even larger, and he swore, using epithets that even the Commissar would not have chosen at once.
"Stupid thing!" Redfern hissed. "I should have known right away! On the same f***ing night!"
Brannon did not ask in which one; was too busy with a belated insight. So that the governors-general of the imperial province would not die of boredom among the vile Catholic papists, a garden with a large pavilion was laid out next to the residence. Over time, the garden was merged with the park, and after the revolution it became public domain along with the pavilion. And if the police Commissar were not such an idiot, he would immediately, after Longsdale's words about an unknown ritual, rush to dig his nose in the earth in the old park!
"Ooh, you cretin!"
The pyromaniac pulled on the reins, and the carriage stood in front of the pavilion. The amulet was still pushing forward, and the commissar heard the soft creak of snow beneath someone's footsteps. Redfern jumped to the ground; Nathan followed.
"Can you protect yourself from him?" the commissar whispered.
"I don't know," Redfern said. "But I know who can," and began to unharness the horse.
"And... you... well..." Brennon choked, remembered what kind of creature it was, and muttered: "She won't eat him?"
"We will see."
There are deep wheel tracks in the snow. They led to a lush elderberry, above which a pillared portico protruded. The Kelpie snorted greedily and pulled her muzzle forward, apparently smelling the prey. Redfern led the animal by the reins, and Brennon thought that this skinny guy would never hold her back if the horse took it into its head to make a sudden lunge. They rounded the pavilion.
In front of the back door stood a carriage drawn by a exhausted horse. The door was ajar and Nathan saw the edge of a large box inside. There were no people around, only narrow footprints in the snow went around the corner.
"Why did he leave everything here?" Brennon muttered.
"Maybe he's gone to take a piss," Redfern glared at the drawer. "Or maybe he went to look for those who should help him with the box."
"Went to look for? For God's sake, he would just order them to drag themselves in here!"
The Commissar and the pyromaniac exchanged glances. A strange expression appeared on Redfern's face that sounded like an undercurrent of satisfaction.
"Oh, yes," he purred, "it looks like Longsdale didn't go unconscious for long."
"But the maniac could have captured him too... or could not?" Brannon considered. If he could - why then befuddle? And if he couldn't? If twofold essences are beyond his control? The Kelpie rumbled deeply nearby. Nathan heard footsteps and pulled a revolver from its holster. The dry click of the trigger sounded like a shot in the silence.
The maniac appeared from around the corner. He walked with his head bowed, lost in thought. Brannon's stomach lurched - he finally saw this bastard! What amazed most of all was that the bastard was short, thin to the point of fragility and miniature, as if...
The maniac stopped and raised his head. In the gray, dull twilight, the Commissar saw his face for the first time.
"Oh my God!" Brennon wheezed. The pyromaniac turned deathly pale and recoiled:
"Woman!"
And missed the reins.
***
Longsdale removed one of the kidnappers ' coats and wrapped them around Margaret. The girl trembled weakly: the pain from the kick was spreading on her side more and more, which she stopped noticing for several minutes when the consultant happened... this. The hound wandered around worriedly beside her, nuzzling her skirt.
"Come with me!. I'll take you to Missis van Allen."
"Will you take me? On what?"
"They probably have a carriage. They somehow brought me from Kintagel and you - from the cafe."
"Yeah," Margaret muttered. Her thoughts and feelings were all absorbed in what she saw right now. She touched trembling fingers to her lips. She could swear that it was a completely different person! But how can it be that in just a second he forgot what he did and changed so much?!
Margaret stumbled toward the stairs after Longsdale. He stopped, took the girl in his arms and carried her. Miss Sheridan clung to him, but he did not respond to her embrace, only the red-haired hound purred softly from below.
"He was bewitched," Margaret thought. "Cursed! Because of this, he is so... so..."
She did not find the words - which, but she knew that if that other person had stayed - oh, if he had stayed! Closing her eyes from fatigue, the girl saw his face again - and the look, sad and tender... Margaret sighed intermittently and cried out weakly: her side ached more than ever.
"Not long now," Longsdale said. "Valentina will help you."
They got to the room. Longsdale went to the window and Miss Sheridan shuddered: there were fresh tracks in the snow. "He's here!" the girl pressed into the savior. But then why is the maniac still...
Outside there was a shrill, howling whinny, in which Margaret recognized the voice of a kelpie, and then a shot rang out.
"Angel!" The girl shouted. "There's Angel! He caught him! Hurry! Help him!"
The hound snorted in displeasure, and at that moment they heard the furious exclamation of Commissar Brannon. Longsdale put Margaret on the floor, kicked out the window with his shoulder, and dashed to the right where the footprints led. The hound darted between the window and Margaret, whined pitifully and finally set to the floor at the girl's feet, bared its fangs and reared its fur.
Miss Sheridan sank down onto the cold marble with a sigh. She couldn't even take a step. In addition, the side was burning with fire and did not really let her breathe. When she finally scraped the rest of her strength into a fist, got up and dragged to the door, the hound tried to block her path, looking imploringly into her face and clinging to the hem with his paws.
"I have to," the girl whispered. - I need to see!
The animal sniffed and framed its withers to her.
***
Brennon had time to make out her in the moment when everything froze in equilibrium - fragile, dark-eyed, with shortly cropped fluffy hair, brown, but heavily touched by gray hair, with a thin triangular face - pale skin tightly wrapped around her cheekbones, a sharp chin and hooked nose. The woman looked forty or forty-five. Seeing them, she swayed, raised her hand, as if in defense, and stifle hissed. The kelpie let out a howling screeching whinny, reared up and rushed to prey. The commissar woke up and fired. A bullet whistled over the horse's back, and the thing slammed into the woman with its chest, throwing her several yards away.
