Mike was still walking around in his captain's uniform, and he needed to get it fixed as soon as possible. So after the meeting with Colonel Tirel, Mike went to the atelier, which was not far from the General's Square. It wasn't far to walk. It was just over five minutes.

The atelier was on a side street just around the corner at the street intersection on a semi-basement floor, and on the first floor was a military and government clothing store.

Mike walked into the atelier and was immediately greeted by a young girl.

"Good afternoon sir," she addressed him. "How can we help you?"

"Good afternoon," he greeted her. "I need to have the rank insignia on my uniform changed from captain to major."

"Follow me," she said. "I'll take you to an available tailor."

Mike followed her. Navigating between tables piled high with fabric and garments, tables with sewing machines and working seamstresses, they soon reached the free tailor. He turned out to be a short, old man in work clothes with an apron, glasses, and a cloth measuring tape slung over his shoulder.

"Master Ulrich," the girl addressed him. "There's a customer to see you."

"Thank you, my dear," he told her, then looked at Mike. "What does the gentleman want?"

"I need to have the rank insignia on my uniform changed from Captain to Major," Mike replied.

"Do you have them with you?" he asked him.

"Yes, of course," Mike took them out and placed them on a vacant table.

"Take your clothes off," said the tailor. "This won't take long."

Mike undressed and handed the uniform to the tailor. Ten minutes later the job was finished.

"That's it, you can get dressed," said the tailor. "Pay for the work at the entrance."

"Thank you," Mike told him.

"You're welcome, you're welcome," he waved him off.

Back at the entrance, where a young girl was, Mike asked her.

"How much do I owe you for the job?"

"Five silver coins."

After paying her, Mike went back to his department.

Mike had some free time and sat down at his desk and decided to write a list of people he would like to see in Artea with him. The list wasn't long, just five people. They were good experts in their work, and Mike could trust them wholeheartedly. True, he didn't know how many of them would be available or in place.

When the list was ready he went to Catherine de Graaf's reception room. There was only one Colonel Theodore de Graf in the reception room.

"Good afternoon Colonel," Mike greeted him.

"Good afternoon Major," Theodore said noticing the changed insignia on his uniform. "Madame General Catherine de Graaf is not in at the moment."

"She asked me to write her a list of the people I will need in Artea," Mike said and handed the list to the Colonel.

The colonel read the list and placed it on the table with the other papers.

"I'll give her the list. Anything else?" he asked.

"No, that's all," Mike bowed out.

When the clock was a quarter to 15 and it was a little over an hour before he could meet Stan, Mike said goodbye to everyone in the department and left the ministry building. In the parking place outside the building, Doran and his carriage were waiting for him.

"Young master, where to go?" the man asked.

"Home first," replied Mike.

On the way home, Mike was still accompanied by an unknown carriage. At home, he changed into his traveling suit, gray pants, light shirt, leather vest, and gray coat.

"Young master, where to go?"

"The Jolly Oyster Cafe, do you know where?"

"Yes, sir, I know where it is."

"Then let's go."

As soon as Mike got into the carriage, Doran yanked the reins, and they were off. Mike sat in the front seat, as usual, with his back to Doran, looking out the back window at the road. To his surprise, the unknown carriage no longer followed them.

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The Jolly Oyster Cafe was located on one of the main streets in the southeastern part of the capital and was two floors high. On the first floor, there were dense rows of tables with chairs like in an ordinary café, and the second floor was divided into two zones - an open veranda with rare tables, and a private area with small booths with tables separated from each other by walls.

Mike didn't know how long he'd be with Stan, so he let Doran go with the carriage and then headed for the café.

On the first floor, Mike asked the nearest waiter.

"Excuse me, sir," he addressed him. "My friend Stan Baltimore should be waiting for me."

"Private area?" the waiter asked Mike.

"Yes, most likely."

"Come on up to the second floor, booth three."

"Thank you."

Going up to the second floor, Mike quickly found the right booth. As he knocked he opened it. Inside in one of the seats sat a large man with dark skin, short-cut dark gray hair, and dressed in the uniform of the captain of the city guard.

"Mike, good to see you, buddy," Stan greeted him.

"Long time no see Stan."

Stan rose from his seat, walked over to Mike, and they first shook hands and then hugged.

"Have a seat," Stan pointed him to a seat on the other side of the table.

The private booth was small enough for four people - one rectangular table and four soft chairs. On the wall opposite the entrance hung a large painting of a landscape. And beneath the painting was a waiter call button.

Once settled in their seats, Stan pressed the waiter call button on the panel. Mike picked up the menu folder that was on the table and quickly looked through it.

"Mike, you're still walking around in civilian clothes."

"What can I do, I like those clothes. And, yeah, you don't wear uniforms on overseas missions either. The nature of the job is different. You know." shrugged Mike.

"But here in the capital you wear uniforms, don't you?" asked Stan. "Or were you fired already?" he joked.

