* * *

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Uncle Kolya wiggled his gaze.

"Maths - eighth grade!" I read expressively, shifting the book loudly from one place to the other. "In-or-ga-nic che-mis-tr-y!"

"I asked for books to prop up the table, and that's what I got!" The watchman muttered, turning away to the window.

"And I'm supposed to study that?" indignantly, I shook the large book with "Geography of the Empire" above my head.

"Well, they're magic books, too." He said cautiously, "you're just too young and stupid to understand them yet."

"Really?" I squinted my eyes and turned my head slightly sideways to let him see how much I didn't believe him.

"Do you want me to prove it?" My neighbor stepped forward and grabbed the volume from my hands. "Here, look!"

And he opened the cover.

"What's that?" I stared at the picture painted in blue, yellow, and green.

"It's a picture of our country from a great height," explained the man patiently. "This white one is the North Pole, with perpetual snow even in summer. Polar bears live there. The blue one is the Arctic Ocean, and everything below that line is our country. There are huge mountains here, the biggest lake in the world, and that little spot is our capital, Moscow."

"Cool!" I grinned and studied the magic page for a long time, asking the uncle for details. I followed the threads of rivers from their beginnings to the seas and oceans. I counted - and kept getting confused - the number of cities. I tried to spread my fingers so that my thumb was on Vladivostok and my index finger was on Moscow, but it didn't work.

"And this little dot here is our town," the uncle poked his fingernail towards the very sea at the top and left of the page.

"Where am I?" came the most important question.

"You're too small for this map," grinned Kolya.

"So what's she for if I'm not there?" I was indignant in response. "At least they could have written a name! And pointer."

"It is not customary to write the names of individuals on a map."

"Well, it's written: The Principality of Istomin. Why can Istomin be written but not me?"

"Because it's his land," the uncle explained, losing patience. "When you have a principality, your family name will be here too."

"On this little scrap? It's shallow," I hummed.

"All right. If you take over the world, it'll have your name written all over it."

"So why postpone it? I've got a felt-tip pen!"

"You don't get it. First, you seize it, then the inscription appears. And not immediately, but after about three or four months."

"It's too long," I shook my head, discreetly putting the book behind my back.

I shall become emperor of the world at night after all! Twice - in blue and red felt-tip pen!

"Wow! Is this one magical too?" I grabbed the next volume. "Ka-ma..."

"Um, how did it get in here... Give it back!"

"Mine!"

"This is very powerful witchcraft!"

I followed the movement of the tome closely, noting where he had hidden it, and set it as a second target after the binoculars.

"Phy-sics, eighth grade," it said on a shabby little book. It must be boring. I moved it indifferently to the second stack.

"You're throwing it away for nothing," commented the man.

"What's so interesting about it?" I did leaf through the yellowish pages and even tried to read some of the text - nothing is clear.

"Find out why your bracelet is warm," he nodded at my left arm. "Eighth grade is electricity. Your gift is electricity."

"It will come in handy," I agreed, looking at the enigmatic volume in a different way.

The book came back and was pinned on his knee for safety.

"Then study." He lay down on the bed and turned his back.

"When are you going to teach me how to fight?" I reminded him of an old promise.

"Go over to the wall and hit it," he muttered, falling asleep.

With a shrug, I walked over to the bare wall and punched it with my fist.

"It hurts!" I shook my palm and blew on my knuckles.

"You hit a wall, it hits you back. It's always like that in a fight. That's the first lesson. If you beat the wall, wake up," the man yawned and fell asleep.

Probably another test. I eyed the wall suspiciously, pounded it again, and shook my hand again. The wall was clearly stronger, and it was a good thing it didn't hit first.

I had to use magic, but how? To test it, I yelled a cryptic and magical phrase from a memorized booklet and swung my arm. I bruised my hand on the edge of my bed and added a few more powerful phrases I'd overheard from my roommate to the spell. It didn't work - the wall was still intact.

