— Greetings, ladies. — Without taking my eyes off the menu, I said hello.
The girls wanted to approach quietly, — I felt their excitement and a certain playfulness, but it's hard to pull off such tricks with me. And it's stupid to hide something like that, what if I miss the real danger?
— Good morning. — Megan said evenly as she sat down at the table.
— Hi! — her partner replied energetically and sat down on the other side.
— Megan. — I put the menu aside and looked into the beautiful eyes of the mulatto. — I don't want to offend you, but I'm having a serious conversation with Elizabeth and I'd like to do it in private.
— No problem. — The girl shrugged calmly and moved to another table, while the trapped waiter was instructed as to who would pay the mulatto's bill.
— So. — I spoke up when I had ordered and no one else was in the way. — I'm curious to know how much you've decided to pocket from the contract, but I don't want to torture you. I do want you to know, however, that I don't like deception. In any form. — I shut Lizzie's open mouth with a glance. — Your commission will be ten percent of the deal or contract. It's in your interest to get the best deal possible. If you deceive me, I will terminate our verbal agreement immediately. Is that clear? — The girl nodded, her face changing dramatically, even turning slightly pale, and the joyful enthusiasm in her eyes fading. — I will not hunt you down or curse you, but I will not hesitate to demand compensation from the Skillful Hands Company. — When my order arrived, I decided to stop talking. — I warn you only once — the first and the last.
After that we had a quiet but rich breakfast, I paid the bills from two tables and we went to the bank to get my money. After the ritual, I received an official paper, something like an IOU, the same paper Lizzie received. There was another problem there: the bank. I told you that in the USA money is part of the cult, so every employee of the bank tries to do his best.
Hence my problem: I don't trust banks and never have, and the local employee insisted by any means necessary that I leave my money in their care. For twenty minutes this guy twisted and turned, bending at unthinkable angles, humorously, but he turned the conversation so that my "I want to take my money" did not become the conclusion of the conversation.
I was just pissed off that I had to spend so much time with this creep, but I couldn't use force — security is very serious. In the end, of course, I could close the newly created account, but I had enough time to think about it, so I partially gave in to the persuasion.
I still hope to work here in the U.S., and if all goes more or less well, to live, so I will have to communicate with the banks in any case. Of my three hundred and thirty-seven thousand, I only have two hundred and ninety-seven thousand left. Taxes took a big bite out of that. I left fifty grand in my account, and the rest I'd need now for essential materials.
In the evening, after the girls and I had traveled to different states where we had received offers for artists, and they were ordinary people, though very rich, at a light second dinner, I talked about another topic.
— Megan, your campaign offers a wide range of services ...
— That's right, — the girl nodded, sipping a light white wine, sitting comfortably in a chair. — Did you want something?
— I'm interested in many things... — with these words I hold out a double folded sheet.
The girl whistled as she ran her eyes over it and gave me a few strange looks, but didn't say anything until she'd read it all. When Lizzie saw the paper, she immediately jumped up from the couch where she had been lying and looked at the list over her friend's shoulder. Their reactions were nearly identical.
— What do you need all this stuff for? — Meagan waved the paper around. — I realize, of course, that cryptic silver is used by many mages of various stripes, as well as accurate thermometers and scales. But why do you need precision chemical laboratory equipment?
— To isolate pure substances and compounds without impurities or precipitates.
— Artifacts or potions? — Without waiting for an answer, the girl returned to the list. — Then it's clear why you need so many pure chemical elements... — she said thoughtfully and continued to read thoughtfully.
— Not only that, but some elements can be used for certain effects in colors, and others — to get rid of the toxic effect of the first.
— Sapphire glass? — No, these chocolate eyes are something!
— It's strong. — I shrug
— Okay, — he replies with a slight squint, turning back to the paper. — What are these metals for? Osmium? — The girl looked at me with the same squint, without breaking eye contact. — Do you know what it's worth?
— About ten thousand a gram, but that's just its isotope, osmium 187. I don't need that. I need pure metal and a commercial compound with tungsten. Yeah, make a note of that. I forgot.
— Uh-huh... and what are the "question marks" for titanium, tungsten, iridium, and chromium?
— Make a note. Each metal requires at least five kilograms of pure metal for the experiments. Next. Titanium. The highest performance alloy, meaning as light as possible without sacrificing strength. Iridium requires only a pure, non-radioactive isotope. A centner, but you can go as low as you like. Chromium requires both pure chromium and chromium compounds — chromium ironstone and crocoite. If you can get it, chromium carbide. Tungsten oxidizes in air, so five kilograms for experiments should be sealed in vacuum capsules. If I can get it, I will need the best quality industrial chromium alloy in large quantities — from a ton and up, depending on the price, but we will discuss that in the process.
The last metal I am interested in is molybdenum in pure form, two or three tons, if there is a discount — more, up to ten tons. — Listening to myself, I realize it's a terrible overkill, but the hamster REQUIRES it, and I tend to believe him — he's my only friend in this cruel world, but the toad we nailed together, but left alive.
— You realize that the money you get today won't be enough, right? The lab alone will cost half the money.