Mike nodded his head affirmatively. Stan's jaw dropped in surprise.

"Promoted," Mike said with a smile. "I'm Major Mike de Graaf now."

"Don't scare me like that, my friend," Stan said, putting his hand over his heart. "You'll give me a heart attack."

"No I won't," Mike assured him.

A knock was heard at the door, then a waitress stepped inside.

"Ready for your order, gentlemen," she addressed them.

"Yeah, I'm hungry as a pack of wolves," Stan told her. "And you Mike?"

"I'll order, too."

"Have you chosen what you will order yet?" she asked them.

"Mike?"

"Go ahead, Stan. You first."

"Okay. Then write it down, honey," Stan told her. "Mushroom soup, two portions. Roast potatoes with calf and vegetables. Spicy red sauce. And meatloaf, two portions."

"And you, sir," she turned to Mike. "What would you like to order?"

"Roast calf with mushrooms. A salad of vegetables. And meatloaf."

The girl wrote down their order and then asked. "Will you be ordering wine?"

Mike looked at Stan. Stan said without thinking.

"Yes, a bottle of nice white wine."

"Good. I'll bring your order soon," she said and left.

"Why did you order so little," Stan asked him.

"I have a late dinner waiting for me at home, which would be hard to refuse."

"How I envy you. I don't have a late dinner waiting for me at home."

Stan put his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"I see you're still eating the same way. Who's stopping you from hiring a kitchen maid?"

"If only a young one."

"Well, hire a young one."

"Well, you won't believe this. I tried. It didn't work out," Stan said with a sigh. "Besides, I don't have a place to cook food properly."

There was a knock at the door.

"Your order, gentlemen," said the waitress, opening the door and pushing the food cart ahead of her.

"Mm, that smells good," Stan said smelling the food as the waitress began to place the food on the table. His comment made her smile.

"Gentlemen. I hope you enjoy our food," she said with a slight bow. "If you need anything else, feel free to call."

Then she pushed the empty cart out and closed the door.

"Well, let's eat," Stan said as he uncorked the wine and poured it into glasses.

Half an hour later everything had been eaten and everything had been drunk.

"Good cooking here," Stan said, leaning back in his chair and stroking his rounded belly.

"I agree with you Stan, the food here is really good."

"Except it's expensive here. A bottle of wine is one and a half gold. Imagine that."

"Stan, why did you call me here? You could have asked me to my house for a late dinner."

"I'm sorry. I don't like going to big clan houses."

"That's no answer. Unless you want to offend me."

"No, of course... It's just... Consider me paranoid," Stan tried to apologize. "Anyway, I don't want to be overheard."

Stan got up from his seat and took two rounded objects from his pocket, similar to amulets, and pinned them on the two opposite walls, activating them with his magic beforehand. Mike immediately felt that he could no longer feel or hear outside the small room. It was as if all of his senses had been abruptly cut off.

"Seriously Stan? I didn't expect that from you. Where's the one who said he wasn't afraid of anyone or anything, that he'd get to the bottom of things in spite of all the trouble?" Mike asked him.

"I've got a serious case. I've unearthed something very serious."

"Oh, really? Is that what we have where every clan has its secrets and weaves intrigue?"

"Yeah, compared to what I dug up, it's all child's play."

"Okay. You have me intrigued. I'm all ears."

"What do you know about illegal organ trafficking?" Stan asked him.

Mike thought for a while and answered.

"In general terms, like everybody else. It's not really my line of work. We have a specialized department for that. So do you, by the way."

"That's right," Stan confirmed.

Transplants of organs, and even body parts, are perfectly legal in the Dark Empire, as well as in several other states. The level of medical and magical knowledge allows such operations to be performed in most major hospitals. Organ donors are usually the deceased patients of these hospitals and morgues themselves, who have signed an agreement with the hospital. Or donors are fresh unidentified corpses.

This business is very profitable, and it is natural that various semi-criminal personalities try to get involved in it. An example of this is transplants for wealthy foreigners, whose home country prohibits such transplants. This is what is called gray transplantation. And many turn a blind eye to it because it causes no visible damage to the empire, but it brings in a lot of money.

But there is also black transplantation. This is when illegally or semi-legally obtained organs and body parts are taken out of the empire for transplantation into rich people. Trafficking any organs out of the empire is forbidden and violations are punishable by severe penalties, up to and including the death penalty. But they still violate it because the profits are enormous. For example, a heart and lung transplant for a person with minimal magical abilities greatly prolongs his life. If a donor of rank 6, that's plus 30 years, if a donor of rank 9, that's plus 60 years. There are peculiarities and risks, of course, but it's all worth it.

"And what do you know about missing persons? Especially young women," Stan asked him.

"Same as everybody else. And that's not my line of work, either. No specialized department, though. But you have it."

"That's right," confirmed Stan.

"And what's all this got to do with anything?" asked Mike.