"There might be a way to ensure that our finances can withstand the expected and the unexpected."
Ted was having another midnight tea moment with Madorn. He had not expected the scientist to say anything about finances. Mad did not seem like the kind of man to be overly concerned with money and things like that.
"You have some real meteorologists as well, don't you, Ted?"
That was a bit dubious, actually. Ted had hijacked a few men who he had considered experts in the art of weather forecasts, but said forecasts had not been as accurate as he had hoped.
At this point, Ted was not even sure if meteorology actually existed.
He explained the whole situation to Mad, who nodded along and made an interesting suggestion.
In Karshlands, there were ways to not only predict weather, but change it. While it was commonly thought that such an art had been lost long ago, Mad knew someone who knew someone who could summon storms.
"Summon…do you think someone like him could be responsible for what happens around the Fin?" Ted asked, curious about the seemingly endless possibilities.
"No, I don't think so, I don't believe that such powers can be wielded with one person alone." Madorn scratched his head and added:"It would take a whole nation of witches."
"Yes, you're probably right. Do we need to go overseas to meet this man?"
"No, actually, he lives here in Neul."
"Why am I hearing about his existence now? I could have used this information."
"Honestly, I thought the man was dead. By…by my calculations, he would be about one hundred and thirty years now." Mad gave Ted a weird glance.
Ted did not say the obvious thing to say, that such a long life was not humanly possible, that there had to be some con artistry involved, some carefully crafted lie, but he knew that Madorn was no superstitious man and that the scientist was willing to do anything to find out the real state of things in every matter.
Perhaps there were indeed some who could twist time and space for their own benefit.
The trip to Tanner Street would be interesting.
The old workspace of a famous doctor called Ingram had not been painted in years. Everything was coming off from the walls in small chips. The sound of boiling liquid could be heard. There were animal skulls decorating the pale green walls, from simple rodents to crocodiles, and in the middle of it all, humbly perched over a pile of cushions, was the Karshaan weather witch.
He was called Smith.
Just Smith.
That was somehow worse than the ambiguous body parts in jars on the shelves. It was worse than what looked like blood spurting from a hole in the floor – and that hole appeared to be alive.
No, Smith was Smith, and that alone was so deliciously terrifying that Ted felt stimulated, for once.
Smith did not look a day over forty. He had hollow cheeks, all right, and that was not very Karshaan of him, as his people had come to appreciate fuller forms more. Actually, Smith was thin enough that his ribs could almost be counted through his tight black shirt. Ted didn't go past five, it would not have been very polite to stare at a Karshaan man's skinny form.
Ted had brought offerings of food. He knew it was just good basic manners to bring a weather witch some food.
Smith had dark eyebrows and a handsome face, much like Ted, but Ted Tobias was the dream son-in-law and Smith was the nightmare of all mothers of daughters. That was the easiest way of putting it. Danger lurked behind every microexpression when Smith examined his guests, a certain sort of twitchy tension that could also be observed in the movements of big cats.
"I know why you're here, don't bother me with an explanation," Smith said with his low, raspy voice. "Hit me with them date cakes and we can get to the fun part."
"Date cakes…yes." Ted forgot about questioning himself about the best possible honorific. He had brought date cakes, it was probably a safe guess from Smith.
After all, date cakes were always in fashion.
"Here they are. I hope you're hungry, I think these are more greasy than the normal ones," Ted said, kneeling on a cushion and breaking out the good stuff.
They were some really good cakes.
"I am always hungry. It consumes me…totally, completely, it does." Smith groaned and took a bite of a date cake, washing it down with something that was hopefully just booze.
Ted dared to bite into a cake that Smith had pushed towards him.
It was designated for him, it had been prepared in his own kitchen, so there was really no reason to be afraid, but he was afraid and it was the best feeling ever.
Without even brandishing a gun, Smith had made himself the most intimidating person Ted had ever met. A man who just wouldn't die, not of old age, not of the sheer shock of dealing with occult forces, sitting on cushions and eating date cakes, and he managed to be scarier than the Diamond King or a dozen pirates.
Ted was intrigued.
"Weather business…"
Smith took a bite, swallowed it and paused for a moment. His pale golden eyes seemed unnatural in the faint light of candles. His movements remained as tense as a tiger about to leap onto its pray.
His fingers made an unnerving sound, click, click, click, and it took Ted much longer than he wanted to admit to realize that it was because of all the rings that Smith was wearing.
Yes – rings, he definitely had rings. No one had metallic fingers. Rings. They were rings.
A moment or two too late, Ted realized that there was something in the air, perhaps smoke from incense burning silently in the corner, something that was making him dizzy.
The panic didn't set in until Smith turned back towards him and he could see the mask the man was wearing.