— That's true. But I have a commission from Mr. Stamkowski for a family portrait, seventy thousand. Is that not enough? And Mrs. Cherbins with the commission to paint her gallery?
— Yes, yes, — Megan said, waving her hand a little cheerfully. — I was there too. But how are you going to do all that? Painting takes weeks, months!
— Unless you're me. — I grin smugly. — You'll be very surprised, but I'll finish the first order in a few hours, the second in a few days, and everyone will be satisfied.
— So you have... — the mulatto exhales, eyes wide, her friend covering her mouth with her palm.
— Just don't talk, okay? In time, people will realize everything for themselves, but better late than early.
I won't bore you with long descriptions of tedious meetings with some of the merchants through whom everything was bought, or conversations with those who ordered paintings. I would like to say that I accepted cheaper orders, but not below the limit of ten thousand — my time is valuable.
I worked for three weeks without a break, every day was spent moving through portals across a huge country, four times I was in Canada. By the way, one of the most expensive orders I did was in Canada. A series of paintings, landscapes and portraits, cost a local prospector six hundred thousand dead presidents.
This money, together with the balance in my bank account, just closed the deal on my list, and while I and the girls were celebrating the event in their office bar, and they were getting good money for their work, one of the guys brought four newspapers at once in which they printed about me, one magical and three simple.
I don't know why, but they all wrote about me as an artist at the same time. I wouldn't say I was shocked, but I was surprised — I hadn't even considered that they would start writing about me.
Since I finished the last painting on the island, I haven't had an impulse, an inspiration, something that I wanted to preserve on canvas. In the case of commissions, however, people just wanted to get their order done, and I fulfilled it as best I could, incorporating the ideas that came up during the course of the work into the current project. In the beginning, my fame was created by Gloria Ann Cherbins, the owner of a private art gallery.
Very fashionable, by the way. Shortly after the completion of my work, and it was unexpectedly delayed, as my new ideas we discussed quite heatedly with the hostess, finally got something "third" of the original idea. So, after the work was done and the calculations made, Mrs. Cherbins arranged an exhibition of a new collection of winter landscapes by a Finnish artist.
Word of mouth spread, and now the whole world of connoisseurs of beauty from all walks of life knows the name of the young artist who managed to breathe new life into the old vaults.
On the day of the newspaper, as soon as I stepped outside, people came up to me. Magicians. If it were easy to talk about the interview — we'd just agreed to talk at my next job here in New York, but I didn't want to talk to the security service of some local bigwig, but I couldn't refuse — these people consider refusal disrespectful or insulting. Why would I want to go through all that trouble?
It was difficult and unpleasant to talk to a money bag named McConnelly. Though a magician, he was an uneducated man, boorish, ignorant, and so on. He was old, meaning he had little strength, so he looked almost his real age — about sixty. He is short, stooped, with traces of scoliosis — a protruding belly, flabby skin and a long nose. Add to that the gray, sparse hair and flabby skin, and you have Ebenezer Scrooge.
The comparison almost made me laugh, but I managed to control myself. So this wealthy tycoon was married to a thirty-year-old sorceress, a stunning beauty but a typical "plastic blonde", and also the owner of four official mistresses.
What I heard nearly knocked me off my chair, as did the sight of the old man's entire harem, laughing at my reaction and swelling with his own importance. Well, even if these women are under contract, this man still has a lot to respect. Besides, the maids brought eight children, aged from one and a half to fifteen.
This MUZHYG ordered a lot and expensive: a personal portrait in full real growth, a general portrait of all women together, and each separately, all together with him, a separate portrait of each child and all together, the whole strange family together, and as a completion of nudes of each woman, and together.
Have you counted? And all the pictures have to be large, too — that's a separate requirement. Anyway, after discussing details and wishes, I cancelled the contract with the Skillful Hands campaign and moved into Scrooge's mansion... not that one! McConnelly!
Since the children are of different ages, and there are a lot of different institutions and programs for children in the USA, even the magical ones, not all of them stay at home during the summer — they go to different camps, recreation centers, and so on.
Based on this, the maids made a whole schedule of who goes where and when. Based on this scheme, and I began to work. Writing children is difficult, they do not like to sit in one place, they have a lot of "smart" questions and wishes, a lot of whims, and so on.
Worst of all, the older ones, fifteen and fourteen years old, turned out to be girls, and the two buggers kept trying to seduce me. This at a time when I could barely keep myself from openly staring at Scrooge's women... what the hell was wrong with that?
But at some point, one evening, I had an intimate conversation with a maid over white wine, and in the morning we woke up in the same bed. The lovely Frenchwoman turned out to be quite amorous, and the remaining weeks of the local female population did not interest me at all.
Even when I wrote naked, sexy women harem old man, worked more or less quietly — hours of three or four sex a day strongly discourage any "attempts". It's good that I'm strong, yes, magic supports the body, otherwise I don't know how I would have coped with Suzanne.
By the way, this fragile-looking blonde girl walked around with an eternally wide smile, and the explosions of power simply shook the minds of others. Of course, everyone knew the reasons, but no one claimed me now — Suzanne turned out to be a witch, which meant that when she was angry, she could easily cast curses, small but nasty ones. So no one bothered.