Book II. Chapter 93 - The Congress (Part 3)

Chapter 93

With his darting little eyes and his obsequious air—he seemed ready to kiss the Prime Minister’s shoe if the man so much as hinted that it might yield some personal benefit for Top Hat—he looked nothing like the all-powerful arbiter of fates he had been on the pier that day. Ardan was momentarily at a loss, unsure of where to go, but then he felt the light tap of a staff against his boot. Captain Ponskih nodded almost imperceptibly to the side.

Together, they moved to the opposite wall and froze like motionless statues. They were almost no different from the gargoyles in the Grand’s atrium: silent guardians of the peace and well-being of the territory entrusted to them.

“Your Excellency,” the man said, dabbing his forehead with a yellowed handkerchief, “thank you for seeing me first.”

Duke Zakrovsky, who was lounging in his chair with his elbows resting on the armrests and thin fingers steepled, merely spread his hands for a moment. Ardi strongly doubted that the Prime Minister had actually sought to see Top Hat—that is, Lord-General Foma Krinitsky—at the very start of the queue.

Still silent, barely gesturing, the Duke-General directed Krinitsky to a seat with nothing more than a look.

Smiling ingratiatingly and shrinking to nearly half his size as though he were trying to vanish from sight entirely, Lord Krinitsky sat and extended a folder.

“Here is the report whose consideration I petitioned for at the last open cabinet session.”

With nothing more than a look, the Prime Minister didn’t so much request but demand that the folder be placed on his desk.

“Yes, yes, of course.” The man now smelled not only of sweat, but fear as well. It was the same kind of fear that Top Hat had experienced when Lord Aversky, may the Eternal Angels receive him, had mentioned “the Head of the Second Chancery” a year ago.

The Lord-General—the man appointed by the Upper Chamber to be the head of the auditors conducting a “People’s audit” of the Black House—had entered the room less than a minute ago, and Ardan was already thanking the Sleeping Spirits that he hadn’t fallen into disfavor with the Prime Minister.

Among the dangerous individuals Ardan had come to know of late, Duke-General Oleg Zakrovsky would have easily earned a spot in the top three. And not because the man possessed some monstrous abilities. Not at all.

From what Ardi had come to understand in his brief life, there was no need to fear people who lied, betrayed, stole, and cowered. Because one way or another, you always knew what to expect from them.

Far more dangerous were the people of principle, who believed fervently in their cause, and who were brave and honorable. With them, you never knew what sort of madness they would be willing to resort to; what impossible, inconceivable thing they would do for the sake of their ideals.

Duke-General Oleg Zakrovsky, who was missing an eye, missing a leg, knew nothing of Star Magic, was ignorant about the art of the Aean’Hane… This simple mortal human who was neither mutant nor Firstborn was one of those people. And that was enough.

“At that session where you took the floor out of turn, Mr. Krinitsky?” The Prime Minister’s voice had not altered by so much as a semitone in its intonation.

It sounded the same as always—warm and soft. The man was like a good-natured butcher in his shop. Only one must never forget that a sharpened cleaver had been driven into the counter there.

Lord Krinitsky had not forgotten that fact.

“I beg your pardon, Your Excellency.” He sprang to his feet and bowed his head—not with dignity, but with servility. Not a trace remained of the commanding, proud Top Hat. And as he witnessed this striking metamorphosis... Ardi felt an urge to wash his clothes like he had been soiled. By something very dirty. Something categorically vile.

And the moment he thought this, he noticed the glint of a steely gaze from that single eye slicing across his figure for an instant. Ardan caught himself and snapped to attention as best he could. The last thing he wanted was to attract the undue notice of a man like Duke-General Oleg Zakrovsky.

“But I was obligated to report on my research, which is set forth in this document.”

“Research, you say...” The Prime Minister drawled. “Was it not you who petitioned several years ago to lead the group of auditors at the Black House?”

“That is correct, Your Excellency. And I hasten to note that our reports have influenced the adoption of several important decisions regarding the activities of the Second Chancery.”

“Of course,” the Prime Minister nodded. “I am simply curious, Mr. Krinitsky, as to what could have compelled a respected Lord-General who... remind me, please, where did you serve?”

“I served as a supply line auditor for the Fourth Army, Your Excellency.”

“Ah, of course—a military accountant,” the Prime Minister nodded again. “So what is it, Mr. Accountant, that you have brought me? And why is it so important that you spent nearly six weeks seeking a personal audience with me?”

