9th October
There was a hound. Big ginger hound. Renzio licked her lips. The hound lay at the porch, head down on its paws, and idly watched the rare passers-by. But as soon as the girl took a step towards the house, the hound raised its muzzle and stared at her intently. Renzio froze. She had never seen this hound here before; but now you can't get inside.
The signor, who lived in this house, has already left for two days now, no one knows where. A great time to crawl through the window and rummage in drawers and cabinets. A tidbit - however, something used to push them all away from this house. And now... Renzio was so skinny that she would have squeezed into a fox hole, but now there was a hound. What a hefty one! They can't do without meat with poison. The girl spat angrily, wrapped herself in a shawl full of holes and wandered away.
There was no one on the narrow street so early. Houses to the right, water splashed to the left. Renzio kept closer to the houses - she did not like the canals. Suddenly a shadow flashed behind, and the girl shied away in fright. Damn hound! She leisurely stomped along the pavement, sometimes sniffing the water.
"Damn him! It wasn't guarding anything there! It was just lying on the porch!"
She would have thrown a stone at it, but there was no stone at hand. Although…
"Sleek," the girl thought; the hound put its paw into the water. "Maybe I should take it away and sell it?"
But how to take away such a huge one? It's sure to bite! And barks as sure as death! To hell with him....
She cautiously backed away from the hound and walked towards Via Marchio. It was barely dawn now, the autumn morning twilight was cold and thick. There was something frightening even for Renzio about the rustle of the waves, the water highlights of the canal, the smell of ooze and algae. She stepped back closer to the houses and quickened her pace.
In the canal, a wave suddenly splashed so hard that the spray spattered the girl up to her knees. Renzio pulled her shawl up and looked sideways at the canal. She never liked them – everybody can throw the corpse with a stone around his neck into the water, big deal! Not a trace, not a hint, look for a hundred years - and you will not find. How many times... Renzio froze in confusion. She suddenly heard a strange sound - as if someone was singing softly under the water. But who can sing there, there is only ooze, seaweed and garbage?
There was a faint noise in her head, just as it makes a noise in the sink if you bring it to your ear. Purple and pale purple highlights danced across the oily-dark water, as if someone was floating below with a lantern. Through the noise in her ears, the girl made out someone's voices - cheerful, beautiful, coming from somewhere below.
"Run ..." - she thought, but the gentle melodic splash of the waves made her take a step towards the water, then again and again. The glare danced merrily, the voices sounded more and more distinct, and when the girl approached the edge, someone's icy hand tenaciously grabbed her ankle and pulled her down.
Renzio crashed against the stone so that her leg and side were numb with pain. Cold fingers dug into her skin like claws, and she slid down the slimy pavement into the black waves of the canal. But before the water closed over her head, a huge fiery figure flashed at the edge of the pavement, and the red-haired hound dived into the canal with a roar.
The water instantly warmed up, like in a teapot. The piercing cold, which almost stopped Renzio's heart, disappeared, and the whitish shadows rushing around recoiled. The hound grabbed the girl by the scruff and jumped out onto the pavement. It threw Renzio under iys belly and stood over her, growling dully - a living mountain of fire and heat. A wild, angry screech was heard over the water - the sound galloped over the waves, crushing and echoing, and then three light figures burst out of the channel with a splash.
Renzio cleared her throat, spat, raised her head and was numb: girls in long torn shirts circled over the water. Their faces were oddly contorted, their skin exuded a pale glow, and their parted mouths showed rows of teeth, one after the other, extending straight into their throats. The hound fell to the stones of the pavement and let out such a roar that Renzio almost knocked out his breath. She put her hands over her ears and curled up into a ball. She would never have been able to budge - her arms and legs were almost taken away from fear, even her heart was barely beating.
Suddenly one of the girls rushed down like a prey bird. White rags flashed in front of Renzio, bones for legs, long claws on bird paws - and then the hound jumped. It grabbed the ghost girl, knocked her down and thrust its fangs into her - it teared her to shreds, trampled with its paws, and the fire burned through her body... She screamed so much that Renzio's head almost burst. The girl pressed herself into the stones of the pavement, closed her eyes and finally fell into deep darkness.
