A few hours later, he listened to another request:

"You don't believe me?"

"I've never heard anything like it."

"And what should I do? This bastard will drive me crazy!"

"Look, I'm not sure that horses can really talk."

"This devil creature is always saying something, some nasty things at that!"

Alason looked at the man's wide pupils and sent him to make out an application.

"And what article?"

"Home harassment... I suppose."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, call the next one."

Next came a creature of the Svartalf race – a kind of gnomes who absolutely do not call themselves gnomes and do not want to have anything to do with them. Svartalf told about how he works in his blacksmith shop, forges first-class weapons, and after the end of the rebellion some crazy people came to him, accused him of allegedly supplying weapons to "these bastards" and destroyed everything that he earned by honest work.

"What am I supposed to do now?"

"We'll figure it out."

"I didn't have insurance."

"Why?"

"Because gnomes work in banks. This miserable scums."

"It's not their fault that they were born like this."

"It's their fault that they came out of their filthy holes into the light. Find me these bastards and promise me to put their heads under my axe."

"I can only promise a torch for the fire."

"Fine."

"Then please go to the reception desk and fill out the form."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The svartalf nodded and went out the door.

"Tell me something terrible has happened."

"Something terrible has happened."

Alason got up from his chair, entered the corridor filled with various creatures and people and said that the event was over, he was called to an urgent task. Everyone started to get indignant and shout:

"Why are you leaving in the middle of the working day?"

"This is classified information. I have no right to disclose it."

"Did you go out again to kidnap kids and drink in bars?"

Alason got angry, threatened with his fist and reminded all the residents that a policeman does not do such low things and no one in his department touches children or anyone else, and how he believes in God, who in turn helps him, and helps of his own free will, and not at the request.

They left the police station. Alason took out a silver cigarette case and matches and lit a cigarette.

"What happened?" he asked, exhaling smoke from his lungs.

"A road collapsed not far from a forbidden city. Several people were killed."

"Collapsed?"

"Yes."

"This is strange. Where should it fall?"

"Maybe into the first circle of bureaucratic hell?"

"Let's figure it out."

Alason took a few more steps and threw the half-smoked cigarette on the curb and stepped on it with his shoe to put it out.

"I won't go on foot."

"I understood that. Here comes our transport."

It was a large white stagecoach with the red insignia of the Inquisition and the signature "Agernox police". A siren was installed on the roof, which squealed on half the street. People avoided and examined this screaming monster with a distrustful look. Women covered the ears of their children. Alason and Jacob did not react to this in any way. When the transport arrived, they opened the door and set off.

***

They were shaking in the stagecoach, leaning in time with the driver's sharp turns and bouncing on bumps and humps.

"Do you want to discuss the revolution?"

"There is nothing to discuss here, everything’s clear."

"Do you think they all got killed?"

"If you don't know for sure, then you can't say anything except conjectures. And they can be destructive. Therefore, I prefer not to think at all."

They were quiet for a couple of minutes, then Alason began to tremble, and he screamed:

"Can you turn off this stupid siren?"

"Of course," the driver replied.

"At least a little peace in this world."

"Requests and complaints of the civilian population are exhausting, right?"

"Yes. My grandfather invented this concept. Then the idea worked with a bang. And now I'm constantly listening to all sorts of strange complaints."

"An old man once told me a story. He said he found giant mushrooms in the forest. Weighing ten kilograms!"

"I'll be damned if that's true."

"It's true. I saw them myself later. Only his wife sold his one mushroom while he was sleeping and bought herself a fur coat. As a result, the old man took the second one and killed her with it. He turned himself in.”

"What the hell."

"People are strange."

"Crazy world for crazy people."

"And one of them comes to me and starts claiming that he is actually a metentis and will destroy this city tomorrow."

"Such people came to me too. They want to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city or their family or problems at work to prison, where no one can get them."

"Ridiculous."

"Maybe, maybe."