“With all due respect, Your Excellency, in my research”—Top Hat indicated the folder with an open and distinctly damp hand—“I have set forth my thoughts in detail, supported by my group-”

“Your group?” The Prime Minister asked with a touch of surprise.

“Forgive me, Your Excellency—the group appointed by Parliament.”

The Duke-General nodded in agreement and made a gesture inviting him to continue. He did so while clearly hinting that he had no intention of opening the folder.

Top Hat swallowed audibly and took the floor.

“According to the audit we conducted, we can state definitively that, if nothing is done about this precedent, then over the next ten years, the number of small pharmacies may increase, which will raise the percentage of accidental regulatory noncompliance. Along with this, a rise in counterfeit products and an increase in the overall burden on the healthcare system will follow, which, at present, is funded by the Crown to the tune of six to seven percentage points.”

Ardan felt his undergarments and even his shirt clinging to him. Top Hat was talking about... their pharmacy? His and Bazhen’s and Boris’ apothecary? They had, of course, assumed that the cartel would strike sooner or later, but so much time had already passed and nothing had happened. All three of them had begun to think that the pharmaceutical cartel simply could not be bothered to deal with a small pharmacy at the edge of the Firstborn Quarter.

Apparently, they’d been mistaken...

“And what is the substance of your initiative, Mr. Krinitsky, since you requested a meeting with the Prime Minister?” Mr. Zakrovsky asked just as warmly and even cordially as before.

“Your Excellency, I propose that we consider the possibility of introducing a legislative project under which a unified pharmaceutical regulatory institute would be established,” Top Hat began his explanation, his gaze never leaving the folder. “One accountable, naturally, to Parliament. All to ensure that the Crown and the People may directly, through joint efforts, control the quality of pharmaceutical products and take a responsible approach to selecting those who distribute them.”

Ardan closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. So that was why the cartel had never reacted to their pharmacy—slow as its growth had been, gradual though it may be, the stream of clients had been constantly increasing. Why bother fighting a single precedent, especially one located far from their nominal jurisdiction, when they could end everything at once? In one fell swoop, they could end their apothecary in the Firstborn Quarter and any other attempts by anyone else to find some way around the cartel’s long, slimy tentacles.

“And who would head this new regulatory body, Mr. Krinitsky?” The Prime Minister inquired with a slight smile, the tips of his bushy mustache lifting.

“I believe we could hold an open competition for the position in order to select the most competent candidate from among those already directly involved in the industry,” Top Hat blurted out at once.

Even Ard’s modest knowledge of bureaucratic language (attained thanks to his dealings with Bazhen) was sufficient to grasp the deeper meaning of Lord-General Krinitsky’s words. For whatever reason, he was lobbying on behalf of the pharmaceutical cartel, and if his proposal went through, the head of the new regulatory institute would be... a member of that cartel. By announcing an open competition among those already working in the field, which sounded perfectly logical and even constructive on the surface, the cartel would be able to conspire once more, and their candidate would take the position.

And from there, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what exactly would happen to any small pharmacies. First in the capital, then in the Metropolis Province, then throughout the entire Empire. Perhaps it wouldn’t happen immediately. Perhaps not even within the first ten years. But one day, even if it took them a quarter of a century, the cartel—reinforced by the full might of the Empire’s bureaucratic and administrative apparatus—would completely monopolize the pharmaceutical market. And then they would be able to directly extract profit from the healthcare reform enacted by His Imperial Majesty.

Ardan mentally slapped himself. He and Bazhen had thought the cartel would send some thugs or other hooligans. Try to scare off their clientele somehow. But... why? Why trouble yourself with a single tiny pharmacy bearing names too prominent for its signboard when you could try to seize the entire country under the cover of the noise?

To borrow the parlance of Magical Boxing enthusiasts—such people played in an entirely different league. A league whose rules Ardan not only had no inkling of—he didn’t even want to think about them. Milar had been absolutely right. One should not meddle in politics—they were paid far too little for that.

“And this is why you sought my involvement, Mr. Krinitsky—so that I might exercise my right to introduce the bill for a vote in the Upper Chamber, bypassing the lower ones?”

“Precisely, Your Excellency.”

For the first time, Top Hat allowed himself a smile and even relaxed somewhat. He had evidently assumed that the matter was settled. The situation reminded Ardi of how he’d once been mistaken when he had believed that Guta hadn’t noticed how his favorite blackberry bush was being nibbled on by a young snow leopard cub.

