Chapter Seven

MISGUIDED SCHEME

Being a private detective in a magical world is a strange affair. What could be more absurd? After all, here operates that unusual thing we call magic on old Earth - sorcery, which normal adults don’t believe in. It would seem simple, hire a wizard who, with a few gestures and some spoken words, could immediately provide data and the whereabouts of the criminal. Maybe even predict their future fate – take a peek over the horizon of the future, so to speak.

But here, as always, life is mean, and an unexpected ‘catch’ comes into play. If magic can be used to solve complex crimes, then there’s no guarantee it can’t be used just as successfully to hide them! As a result, the imbalance caused by magic in criminology came full circle, stabilizing right where you need to work with your analytical skills. In other words, if you’re not too clever, magic won’t help you solve crimes. It might even complicate things. Never involve it in an investigation unless you’re the only mage within a hundred kilometers. This was what I capitalized on while working as a private detective in the magical world. Attention to detail and the old methods of Sherlock Holmes worked wonders here. The first thing the local police – the ammaratia – would think of was to have their resident mage unravel the case, which, of course, could only be useful for catching pickpockets at the fish market, and even they, if lucky enough, could afford a couple of protective amulets, nullifying all the efforts and labors of the police mages.

I even had my own ‘Lestrade’ at the police department, the local version of the prominent Scotland Yard police chief. I had unraveled a couple of complex murders for him. And he helped me build connections with the right people and find wealthy clients. At the moment, however, he was of no help to me. Moreover, he would have handed me over to the Hariyans without a second thought! The corruption of the local police could rival that of any South African country where police officers, masquerading as gangsters at night, rob their citizens.

True, the cops back in the ‘motherland’ weren’t saints either, but here it was a complete free-for-all for those in power. But... whatever.

For these reasons, the Hariyans hadn’t managed to track me down at the university, even though their best mages must have been searching for me with all their might. Rufus and the students were covering for me quite professionally. The Hariyans, generally speaking, aren’t great mages. They only reach the heights of their art due to their long lifespans, developing their innate gift through long and persistent training. Even the dullest can master magic to a decent level after a hundred years. Their only problem is practicality – the Hariyans lack imagination. Not that they don’t have any, it’s hard to explain in simple words, but they are extremely practical people. I heard they have no folklore or music in their culture.

But to hell with it! In short, two days after my ‘landing’ here, I received a message from Tus saying he was waiting for me at the agreed place, and I had to leave the establishment. Rufus, as well as the others, urged me to stay. But the situation would become deadlocked if I didn’t take active steps, I decided. The curse would take effect sooner or later, and they couldn’t remove it.

After saying goodbye to the hospitable students, I, with the little one in tow – couldn’t leave her behind – headed to meet Tus.

Tus was waiting behind the wheel of a truck in the backyard of some shabby factory, a tannery, or something of the sort. I had ordered a small covered truck, the kind used by laundries or small wholesale traders, for him. Bus had followed the instruction precisely, even though I was almost certain he would flee after our parting. He had every reason to do so, but for some reason, Ronka didn’t. Surprising! I needed to find out what his true motives were for sticking around.

“Hi, Tus!” I greeted, still a few steps away. “How’s it going?”

Tus hastily took a final drag and flicked away his cigarette. People smoked here, by the way. Not tobacco, but some local stuff I suspected was the equivalent of Earth’s marijuana. God knows what, but I dared not experiment with my Earthly metabolism. Though I sometimes longed for a smoke. I used to smoke back on Earth.

“Hello, Boss!”

Again! I let “Boss” slide. Let him call me that. As the saying goes, ‘If you name yourself a mushroom, be ready to jump in the basket.’

Without further ado, we got into the cab. Dina was seated in the middle, her face red though she looked displeased as if saying, ‘What a pervert! Putting a little girl between two grown men! But she seemed to understand that in case of danger, it was better for me to be near the window, so she kept quiet.

For a minute, we said nothing. Both waiting for me to speak. In my pocket was a list of six influential people in Bridgeport. Politicians who might be the targets the Hariya mafia wanted to eliminate, under the guise of the work of a minor port gang. But my mind wasn’t on that now. The politicians wouldn’t see me, and what would I say to them? ‘Sorry, I was supposed to kill one of you’? I had a completely different plan. Daring and naive. An old but very effective method of dealing with kidnapping – a counter-kidnapping. It doesn’t work with lone maniacs, but if you’re up against family clans, diasporas, or if the kidnapper has any attachments, it might just work fine. Even if you have to steal a Boss’s ‘Chao-Chao’ – the lovely cuddly pet of the gangster’s family. But better, of course, a family member. For better assurance.

