"How could I agree to this?" Brennon muttered woefully. The hound sighed sympathetically.
The moon shone over the sea, spreading a pale glow along the horizon. Horses in two carriages nibbled peacefully while Longsdale and Margaret spread the wreckage of the frigate on the sand. Redfern was busy calculating something in his notebook. The Commissar returned to studying the ship manifest, which was sent to the RSD by the head of the Lindenstrasse port. The document in two languages - Dorgernian and Riadian - recorded the Kaiserstern route with dates of arrival at each port and the duration of anchorage.
Baobhan Sith first appeared in Blackwhit on September 2, so an earlier date is needed. Brennon found on 28th of August, the day that they were scheduled to enter Villers-Roi. Fortunately, Redfern had the foresight to collect the RSD chief's request, the response from the port of Villers-Roi, and the translation of the response.
The Kaiserstern was to spend two days there and leave on August 30 for Breswain. However, on the evening of the 29th, the ship left Villers-Roi for an unknown reason, and the captain did not report this and did not even ask the pilot to go out to the open sea. The frigate sailed off at low tide and moved at an unusually high speed. A day later, an anchor from the Kaiserstern was found in the port. The head of the port was at a loss in conjectures and asked, if possible, to explain what had happened.
The Commissar read the letter in an undertone and asked:
"Well, Snappish, what do you think?"
The hound scratched intently behind his ear, traced a winding line with his paw along the sand and stepped on one of its ends. It turned out to be something like a giant tadpole. After thinking a little more, the hound added something like wrinkles around and sat down contentedly next to his masterpiece. Brennon studied the tadpole among the wrinkles for a long time, and finally, hesitantly suggested:
"Sea serpent?"
The hound nodded vigorously. The Commissar immediately dismissed little things like "Do they exist?", "Why am I talking to a hound?", "Why do I understand him?" and got to the point:
"Can they be subdued?"
The hound nodded.
"This cholera is strong enough to drag a ship with it. The question is, when did the orgy with the transformation of people into undead begin - before the departure of the Kaiserstern from Villers-Roi or after, on the high seas? When did the master of the undead climb onto the frigate and start his dirty work there? In Villers or earlier, in Dorgern? The vampires appeared in Blackwhit on 2th of September. I think by that time the crew of the frigate had already been finished. In the end, the master can push three or four Baobhan Sith along the mirror path. And this means, Snappish, that a ship full of undead cruises along the coast of the Riada with another crazy wizard on board."
The hound sighed in understanding.
"And this sorcerer is devilishly eager to get both the pyromaniac, and for some reason - me. What does he want with Redfern – I can still understand that, but me? I suppose it's not about me, but the consultant. I'm just bait to attract him. The master of the creatures entered the frigate while still in Dorgern."
The hound raised its ears incredulously with a hatchet.
"Someone in Dorgern decided that it was our experience in Blackwhit that was absolutely invaluable to the Kaiser police. But the Blackwhit department does not stand out from the others, except ..." Nathan nodded at Longsdale. "And who, besides the master of the undead, might be interested in consultants, eh?"
The hound tilted his head to one side in thought.
"That's why I think he is not just one of the passengers, but one of the Kaiser envoys," the Commissar admitted with a sigh. He did not want to think so badly of his colleagues, and he would be glad to be mistaken if the "reconstruction" started by Redfern showed a different picture.
"Uncle!" Margaret called him melodiously. Nathan got up from the boulder and walked over to his niece. She, along with Longsdale, stood to the side of the chaotically scattered pieces of the frigate, and the pyromaniac crawled around them, sketching a drawing on the sand by a long trihedron and muttering to himself.
"What is he doing?" The Commissar asked suspiciously.
"Shh, don't distract! This is the garon and the spell for the frigate to repeat all its actions from a certain moment."
"How's that?" Nathan was puzzled. "Doesn't this require a whole frigate?"
"I'll explain to you now!" Longsdale began enthusiastically. "Magic is often built on the principle of similarity. Although we have only three types of magical actions at our disposal - spell, garon and potion..."
Brannon sighed resignedly. He would like to do without this knowledge...
Redfern finished with garon just in time for the tide. A large round sign (five feet in diameter, at least) glimmered softly in the sand. The pyromaniac chanted the incantation and stared smugly at his handiwork. The tide swept over the garon, filled in the signs and lines, grabbed the remains of the ship, but did not carry them with it. The debris, engulfed in a gentle bluish glow, rose into the air, whirled and, as if on a loom, weaved a three-dimensional image of a frigate. Brannon hooted with delight. These were the tricks he loved! Redfern, standing nearby, exuded a self-confident pride. But suddenly the ship turned and slid out to sea with a new tidal wave.