The scars had taken nearly half a season to heal, but the lesson had been learned for life.

“Allow me to ask, Mr. Krinitsky,” the Prime Minister parted his fingers and leaned back in his chair, “what is the point of this meeting?”

“I beg your pardon, Your Excellency?”

Duke Zakrovsky tapped his knuckles on the folder.

“If this initiative is aimed at improving the life of the People, then why bypass the standard procedure? Use the regular administrative channels and submit the bill for consideration in the Lower Chamber. Let the People themselves decide whether they need such an additional bureaucratic apparatus or not.”

“But Your Excellency!” Top Hat very nearly raised his voice but immediately faltered. “Readings in the Lower Chamber, given the queue and the workload of the deputies, could take up to a year! If not longer.”

“I can see no urgency in this matter,” the Prime Minister replied calmly.

“Because of the precedent in the Firstborn Quarter, the auditors’ group believes that, in the near future, if the precedent proves economically viable, the practice could spread like a contagion across the entire country!”

Ardan had thought that he had wanted the earth to swallow him last night. How wrong he had been. The earth was where he wanted to disappear right now…

“A contagion, you say,” the Prime Minister spoke suddenly and turned to Ard. “How fortunate, by the Eternal Angels, that one of the creators of said precedent happens to be in this very room with us. Mr. Egobar, be so kind as to remove your mask and answer a couple of my questions.”

Ardan found it difficult to breathe. The air was knocked from his lungs, and his head spun slightly. He felt nauseous. He hadn’t experienced such agitation since the time he had first seen Tess on the night of their first date.

Ardan turned to Captain Ponskih. He was, after all, being asked to break protocol, but the captain merely gave him a brief nod. But... why?

What was happening here?

Ardan slowly reached toward his face and pulled off his leather Donkey mask.

Top Hat blinked several times and remained sitting there with his mouth open.

“Yes, Your Excellency,” Ardan croaked. He was frantically trying to recall the details of their bookkeeping, their supply channels, their counterparties, and... Sleeping Spirits!

Not only could he not remember most of it—he simply didn’t know a substantial portion of the information! Such details were Bazhen’s domain, while Ardan’s responsibility was to create Ley-medicines, which he managed well enough, even if they were at the most basic level of the Aean’Hane brews. They hadn’t touched anything more complex for a whole range of reasons, the foremost being the absence of the necessary expertise. Star Alchemy was far from Ardi’s strongest suit, though he understood it better than, say, the practical side of military magic.

But he couldn’t give such an answer—damnation!—to the Prime Minister of the Empire! What if he failed right now? Then what? He would let down not only Boris and Bazhen, but everyone who had already ordered their medicines and was counting on them!

Oh, Sleeping Spirits! What was it Bazhen had said about the difficulty of their winter exams? Incidentally, they’d been postponed an entire month because of the Congress.

Ardan felt as though he were taking a Magistrate entrance exam at this very moment! And all without knowing a single topic!

“Do you remember the oath you swore when you received your regalia?” The Prime Minister asked suddenly.

Ardan, because of the blood pounding in his temples, did not immediately understand what had been asked.

“What?”

“Your oath, Mr. Egobar. Do you remember it?”

“Yes.”

“Recite it, please.”

Ardan cleared his throat and spoke:

“I, Ard Egobar, as a citizen of the Empire of the New Monarchy who swears allegiance to the Crown, do vow to serve the good of the homeland and all the peoples who inhabit it. I vow that the interests of the state shall stand above my own. I vow that I shall not sully the honor of my regalia. I vow that no master shall stand above me save my country and my honor.”

“Splendid,” the Prime Minister nodded. “Can you guess why you didn’t need to recite an oath when you received your Black House Investigator’s credentials?”

At these words, Top Hat went pale and began frantically looking around. He... hadn’t known? Lord Foma Krinitsky, head of the Second Chancery’s Parliament-appointed auditors, hadn’t known that Ard Egobar had been serving the Crown for an entire year?!

“Is it similar?”

“Almost identical,” the Prime Minister confirmed. “Only instead of ‘regalia,’ you mention your credentials and the two-headed phoenix. Captain Aloaeiol.”

Ardi blinked and the mutant was standing directly behind Foma Krinitsky. In her hands gleamed the blade of a long, curved knife, which was pressed so close to Top Hat’s throat that he couldn’t so much as draw a proper breath without cutting his own artery.