...she woke up from the fact that a hot, wet, rough rag was crawling over her face. Renzio shook her head and nudged something warm and soft with her elbow. She opened her eyes. A hound stood over her. Its eyes burned like coals, but its fur was no longer glowing, and a large pink tongue hung from its mouth. However, it immediately drew in its tongue. A signor squatted down beside her, and Renzio tried to crawl away. She knew what all sorts of signors do when they manage to catch a girl on the street!
...and this one also had eyes glowed a pale blue...
"Don't be afraid," he said in a soft accent. "This is my hound."
The girl swallowed. This signor was such a tall big man that he could have strangled her with one hand if he had only thought that she wanted to steal his hound.
"All around is clean," a thin black-haired guy stopped near them. "There is no other undead nearby."
The Signor nodded. He looked serious and good-natured, but they all look kind, but in reality...
"Tell us everything. From the moment you realized that something strange was happening."
Why do they all need to be talked to?! She hasn't said a word in her whole life, and she hasn't died!
"If you don't want to talk," the signor continued, "then just relax and remember this morning."
"Maybe we'll not do this here?" The guy asked discontentedly. "Let's at least turn around the corner."
Renzio braced herself. Only fast legs can save from such men. Just have to choose a minute and suddenly rush to run. As if these water ghosts are not enough for her today! She remembered the icy fingers, the toothed jaws, and shook finely.
"No one will harm you," the signor said, and the hound dropped its heavy paw on her shoulder.
"We'll give you food and money," his friend interjected. "It will take about five minutes, and then you can go on all four sides."
Just about, just stay with the signor for a minute, he will give you money and bread. Renzio gathered the rest of her strength into a fist, jumped up and jerked away. The guy grabbed her by the scruff and lifted the writhing girl into the air like a bunch of carrots. She kicked him as hard as she could, but he didn't even twitch, caught her chin and stared into her face. Renzio didn't have time to close her eyes. Fiery rings around the pupil flashed in the guy's very black, without shine eyes. From this terrible look, the girl sagged like a rag doll, her head was clouded, and then she did not remember...
***
"What the hell does he want?" Brennon thought angrily as he walked with Valentina along the embankment. As if they had nothing else to do on Sundays, just run to meetings with the pyromaniac!
"He's writing letters," the commissar croaked, piercing the crowd of townspeople walking along the embankment with an irritated gaze. "He makes appointments! What am I to him - a friend of the family, or what?"
"But what if he knows something about the missing consultant in Farenza? You are so worried about Longsdale, and Mister Redfern may be watching this town."
"I'm not sure that after the stories by the pyromaniac I will feel better," Nathan muttered. Longsdale, the hound, and the witch departed for Farenza on the 8th afternoon. The consultant promised to write whenever possible, but Brannon, mindful of past affairs, doubted that he would be able to find time for scribbling.
Valentina took the Commissar by the arm, and his irritation subsided. In addition, the day was just a miracle: the sun was warming, in the sky to the very horizon - not a cloud, even the water in Weer seemed as warm as in summer. The townspeople walked with pleasure, discussing the unusually warm October.
"And then nothing happens?" Nathan asked quietly, stroking Vivene's hand. "Well, with the weather and in general, from the fact that you are influencing here..."
"No," she said serenely. "I know what I'm doing. We'll be leaving soon anyway, so why not enjoy the warmth before leaving? When we return, it will be late autumn."
Brannon chuckled: It seemed the Blackwhit people had nothing against the prolonged summer. Since he could not take Valentina on a trip right after the wedding, why not please herself with warmth and sunshine? They were going to the south of Ilara, where, as Valentina said, the weather is wonderful this time of year. However, they will surely bring wonderful weather with them.
During this time, Nathan got used to his new position a little, one of the significant advantages of which was living directly opposite the work. Brannon appreciated this especially as he spent days and nights raking the aftermath of Roismann's nightly riot. It's always nice, after working until 1 am, just cross the street and be at home.