“Alright,” I began briefing my team, “let’s do what they do not expect from us. Or at least, what they expect the least. As I finally figured out – it makes no difference to the victims whether one Zingaru is killed or ten – the death will be painful and long in both cases. So why restrain yourself? We’ll head to ‘The Singing Sirens’ and stir up a little commotion. I’ll do all the shooting. You just wait outside. We need to capture a few Zingaru. We’ll try to exchange them for Shani. You,” I looked sternly at Dina, “will stay in the truck and work as our radar. You only need to tell us where and how many targets there are when we approach the dive. And keep a lookout. Can you handle it?”

The kid just snorted in response. Guess that means she could.

“Did you get the weapons, Tus?” I asked the Ronka.

Tus nodded towards the back, where the covered bed of our truck was.

“There’s an arsenal back there, guys. Your rifle with the magic scope is there too.”

“Good job!” I commended. “What about the plan, do you really want to be a part of it?”

Tus hesitated before answering.

“Well, to be completely honest, boss... I was planning to bolt beyond the Wall yesterday. But as you said, I realized there wouldn’t be any salvation for me there either, and the number of Zingaru we kill won’t change our fate. Better to die by a bullet than running from those brutes.”

“Seems like you don’t like them much,” I observed with a smile. “Why did you work for them then?”

Tus shrugged:

“In life, you have to do all sorts of things. Besides we weren’t directly connected. Usually, it was Tara and I who went on jobs. Even though it was you who killed my brother, Zingaru was the cause. I understand that. Don’t think I’m stupid, Max.”

“Excellent, Tus! You’re not disappointing me. Well then! As Comrade Gagarin said going into space: ‘Let’s go’...”

“Where’s my weapon? I want a pistol too,” Dina interfered in our conversation. She wanted a gun!

“You don’t need one.”

“And who is that guy?”

“Who is who?” I asked to clarify the question.

“Well, that ‘Gagadin’ who said ‘Let’s go’.”

“Not Gagadin, Gagarin. An astronaut.”

“And what’s an astronaut?”

“A person who flies in space.”

“And what is space?”

“The emptiness between stars and planets.”

“And why, if he flies, did he say ‘Let’s go’?”

“Because… Enough! Tus, give her a Browning. And a heavy one.”

Tus, with readiness and a laugh in his eyes, while still steering with one hand, pulled a heavy nine-millimeter pistol from the glove compartment and tossed it onto Dina’s lap.

I turned to the window, watching the houses flashing by.

“Do you even know how to shoot?”

“Of course, Bossi! The girl disengaged the safety and racked the slide. With a proud smile, she added, “I was in a gang. For three years!”

“‘Something to be proud of. She was in a gang!’” I muttered to myself. “Three years! Might as well start boasting about your first year or celebrate a tenth anniversary in jail.”

“Stop! Stop!”

Dina’s desperate cry made Tus slam on the brakes.

Behind us, at least half a dozen horns blared in annoyance. At the end of the street, about three hundred meters away, stood the famous Bridgeport restaurant ‘The Singing Sirens’, or ‘The Red Lobster’, as it was sometimes called. Built on stilts and partially submerged, like the buildings in Venice. It rose above the pier like a magical castle, dazzlingly white with terraces and balustrades where patrons could dine in the open air, facing the sea breeze. So fresh, wholesome, and wonderfully stimulating to the appetite.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

At night, when the lights were on, it was wildly interesting and beautiful. But expensive. Very. With my modest budget, there was nothing for me there. Only once had Shani invited me, on my birthday. Or rather, the anniversary of our meeting. She celebrated it ceremoniously, saying it would make up for my actual birthday, nonexistent according to the local calendar.

“What’s wrong with you?”

I turned to Dina.

“There are ones like me there. Two. He almost sensed us!”

Tus and I exchanged glances. He shrugged, not at all surprised. His expression said it all – this was to be expected.

“Reverse,” I ordered Tus. “Before they fully sense us.”

I was slightly flustered. Adversary telepathic-sensor complicated everything. They would identify us as a threat long before we could make direct contact. We’d be shot even before getting close. That’s the thing about having a telepathic defender. It’s clear now why they had problems. And why they needed me. I was in the same position they were earlier, trying to kill their target using my abilities for long-range and precise shooting.