"What to do?" I got sad. I can't break my fingers...

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

I tried to remember the sense of energy the uncle was making me look for, and I think I found something, but the punch on the wall was just as painful and pointless again. I guess there's just something I don't know. But it's in the magic books!

"...that I don't understand at all," he sighed, sitting down on the bed.

He scrolled through the pages he had memorized, not finding anything he could understand enough to use. He strode across the room, glaring angrily at his neighbor and the wall. I wanted to hit them both but could not. In the end, I kicked an empty book bag and hurt my little finger; there was something left in it. I looked down at the bottom of the bag: it was indeed a black book with golden letters. It was heavy and not too small to get lost, just a big bag. I picked it up, shook it off, and quietly read: Dic-ti-o-na-ry. Hm... Hm! My lips were pursed with sweet anticipation, like a second cutlet for a refill.

The dictionary didn't fail! That's why it was put under the mattress - they'll find it and take it away, and such magic will come in handy!

The seemingly incomprehensible and strange words appeared to be not so difficult - it was just that the adults liked to name five simple words with one cryptic word. And all I had to do was get my gift to cover my entire fist twice and then punch it! There were two more pages on how to do it, but when it was all dark and quiet outside, I made it!

The sound of a suitcase falling from the top shelf was heard, and the whole room shook with the floor, the clinking of cups, the rattling of windows, and a woken-up Uncle Kolya's curse.

"What have you done, you bastard?!" he stared in horror at the huge hole in the brickwork of the wall.

"It wasn't me at all," I shook my head, looking at the man with huge eyes.

"Who does?!"

"Co-cockroaches?"

But most importantly, I beat the wall! And then I walked proudly past it because it hurt to sit.

The watchman wandered around, glancing frantically at the coloring drawings we had covered the hole with. The drawings were great, with a blue and red giraffe and a blue and red elephant. Made them myself!

"Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had hit a little harder?"

"What?"

"Street happened! It's a solid wall! Say thank you that half the boarding school didn't come."

"Thank you."

"What if someone finds out about your gift?"

"What's wrong with that?" I sniffed.

The watchman grabbed his head with his hand and sat down on the bed. He was silent for a long time, thinking intensely about something, and when he raised his head, he looked collected and stern.

"Tell me, is a gun a good thing or a bad thing?"

"Is it bad?" I suggested uncertainly, confused.

"What if it is in the hands of a man who is defending himself and his family?"

"Good then, I guess."

"What if it falls into the hands of a criminal?"

"Well..."

"A gun is neither bad nor good. A gun is just a gun until it falls into the hands of a good or bad person. Your gift is the same gun. It is neither bad nor good. But many bad people will want it for themselves."

"But it belongs to me!" I was genuinely indignant.

"No," he slammed his hand on the bed, "you have no patrons, no protectors! If the Headmistress discovers your gift, she will decide what to do with it - sell it, give it away, or keep it."

"How can you even sell someone else's gift!"

"Along with the man. That's it," he put his prosthesis forward and lifted his pant leg, revealing dull metal instead of a limb. "I sold my gift myself. Look at the results!"

"You, yourself?" I repeated in disbelief.

"Yes. I sold out for twenty years. It's called service. But it's my choice," he looked away. "And you, if the gift is discovered, will be sold without your knowledge. Perhaps they already sold it."

"But they can't do that, can they? I'm against it!"

"No one will ask you. You will be forced to. You don't wield the gift enough to protect yourself and your freedom with it."

"So teach me!"

"I can't!" He raised his voice. "What are your parents going to tell me when..." He suddenly stopped talking and continued in a completely different way. "That's why we have to keep it a secret."

"My... parents?" Something in me clicked, turning on a completely different sound. Cold, clanking, alien.

"I was going to say - your parents would probably want..."

"Nikolai..."

The man shrank back as if struck and looked at me differently. I had seen all kinds of looks before, from angry to good-natured, but this one was frightened. He pulled himself together quickly, regaining his tired look, but he tried to look past me now. I wanted to apologize, but my neighbor spoke first.