"Hey!" the Commissar was worried. "Where is it going?!"
"It won't swim away," the pyromaniac said (Peggy had already taken his arm and clung to him as soon as she could!). "It needs the sea. Look."
The ship dropped anchor. The sails began to fold by themselves.
"Where are the people?"
"We didn't find the things of the crew and passengers," Redfern replied. "Therefore, they are not visible. We watch events at an accelerated pace so as not to hang around here for a day or two."
Brannon glanced at him. The pyromaniac, stroking Peg's hand, leaned lightly on the girl. He was pale and looked tired.
Does magic take so much power? Nathan thought and turned to the ship. On the other hand, if to make such a thing - then it isn't surprising...
A shadow slid under the water and in one bite snatched off the anchor. Brannon leaned forward, but the beast looked like a blurry silhouette. It gripped the anchor chain with its teeth and pulled the ship out of the port. Of course, the picture hadn't drifted away, but it was noticeable that the ship was moving fast.
"Is it a sea serpent?" Nathan whispered.
"Yes," Longsdale replied. "Not very large."
"The spell reconstructed the jaw and part of the muzzle from the imprint of the teeth," Redfern added. "Fortunately, there are only two species of such serpents in our waters."
The Commissar nodded. He finally understood why Peggy had selected the wreckage for reconstruction - they must have been some traces of what had happened. Meanwhile, on board the frigate, several cannon ports opened, and ghostly cannonballs fired at the serpent. In response, the beast slammed its tail against the side, and a huge dent formed just above the waterline.
On the other side of the ship, something like a cloud suddenly thickened, from which a piece of skin with a railing emerged, like another ship, most of which was hidden by fog, rubbed side by side to the frigate. Several wide boards lay between them, close to each other, and Nathan chuckled triumphantly. It's always nice to find out what you were right. The only pity is that the spell could not display the entire sorcerer's ship as a whole.
The picture remained unchanged for some time. Then the boards disappeared and the second ship too. The serpent dragged the frigate behind it again. Brannon frowned. Surely this creature was quite capable to smash the Kaiserstern into small pieces, and since it did not do that, it means that the master of the undead still wanted to draw as much attention as possible to the crash.
"He wanted us to see it," Brannon said. "I bet, this bastard knew that we would be in the port and see everything, that's just counting on your presence."
"My?" Longsdale was surprised.
"I'm sure that I'm just a bait for him, with which he intends to catch you."
"Because the master is still afraid to go to the undead hunter," Redfern hissed. "He very cleverly arranged your summons to Breswain and miscalculated only about the presence of the consultant there."
Brannon paused. He didn't know what he disliked more - the pyromaniac's train of thought or how much they matched his own thoughts.
"Good," the Commissar finally decided. "Where can we talk without extra ears?"
Redfern drew up warily, his eyes tense and suspicious. With infinite patience, Margaret raised her eyes to the sky, sighed and whispered something in his ear in Ilarian. The hound stared jealously at the girl and puffed.
"Humble yourself, Snappish," Nathan muttered. "I humbled myself."
Longsdale looked from the pyromaniac to Brennon with a childish bewilderment.
"What's the matter? I rented two hotel rooms for us, let's go there and..."
"Firstly, he suspects that I'll try to kick him in the head, tie him up and send Peggy home, and he goes to prison for kidnapping and molestation," the commissar replied sarcastically, and from Redfern's flashed look he realized that he had caught the very essence. "And secondly, he doesn't like you. And your hound doesn't like him."
Snappish snapped his teeth. Longsdale stared at the pyromaniac in amazement.
"But why?! We haven't even met before!"
This is the question, have you met or not, Brannon thought. Redfern, listening to Margaret to the end, paused, aroused the commissar with a piercing glance from under his brows and haughtily, with a threat, issued:
"We'll go to my hotel. But at the slightest attempt on your part..."
"Okay, okay," Nathan interrupted impatiently and pointed at the ghost ship. "What to do with this?"
The pyromaniac muttered something under his breath and snapped his fingers. The signs glowing in the sand faded, the ship disappeared, and debris fell into the water.
"We must return them!.."
"Return," Redfern replied indifferently. "But I won't wait for you."
You bastard bitch - Nathan did not want to interfere with the investigation of the guys from the RSD, but the damn bastard simply left him no choice. He was already on his way to the carriage, and the commissar was no longer going to lose sight of him.