Nathan appreciated even more the delicacy with which Victor moved the portrait of his father to his room. Valentina's children had nothing against the Commissar, but he still felt that he was moving on very thin ice - for example, Marion was clearly partial to the witch ... that is, Mr. Longsdale's butler. And although Jen did not respond to the girl's modest signs of attention (thank God!), Nathan still had no idea how to get out of this situation. So the trip to Ilara was very useful to collect his thoughts and think about what to do with Marion, and in general with this sudden fatherhood.
"Here they are," said Valentina. Brannon sniffed. Redfern and Margaret were sitting in one of the pavilions that the mayor's office had piled here and there, mixed with flower beds, for the convenience of revelers. The pyromaniac was telling the girl something, pointing with his cane at one or the other building. And if you consider that he was the same age as the cathedral, then Brennon did not even want to think what exactly Angel was able to tell his apprentice.
"It's seems to me they are quite happy," Valentina said conciliatory. "I think Mister Redfern is trying to, hmmm… mend a relationship with you."
"Great at trying, didn't even bother to show up to her family."
"But he still tries!"
Valentina's sympathy for this guy was completely incomprehensible to Nathan. Therefore, he did not answer and went to the gazebo, which all the other townspeople walked around in an arc.
"Oh, uncle, good afternoon!" Margaret exclaimed affably, looked at Vivene and added uncertainly: "Auntie?"
"As you wish, child," Valentina said. Redfern got up and bowed to her; The Commissar, of course, did not receive any greeting. Instead, the pyromaniac stared at Brannon like a cat at a jug of cream and declared:
"I want to hire you."
Margaret sighed heavily, and Nathan realized that she had already tried to instill in the mentor an idea of decency, but to no avail.
"Why is this all of a sudden? I'll be busy for the next two weeks."
"In the next two weeks," this man said, ignoring Peggy's suggestive tugging on his sleeve, "you're completely free. What else do you want to do on your honeymoon?"
"On a wedding trip," Brannon emphasized. "With my wife. Do you think we won't find something to do?"
The pyromaniac paused, looking from Valentina to the commissar, and finally inquired insinuatingly:
"Don't you even wonder why I want to hire you?"
"I will definitely ask when we return from the trip."
"But I'll pay you!" Angel exclaimed.
"Listen," the Commissar asked after a pause, "do you even understand what the word "no" means?"
Judging by the face of the pyromaniac, he believed that it was impossible to refuse him, and therefore was not going to give up:
"But what prevents you from listening to me now, and only then refusing?"
"Indeed, Nathan," Valentina said softly, "let's just listen. What if it's important?"
Brennon thought of Roismann, Pauline Defoe, Jason Moore, and finally muttered reluctantly:
"Well, what have you got there?"
"In Farenza, the consultant Paolo Urquiola, who was supposed to supervise the state of the Rift on Ligenta, disappeared," the pyromaniac issued in one breath. The commissar jerked as if shot. Damn it! There are no such coincidences!
"Are you watching him?"
"This consultant - yes, since he is responsible for..."
"In Farenza on the night of the sixth of October, nine girls from the Santa Alexandra orphanage drowned," Brennon interrupted. Angel shuddered all over, dark eyes widened. Margaret squeezed his hand and they exchanged worried looks.
"Angel, this looks like a ritual! Like the sacrifice Jason Moore wanted to make," Peggy said.
"I think it's much worse," the commissar said. "After the death of the girls, Urquiola sent telegrams to colleagues asking them to arrive in Farenza as soon as possible. However, none of them managed to contact him anymore, as if he disappeared immediately after that."
Redfern got up and walked across the gazebo, frowning intensely.
"What could have frightened the consultant so much about these deaths?" Brannon asked him.
"I do not know. Nine victims is too common a number and is used in many rituals. I need details, some peculiarities, subtleties unnoticed..."
"Well, go yourself to Farenza. Why do you need me for this?"
The pyromaniac stopped in the middle of the gazebo and said sharply:
"I can't even get close to Farenza. Don't be an idiot! You saw how the rift at Edmoor drew Pauline Defoe."
"So this hole of yours is covered with some kind of dome, Longsdale said that it was Urquiola who was guarding it."
"Don't compare a mouse hole with an earthquake rift! Even under the dome, a portal of such power will draw me like a magnet - iron shavings."
"Longsdale left for Farenza yesterday, just in time to deal with..."