Think! How quickly will they react? A telepath’s scream and a dozen or so bodyguards will rush towards us, knowing exactly where the danger is coming from. What if the telepath stepped away? To the restroom, say? Or is asleep? No, it won’t work. How would I even know if they don’t have a backup for such a case?

I was deep in thought, lost in my thoughts. Dina and Tus waited patiently for my decision.

“Can’t you cover us?” I asked Dina. “Like back at the university.”

Dina looked at me as if I were an idiot:

“Of course, I can. I can shield your feelings from them. But that’s the same as screaming out loud, ‘I am planning to attack you, so I’ve shielded myself’.”

“Will they sense your block?”

“Sense what?”

Damn! You need more education, kid.

“I mean; will they feel you closing me off?”

“No,” she commented sardonically, “they’ll feel two black spots and one large one, covering those two, approaching the house. They definitely won’t think someone is just strolling by. So, there’s no difference. We might as well start shooting from here and scream that we’re coming to kill them.”

“Can’t we approach as customers?”

Dina snorted and replied even more mockingly:

“Well, you can pretend you want to eat human flesh. For camouflage. I hear they serve it there, by special order.”

“What?”

“It’s true, Boss,” Tus chimed in authoritatively. “Some Zingaru occasionally eat human liver. Usually from mages, less often dwarf’s one. They believe it gives them the magical power of eaten mages.”

I looked at both of them in shock.

“You knew about this? And did nothing?”

“What could I do?” Dina said, offended. Tus diplomatically remained silent, as he was not human.

“Damn, they need to be blown apart. Bloody cannibals! They need a nuclear bomb dropped on them! Where are those damn bombers when you need them! B52s, Tomahawks, everything. Democratize the hell out of those freaks!” I fumed for about two minutes. Both listened silently to my rant, filled with Earth military jargon that was completely foreign to them.

Finally, I calmed down.

“Start the engine,” I commanded Tus.

“Where are we heading?” Tus asked as the motor obediently rumbled to life.

“For now, just away from here. Something will come to me on the way. We need an idea. Badly. A hundred bucks for an idea. And you,” I turned to Dina, “will tell me about your gift. Everything. We need to figure out how to neutralize you. Or rather, that telepathic guy in the restaurant.”

‘Every trick should have its antidote. That’s how life always works,’ I thought with a sigh and a faint hope…

“Pars is missing.”

Rufus didn’t shock me with this news. His demeanor was agitated and concerned about his friend’s disappearance. Dressed all in black, as if he were already in mourning for his missing friend, the golden emblem of a mage shone on his cloak’s clasp.

I nodded grimly, unsure what to say. I gestured silently for him to walk with me.

“Where did he disappear?” I asked as we walked along the fence of the university grounds. Dina followed closely, glancing around like my bodyguard. She only lacked black sunglasses and a communication earpiece to complete the image of modern security guard. I had again sent Tus to lay low. The attack on the restaurant was postponed until I could figure out a way to circumvent the damn telepath.

“On Rose Street,” Rufus continued. “He was looking for the disenchanter who directed you to Kulu-Kulu. He sent me a message on the ‘scribe’ saying he found the address you mentioned.”

I nodded again. Using deductive reasoning, this was simultaneously good and bad news. The only conclusion was that there was no mysterious magical absurdity or ZUTAN with me. And the ‘scribe’ – it’s just a communication book for mages. Two notebooks are magically created through some complex spells and manipulations: when you write in one, the words automatically appear in the other, no matter where you are. Even on the other side of the world.

“So, it wasn’t Zutan?” I asked, almost affirmatively.

Rufus nodded:

“Yes. Now I’m almost certain. Someone was waiting for him there. And someone gave you a newspaper with an ad that wasn’t in the others.”

I admired Rufus. The guy was sharp and quick. Good analytical skills. Ita praised him for a reason.

“Why go to such lengths?” I asked. “What did they want from me?”

“I don’t know,” Rufus hesitated, “there’s something here that I don’t understand. Some detail in all this...”

‘Good job,’ I thought to myself. ‘That something – my Earthly origin. And someone knew about it, directing me to Kulu and Ita, who, being telepaths, cracked the nut right away.’

Troubles were piling up like an avalanche.

“Now we have to look for Pars too,” I said. “Damn! We’re always one step behind our enemies.”

“Who sold you the newspaper?” Rufus asked. Exactly what I was thinking about at that moment. His keen mind, like a hound, was following the events closely. Sharp as a tack!