***
Downright friendly gatherings, dammit, Brannon thought. They sat in a circle in front of the fireplace - the Commissar, Longsdale, the hound, Margaret and the pyromaniac. Hot tea, coffee and cakes were served to them, and everything would be very good if the pyromaniac's hand did not lie on Margaret's arm, and her little feet did not touch his feet. The hound gazed grimly at this picture of a shameless bond, and Brannon shared his feelings. Longsdale alone noticed nothing and was cheerful and optimistic.
"At least we figured out a bit about what happened on the ship," he said, as finished the pie.
"Uh-huh," Brannon grumbled, "and we'll take this secret with us to the grave. It is unlikely that RSD investigators will even listen to such nonsense to the end."
"I told you," the pyromaniac did not miss his. "I said back in Blackwhit that belief in these laws and legality of yours is meaningless."
"I remember. I have to agree about the master of the undead. Nevertheless, we must have over a barrel this critter. What ideas?"
The silence that followed was eloquent. Longsdale drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest, the hound scowled at the fire, and Redfern stretched out in his chair and half-closed his eyes, stroking Margaret's arm. The girl looked at him worriedly, as if she feared that the spell had dealt an irreparable blow to his health.
"It would be nice to know this parasite by sight," Brennon said. "Franz Eisler, secretary to the local minister of the interior, Konrad Straub, senior inspector, and Johann Roismann, forensic scientist. How to get from Dorgern something about these three? I, of course, do not claim that this is certainly one of them, but..."
"The chances are very high," Longsdale agreed. "I'll try to find out something, I have some acquaintances in Dorgern."
"Whoever this man is, he is very knowledgeable in magic and definitely talented. He, judging by the mehndi on the undead, spent a lot of time in Mazandran. So are you, Nathan."
"Mazandran is big country, you know," the commissar answered harshly, who was annoyed by every appeal by name from the pyromaniac.
"It is strange that as bait for catching a consultant he is interested in you."
"You were interested in me too," Nathan muttered. The pyromaniac chuckled, eyes flashing slyly, and assured:
"I am still interested, and I explained why."
"And I explained why not."
"Oh, I'm sure our discussion is not over yet," the kidnapper of a maiden replied serenely. "You have not listened to even half of my arguments."
The Commissar buried in a cup of tea. He had already received enough arguments. He was, of course, impressed by the scale of the idea - but how the hell does Redfern envision the implementation?! It's not just necessary to recruit people - but to find exactly those who are able to cope with such a job, without taking a heart break from the mere sight of some utburd. How to coordinate all this? How to communicate with the authorities and the police? How to hide or what to disguise under - not just one hunter, but a whole network, system, a lot of people, including doctors, accountants, gunsmiths...
God, what am I thinking about? Brennon shook his head. What the hell do I want? - and caught the gaze of the pyromaniac intent, half-mocking, half-serious. Nathan shifted in his chair, feeling uncomfortable that Redfern had read his thoughts straight across his face. The expression on the pyromaniac's face was painfully understanding...
"Uncle, in fact," Margaret said, "just think. What if you really met the master?"
"Peg, that was more than thirty years ago. I came to Mazandran as an eighteen-year-old recruit in eight hundred and thirty-two and spent ten years there. You understand how many different people I met there. I can't remember all of them."
"I don't think the master of the undead met your uncle either, miss," Longsdale said. "I suppose it's something else. You said they wanted to kidnap you and mister Redfern, while the vampires on the train were trying to take the Commissar with them. The master wants to take you to a certain place - and, I confess, this worries me the most. Maybe he intends to do something with you that requires special conditions, tools and time."
"Turn us into undead?" Margaret shuddered.
"No wonder considering what he does."
"So, do not escalate," the commissar resolutely cut off his fantasies. "This is generally a bare theory. The fact is that there is a ship full of undead cruising around Riada. Can't you two find him? This ship should be smell these of your magical emations."
"Emanations," Redfern corrected. "In general, a sensible idea, but why did you think that the ship is still in your waters?"
"Where will it go? The master needs to feed these creatures, and they only eat human flesh. So he will not go into the open sea."
"If he's ferrying undead to Blackwhit and Aventine along the mirrored path, why not?" Margaret objected. "Angel, what if his power over the undead weakens with distance?"
"Probably," the pyromaniac perked up. "I'll try to find the ship. What will you do?"
"I'll write to my colleagues in Dorgern," Longsdale replied. "In the meantime, I'll study the samples from the port."
"I'll try to appeal to professional solidarity," Brannon said. "I hope the RSD guys have it too."