- To stand! Nathan shouted. - Hold her!
Redfern blinked, but didn't move. The Kelpie rushed at the woman, but she managed to crawl a little, and sharp fangs closed on her shin. The commissar darted to them, with difficulty dodged the flexible scaly tail and grabbed the reins, wound it around his elbow and pulled with all his might. The Kelpie hissed viciously and knocked Brannon off his feet with a kick of his tail. The woman twisted and shot it in the muzzle with a small pistol. The bullet ripped out several scales and a clump of skin under the waterhorse's eye.
"Help!" the bell struck in Nathan's head. The Commissar shivered. He realized that the maniac was ordering him, but he just froze, not moving. But why doesn't it work on him?..
"Help!"
Brannon looked down at his hand. The amulet chain was wrapped around his wrist; something pulsed inside the crystal. Nathan clenched the amulet in his fist.
"Help!"
The woman kicked the kelpie in the face with her heel - the snow under her was already thickly colored red. Brannon got to his knees and pulled on the reins, pulling the horse away from the victim. The brute turned out to be strong - the commissar's back and shoulders were cramped, sweat flowed down the spine. But he can't let this creature devour the criminal!
Suddenly, the consultant flew out from around the corner of the pavilion, and he looked like a slave from a galley. He loudly barked some kind of spell and threw forward a clenched fist. The kelpie's muzzle jerked as if from a blow. The water horse screeched shrilly, reared, beat through the air with its leathery wings. Before Longsdale clawed paws with membranes flashed, but he grabbed them like the hands of a hysterical lady, squeezed and growled a short phrase in the face of the creature in a language Nathan did not understand. The Kelpie recoiled, whinnied shrilly, and bit off the reins. Brannon collapsed onto his back; a sinuous, silvery body swept over him and disappeared into the park.
"Well, thank God," thought Nathan, stood up and found Longsdale strangling the wriggling criminal, his hand over her mouth and nose.
"What are you doing?!"
"Disarming," The consultant looked up at him with clear blue eyes. "She does not give in to sleep and hypnosis. Do you have something to bandage her?"
Brennon mechanically fumbled through his pockets, and then it hit him:
"Peggy! Where is Peggy?!"
"Don't worry, I left her in the pavilion, guarded by the hound."
The Commissar turned to the pyromaniac to order him to help bandage the woman - but Redfern was gone.
***
The door in the hall was an insurmountable obstacle for Margaret. The girl did not have enough strength to move the bolt, besides, from each sharp movement, pain hit her in the ribs, dug into her lungs and did not allow her to concentrate on the spell.
Miss Sheridan sat down on the windowsill. A pair of long, narrow windows to the left and right of the doors were bolted shut. The girl pulled one, covered with a thick layer of oil, and on top - a layer of dust. Margaret spat on the edge of the hem, rubbed a gap in the layers and pushed the latch until it crawled away with an effort.
Miss Sheridan flung open the windows, breathed in the fresh, frosty air that made her dizzy, and sat down on the windowsill to rest. The hound put his face on her lap and she patted his thick, round mane. The hound blinked sweetly and ran its tail across the floor.
Finally, when the cold began to tingle perceptibly, Margaret dangled her legs outward, braced herself and jumped off. The pain immediately hit the ribs and shot into the lungs so that the girl gasped and fell to her knees. The hound whined briefly and scraped the window frame too narrow for him with his paws.
"Margaret!"
Through the wet veil in her eyes, the girl saw a tall, thin figure. An indistinct scream escaped from Margaret; she jumped up and rushed to Angel. The last dash drained her, and the girl hung on Redfern with a faint groan. He pulled her to him. As soon as Angel's hands closed around Miss Sheridan, tears rolled to her eyes, and, whispering "Oh, I'm sorry!", she buried in his chest and bit her lip so as not to cry like a baby.
Angel's hand glided gently over the girl's hair and shoulders, and this made her want to sob even more. He pressed his lips to the top of Margaret's head and accidentally pressed his elbow on her side. She gave a shrill cry. The ground slipped from under her feet, Angel's face with large dark eyes disappeared into the fog, and a second later Margaret realized that she was being carried. Again!
"It's all me," she whispered. "I'm such a fool..."
"Well, not quite such," said Angel. A silvery shadow flickered over them, and Margaret involuntarily cringed. "Don't be afraid, it's kelpie."
The kelpie landed in front of them, and Redfern sat the girl on its back. He sat down behind her, making sure not to touch Margaret's side, picked up the bits of the reins and whistled briefly. The water horse soared without a run into the air and laid a wide circle over the pavilion. Miss Sheridan clung to her mentor. Below she saw the hound, which somehow got out and now, growling, rushed in front of the house.
"He should be taken to the consultant," Margaret whispered.
"He will find it himself. I will take you to a safe haven and deal with your wounds."
"To Valentina?" The girl asked timidly. This refuge no longer seemed safe to her.
"No," Angel replied evasively. The kelpie glided low over the pavilion, and on the other side Margaret found her uncle, Longsdale, and some man who was either strangled or revived by the consultant while the Commissar bandaged the stranger's leg with his scarf.
"Don't worry, I've made an agreement with your uncle."
"Who is it?" Asked Margaret; her tongue barely moved, but she had to know if this person...
"It's the maniac," Redfern said after a short pause. The girl shuddered so that she almost slid off the kelpie:
"Maniac?! But there is my uncle! Suddenly this man, suddenly he..."
"It's not he," Angel said slowly. "It's she."