"That is why," Redfern continued, ignoring Nathan, "you will go there instead of me. That is, you two, since you are on a honeymoon trip."
"Are you deaf? Longsdale has already left for Farenza, and he can handle the otherworldly stuff better than I can. We're going to leave..."
"What difference does it make to you where you go? In Farenza, doing useful work, or in ancient ruins, wasting time and money?"
"You forget yourself, Redfern. I'm not your employee," the Commissar answered coldly.
"Nathan," Valentina said soothingly, "he's generally right."
"Generally? What about the details? Is he right about the details? Do you really want to spend our journey in the middle of a damp, dank, ooze-smelling city?"
"In the middle of a city filled with people like a barrel of herring," the pyromaniac immediately clung to, "next to which is the largest Rift to the other side on our continent where the consultant disappeared. Doesn't it bother you in any way?" and he looked expectantly at Brannon, as if he thought that a solution to the problem pop out the Commissar.
Margaret opened the bag that had been lying next to her on the bench all this time, pulled out a dozen heavy, thick-bound notebooks and handed them to the Commissar.
"This is all the materials Angel had collected on the Liganta Rift. Observational data for several centuries. Uncle, you can just hand them over to Mister Longsdale, and then move on to the south of Ilara. Are you going there?"
"Uh-huh," Nathan muttered, almost against his will took one of the notebooks, opened it and looked at the date: "Approximately January 13, 1631".
"Approximately?"
"I'm not quite sure, before the opening of the portal, I... a number of other events happened to me," Redfern paused gloomily, showing with all his appearance: "And which ones are none of your business."
"Okay," Brennon muttered, "I'll give Longsdale your notebooks. And then talk to him yourself about the missing consultants and damn rituals."
***
Spirit-lifting reading, Nathan thought sourly as he finished reading the third notebook by Sunday evening. The most appropriate thing before the start of the working week. So thoughts about the futility of all things come into the head... One of them especially did not give Brennon rest.
"Redfern invented and installed the dome and perimeter around the island in the year one thousand six hundred and ninety-two," the Commissar said. "But then what held back the Rift sixty-one years before? The pyromaniac believes that it was your relatives who did not allow it to turn around at full power."
"Perhaps," Valentina said, sitting in front of her dressing table, ready to contact Longsdale through the mirror. The consultant gave them his address, but the Commissar was not sure if they would find the consultant at home.
"But why would they do it? Isn't it dangerous - even for people like you?"
"It's very draining," Vivene sighed. "However, f on Liganta such a deep Rift to the other side opened up, my brothers and sisters simply could not leave everything as it is."
"Why?"
"We are flesh of the flesh of this world. The Rift that destroys it destroys us too."
"But that didn't kill any of them?" Nathan was alarmed. "Nothing will happen to you next to this thing?"
"We can't be killed. Do not worry, since the Rift is isolated, then it does not threaten me or you."
"I have no idea what the pyromaniac wants from me," Nathan admitted with a sigh. "I make neither tail nor head of magic and can only successfully act as bait for the undead. Okay, try to contact Longsdale after all. We will deal with this matter as soon as possible."
Valentina looked intently at the mirror, which immediately began to grow cloudy, as if filling with fog. Vivene did it without any spells, as easily as she made tea. Finally, her mirror reflected the gentleman's bedroom - and the gentleman himself was found on the bed, head over heels buried in newspapers, books and scrolls. Valentina made room for her husband, and Nathan coughed loudly. Longsdale jumped out of bed, grabbed the revolver, yanked the three-edged blade from its sheath at his belt - and only then, somewhat embarrassed, said:
"Oh, it's you! Good evening. I'm sorry, I completely forgot to write to you, although I promised..."
"It's okay," Brannon gave an appraising glance over the pile of books and stacks of scrolls on the bed. "I see that you are working up to the top of your head."
"Yes."
"Have you found anything yet?"
Longsdale shook his head ruefully.
"Not yet. Paolo Urquiola's house was empty when we arrived. But it does not seem that he has gone somewhere - all things are in their places, no signs of hasty packing. In my opinion, he was not going to leave the house for a long time at all. When we looked around the rooms, we found in the kitchen a full pot of fresh soup and a leg of lamb prepared for baking. Signor Urquiola worked in the office and library quite recently, did not even have time to put the books back in place.