In Top Hat’s eyes, animal terror and incomprehension mingled in a ghastly mush. Ardan could understand him. He, too, was utterly baffled.

“You see, Corporal,” the Prime Minister spoke again, as though sensing Ardan’s thoughts once more. “When Mr. Foma Krinitsky earned his position as head of Parliamentary oversight of the Second Chancery, he swore an oath. The same one you swore, Corporal. And here is the curious thing, Mr. Egobar—that oath contained no provisions regarding a Crown appointee running about like a lapdog for... how much, Captain Aloaeiol?”

“Six hundred and thirty-three exes,” the captain said, licking her lips like a hungry beast.

“There you have it. For six hundred and thirty-three exes, he’s been running about like a dog at the behest of a group of individuals who have forgotten that they are merely permitted to do what they do because, at present, the country has more pressing concerns.”

Ardan slowly shifted his gaze from Krinitsky to the Prime Minister and back again. At one point, Top Hat jerked, but to no avail. All he managed was to tug Captain Aloaeiol’s shirt up, exposing an engraving on her belt. An engraving in the shape of a dagger.

The Duke-General, leaning heavily on his cane, rose from his seat and approached Top Hat. He maintained his relaxed posture. He was even smiling warmly as he did so, slightly stretching his bushy mustache.

“Captain?”

“The enchantments have been activated, General.”

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Ardan glanced at Captain Ponskih’s belt. Of course. He was a Dagger as well.

Slowly, as though afraid of what he would see, Ardan examined the Prime Minister’s uniform carefully. It was completely bare. It didn’t have a single decoration. This was not a dress uniform, but an everyday one. It was meant to be comfortable while one worked. But there was one small detail… On his belt, just like with the captains, a dagger was engraved.

Oleg Zakrovsky, mentor to Pavel Agrov, who was once second in line to the Imperial throne. And therefore, according to the Agrov tradition, the future Head of the Black House.

Sleeping Spirits...

Sleeping Spirits!

Ardan could have—no, he should have guessed! It had all been right there on the surface! His only excuse was that he had simply seen no reason to look for a hidden layer in what was happening.

Damn it all... Milar had been right a hundred—no, a thousand times over! And now Captain Pnev’s warning became far clearer. He hadn’t been warning Ard about the Prime Minister. He had been warning his partner about the former commander of the Daggers division.

“Corporal.”

“Yes, General?”

“Be so kind as to look into our guest’s eyes.”

Ardan flinched.

So that was why he was here...

“What should I be looking for?” He asked.

“Anything that strikes you as strange, suspicious, or incriminating,” the Prime Minister replied calmly.

Ardan nodded and, standing before Top Hat, gazed into those frightened and... doomed eyes. A bracelet on the Lord-General’s wrist flared, nearly scorching Ardi’s mind, but was extinguished at once as soon as a seal blossomed beneath Captain Ponskih’s feet.

Stripped of its protective enchantment, Top Hat’s mind lay open before Ardan’s Will. Remembering the incident with the Mages’ Guild official, the young Speaker kept himself in check this time.

He entered through the open door carefully and cautiously, not breaking in as he had the last time. He moved along the threads of another’s memories with the caution of a tightrope walker, rather than tearing through them with the hasty stride of a burglar who had gotten his hands on a coveted haul.

Time disappeared for them both. Ardan saw the loud underground Tavser rallies at which Krinitsky had never spoken openly. But after the rallies had concluded, among a small group of the movement’s most prominent members, he had not hesitated to express his views regarding the Firstborn.

He saw naked young men and women lying on beds bearing the emblem of the Black Lotus. He saw white, sparkling powder. He saw envelopes beneath napkins being slid to Krinitsky in restaurants. It was all done by the same kind of smiling people who were well-groomed, polished, and wearing expensive suits. Krinitsky never refused. Ever. If the envelope was plump enough, he was willing to fulfill any request.

He would gladly sign a document, or the opposite—refrain from signing a document. Assist with one initiative in Parliament. Bury another. Only one episode struck Ardan as strange.

This time, the envelope hadn’t been delivered at a restaurant; someone had slid it under the door of one of his New City penthouses. The envelope had contained Treasury bonds totaling three and a half thousand exes… and a note:

“You will receive the same amount again if you can become the head of the Parliament’s auditors tasked with gaining access to the activities of the Second Chancery.”