I closed my eyes and remembered him. A boy of about eleven. A red-haired, brown-eyed newspaper carrier. A large canvas bag filled with a stack of fresh newspapers, a worn jacket, and short pants. I saw how he bustled around me, shouting his ‘sensations’, much like the street newspaper vendors once did on Earth. So, he had a newspaper prepared especially for me. A special edition. Why? What sense in such a complex scheme to lure me to the villa of the magical couple? Because it exists now. It’s not some bullshit Zutan! They could have simply invited me. Why the hell?

I described the boy’s appearance.

“I’ll find him,” Rufus said. “There’s only one place in this area from where newspapers are distributed.”

“It’s unlikely to help. The kid was just fulfilling someone’s order. Earned a few coins. Better to visit the villa.”

Rufus looked at me, surprised. Then changed the expression:

“Ah, right. You don’t know.”

“What don’t I know?” I asked, puzzled.

“You won’t find the villa. It’s most likely enchanted. That’s why you couldn’t find it without someone to guide you. Mages might not be the most powerful fighters, but they know how to hide. Can’t take that away from them.”

“Whoa! So, the kid fishing wasn’t a coincidence?”

“Of course not. You were led right to the villa. The boy could have been Kulu-Kulu himself in disguise, guiding you through the magical barrier that masks the villa.”

I stopped, struck by the revelation.

“I still don’t get it! Why did they need you?” Rufus pondered aloud to himself. “What nonsense? There’s no magic in you! What’s so special about you then?”

I decided to divert him from this train of thought. Feeling a bit like a scoundrel for not telling him where I was from. The risk that he might hate me for it was too great. An ‘ingineer’ from that world, in person! Too risky. Forget it!

“Listen. We’ll find Pars. But first, I need to attack the restaurant and capture a couple of Zingaru, preferably some big shots for a trade. The only place where they are is called the ‘Singing Sirens’ the restaurant in the port.

Rufus looked at me as if I were insane.

“I know it’s sheer madness,” I continued. “But it’s the only way to rescue Shani. And possibly Pars, if he’s with the Hariyans. I need some way to shield myself from telepaths. Some kind of magic against it.”

Rufus thoughtfully shook his head:

“Telepathy isn’t exactly magic. It can be stimulated by magic, but you can’t shield yourself from it. That’s why they’re used as bodyguards. If magic could deceive them, what would be the point of such protection?”

“Maybe something blocks it? Water, for instance. Or metal, like a Faraday cage, for example,” I asked, not giving up, clinging to a faint hope for something useful. My imagination already conjured images of aluminum foil hats, like some crazy conspiracy theorists on Earth create.

“I don’t know what a ‘Faraday cage’ is, Max, but there’s no wall thick enough to block or weaken the effect of telepathy. It’s an omnipresent force. It weakens with distance but is completely independent of the surrounding matter. For an unknown reason.”

I groaned inwardly. ‘Damn! What should I do? There must be a weakness. There must be. There’s no such thing as perfect defense. Yes, I could kill them – from afar. As they wanted with the assassination proposal. But to attack and take a couple of Zingaru hostages. How?’

“Is it true that Zingaru eats the livers of mages?” I asked abruptly, my mind on something entirely different.

“No,” Rufus replied categorically. “That’s just a rumor that circulates among... um... the less educated classes. I would say.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because Zingaru are a cruel but ancient and wise race of intelligent beings. They don’t indulge in such barbaric irrational nonsense. They’re too practical for that. I’ll look into your problem at the university library, Max. But if there was anything to it, Zingaru would already know.”

I nodded in agreement. There was nothing to cover.

“Alright. Let’s meet tonight at the same place if that suits you. And don’t go to that disentchanter on Rose Street. Otherwise, I’ll need three Zingaru for the exchange. And I’m already afraid I can’t even handle one,” I said in farewell.

Rufus shook his head, either disagreeing with my attempt to dissuade him from further follies or with the meeting place:

“No. We won’t meet at the university anymore. If Pars is with Zingaru, he’s already told them everything. It’s dangerous. We’ll meet tomorrow evening at ‘The Copper Golem.’ It’s a café on Dining Street in the old town. I’ll write you the address.”

Pulling a notebook from under his cloak, Rufus quickly scribbled the address, tore the page out, and handed me the crumpled small sheet of paper.

We said our brief goodbyes. Dina and I moved on...