"I don't know if they're alive," he muttered. "Probably not. I'm sorry. But there's a chance that grandparents, aunts, or uncles are alive. It's almost for sure."

"What do they need me for?"

Some had relatives left at the boarding school, but somehow they were in no hurry to take the children in.

"In families like yours, kinship is very strong. You have no idea how much. A second cousin, a great uncle, your parents' godparents - they would all be happy to meet you and take you in."

"So why am I still here?" I spoke softly in my own voice.

They put you under a false name and hid your papers. It must have been to protect you from your enemies," the man grimaced and slowly tidied up his trousers, which wasn't very handy with one hand.

I sat down next to him and adjusted the folds of his trousers.

"And how did you find out, you know... about me?"

"Your Gift is like a second surname," he smiled from above.

Uncle Kolya shifted his leg, leaned his hand on his stick, and began slowly to tell the story of his search, his unpleasant discoveries, his fears, and their confirmation. About the wicked witch headmistress and her helper. About a lost prince and a crippled sidekick. About the main ogre villain hidden somewhere in the darkness. About his, Uncle Kolya's, decision not to tell me anything but to continue the search. Everything looked like a fascinating fairy tale with no happy ending yet. And worst of all, I was the main character.

"What if they can't be found? My family..." I looked down at the floor with a frown. "And I would still be weak."

"Even if we continue training, I can't give you anything more than that lousy book!" Uncle shook his head. "It's not enough."

"Just sit there and wait?" I resented the response, about to be seriously offended.

"You have a trump card. Your ancestral Blood Power. Learn it, put it to your service," he advised me without a smile. "It's more powerful than anything I can teach you."

"Will you help?"

"I can't help you with electricity. Not my element. You've learned the general tricks."

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Study physics," he nodded towards the textbooks in the drawer. "Experiment. A gift can't hurt you. But please, please!" He hesitated and got really nervous.

"Ah?"

"Don't burn the boarding school!"

"Never in my life! The word of the Emperor!" I lifted my chin proudly.

"Well, well," he changed from concern to a smile. "More advice... That voice... your voice that you... well..." the man sounded confused.

"I was scared of it myself, I'm sorry. I will never again..."

"Train it!" To my surprise, the uncle interrupted me. "It's your gift and your blood, too."

"Got it," I scratched the back of my head.

"Let's go to sleep. It's long past midnight," the neighbor looked at his watch and lay back down. "Turn out the lights."

Finally, I reached for my shabby textbook and flipped through a dozen pages, not understanding a word of it. I noted bitterly that one dictionary would not be enough.

Morning greeted me around the corner of the corridor with the husky voice of an older man - one who was due to graduate at the end of the year. So, he was already feeling like a real adult. A big, bald-haired man in a tracksuit was propped up against the wall a few feet from the corner, clearly waiting for me.

"They say you can get sugar?" He stretched out willy-nilly, coming up close.

Оh! Training! I closed my eyes, remembering how I felt... My back straightened by itself, and my chin lifted slightly. The eyes opened completely different person.

"Who is saying?" The voice clangs with metal - the same one born in the night's conversation.

"People," he ran his eyes around and took his hands out of his pockets. "So, an exchange?"

"I need an eighth-grader with an A in physics," I said after a dozen seconds of thought.

"W-which one?" confused the lad.

"With glasses," I touched the bridge of my nose.

All the smart ones are wearing glasses. Everyone knows that.

"T-there is one," he nodded hastily. "Do you want me to beat him up?"

"Deliver him in one piece, with books and a notebook, tonight. I pay thirty cubes of sugar."

"Deal!"

He's running away quite quickly. Hmmm... And the voice is working!

Encouraged by my success, I staggered towards the cafeteria. The training continues! And don't they dare not give me a second cutlet...

* * *

Chapter 5

Friendship and cutlets