Nathan didn't like that. It looked too much like a kidnapping - for example, a well-thought-out ambush, which the consultant fell into when he left the house for a short time. Like Miss Oettinger.
"And his beast? Well, the accompanying animal - where did it go?"
"No one," Longsdale repeated. "There's no one in the house."
"Do you think it's someone like Roismann?"
"I can not tell. But even if Urquiola was kidnapped, it is clearly not from home. Besides, my situation has become a little more complicated," Longsdale added after a pause. "Nine dead girls turned into undead. Yesterday they started attacking homeless children. I was able to recapture one girl, but the rest of the victims..."
"How is it - turned?" Nathan asked; his heart felt heavy. He heard Valentina stir worriedly in her chair. "By themselves, or what? Or did someone turn them?"
"We're still figuring it out. Jen is working on samples of their flesh in the laboratory."
"How many victims at all?"
"Counting yesterday's - twelve. And although we killed three of the nine who were turned, it is not a fact that the new victims will not be turned either."
"But still - what are you more inclined to?"
Longsdale was silent for a long time before answering.
"It still seems to me that we are dealing with intent. Sacrifices have always been the main source of strength for warlocks. But why do you ask?" the consultant was surprised, glancing sideways at Valentina. "I thought you were going on a trip..."
"And there is. But yesterday Redfern jumped out at me like the devil out of a snuffbox. It turns out that he also noticed the disappearance of Urquiola and demanded that I find out where he had gone and why."
The amazement on Longsdale's face was so quickly replaced by hope that Nathan instantly regretted what he had said.
"And can you?" The consultant asked.
"I have no rights to conduct police activities in Farenza. And how am I going to interrogate witnesses and suspects? In sign language?"
"Well, this problem is not difficult to deal with. Although, of course not," Longsdale sighed. "Of course, I will not ask you for anything of the kind. Not on your well-deserved vacation. Hope you have a great time. The south of Ilara is beautiful at this time of year."
"Thank you. But Redfern asked me to give you something." Nathan held up several notebooks for Longsdale to see. "I have here a dozen diaries of his observations of the Rift on Liganta since the day it arose."
The consultant stared at the notebooks as hungrily as if he wanted to pluck them from Brannon's hands right through the mirror.
"Oh, that would be just fine! Signor Urquiola has his own notes, but these are simply priceless!"
"I managed to read only the first three notebooks, but I am sure that the rest are no worse. Much, in any case, is becoming clear. We would..." Nathan turned to his wife. "Could we drop by to see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, of course," Valentina said. "It's not difficult at all."
"Sure!" Longsdale agreed eagerly, not taking his eager eyes off the notebooks. "I'll be waiting for you. I need any information, especially since there is no cooperation with the police, and in general the police in Ilar are completely incapable of such work as yours!"
"And with whom do you cooperate there?" Brannon asked in surprise.
"With the church."
"Lord," the commissar said after a pause, gripped by not at all God-fearing feelings. With church rats, just fancy! No wonder the investigation is barely dragging along. "Did they at least let you into the orphanage so that you can inspect the victims' rooms?"
"Oh, well… I'm working on it. Tomorrow afternoon, I was appointed an audience by His Eminence, the head of the local inquisition."
"What a wilful Middle Ages," Nathan mumbled bitterly under Valentina's laugh. "Then we will come to you at twelve o'clock. OK?"
"Yes of course. I will order Jen to prepare a room for you. Perhaps," Longsdale added with a barely audible note of pleading, "you decide to explore some of the sights here and stay for a couple of days?"
"Unlikely," Brannon said firmly. "See you soon."
He got up from the ottoman and rubbed his lower back. How do women generally balance on this perch? Valentina touched the mirror and the image melted.
"Sorry," Nathan said contritely. "I'm not going to stay there, much less work for the pyromaniac. We'll just stop by for a few hours. Doesn't it tire you? So fast, um... moving?"
"No, not at all," Vivene answered and added slyly: "However, I will not be at all upset if you spend a little more than a few hours on a visit."