And nothing more. No demands. No instructions. And Krinitsky... had secured the position. He’d done so in the same way that others had secured things from him. Smiling in restaurants, he’d slid envelopes beneath other people’s napkins. They hadn’t always contained money. Sometimes, they’d had photographs in them, sometimes letters. Some had smiled in response; others had cursed him. One man had even wept.

Soon, Krinitsky received a second envelope. This time, there were only bonds inside it. Nothing was demanded of him.

Why?

Because a man like Lord-General Krinitsky, even without demands being made of him, would do exactly what the person who wanted him in that position had intended for him to do. You need not demand that a plague destroy a settlement, nor give it instructions. It is, after all, a plague. It will manage on its own. Because such is its nature.

Ardan severed the connection and took a step back. It wasn’t like he needed the physical component to stop his Witch’s Gaze, but it was simply easier that way.

“What did you see?” The Prime Minister asked.

“Nothing remarkable,” Ardan answered, breathing somewhat heavily and feeling fatigue. “The bill he brought you was commissioned by the cartel.”

“Thank you for confirming the accuracy of our investigation, Corporal,” the Prime Minister stated without a trace of irony. “The Colonel, myself, and His Imperial Majesty are more interested in what exactly motivated Mr. Krinitsky to so zealously pursue his position as head of the Second Chancery’s auditors.”

“Nothing,” Ardan answered, then immediately caught himself, remembering whom he was speaking to. “Forgive me, General. He was paid seven thousand exes to take the position. He spent two thousand on bribing and blackmailing various bureaucrats. No instructions or demands were issued to him in the entire two and a half years the auditors have existed.”

The Prime Minister turned to Top Hat, whose cheeks were streaked with tears. He was crying silently, resigned to his fate.

“Even so...” Was all the Prime Minister said. “How banal greed is. It doesn’t even need to be directed. It will do everything on its own.”

Greed... Yes, perhaps that comparison was more fitting than a plague.

“He’s yours, Corporal.”

Ardan flinched and turned his gaze to the Prime Minister.

“I beg your pardon, General?”

Duke Zakrovsky indicated Top Hat, who had gone limp in his chair, no longer even resisting, with a glance.

“A trial would attract too much press and would not convey the necessary message, either to the pharmaceutical cartel or to the gentlemen who purchased this man’s greed,” Duke Zakrovsky explained calmly. “And I believe you have a personal dislike for this individual.”

“This man…” “This individual…” Perhaps the Duke’s bearlike manner did have a touch of humanity in it after all...

Ardan understood what the Prime Minister was hinting at rather transparently. But... this was an unarmed man. Already doomed. He’d be ended in court or in the dungeons of the Black House. Lord-General Krinitsky didn’t have the slightest chance of ever again drawing a free breath. And in general, the number of breaths remaining to him was rather severely limited to a few days. Perhaps a month.

And Ardan still couldn’t rid himself of the sensation of something dirty. Back then, on that pier a year ago, he had been threatened by a powerful, commanding man capable of deciding fates with the stroke of a pen. At least that was what it had seemed like to Ardi. But now, after all his misadventures, after Lea Morimer, Driba, the Tazidahians, all those mages and mutants, the Homeless and demons, after the Puppeteers... Ardan only saw a pitiful, petty man. One who had never seen the harm in what he’d done. Someone blinded by greed. Blinded and beguiled. It had made him so very stupid and small.

Or perhaps Ardan was simply justifying his own unwillingness to become an executioner.

Only the Sleeping Spirits knew for sure.

“One more piece of advice, Corporal,” the Prime Minister said, his tone soft but his gaze steely. “Leave honor to the next generation. It is they who will tell the tales of worthy and heroic victors.” The Duke-General calmly drew the revolver from Captain Aloaeiol’s holster and pressed its muzzle to Krinitsky’s forehead. “If there is a threat, we find and destroy that threat, Corporal. While the enemy lives, Corporal, show no mercy. Kill them without pity or hesitation. To the very end. To the last drop of their blood. And if you kill them all, every last one of them… Then, when stories are told about you as the victor, in them, you will be honorable, merciful, and full of compassion. Even if you committed such heinous acts that you earned a direct ticket to the very depths of hell while still alive.”

A shot rang out.

Ardan was certain that it hadn’t been heard beyond the walls of the office. And he himself had heard almost nothing. Except, perhaps, for the voice of the Emperor:

“...Isabella was a threat to our homeland, and I made the only decision that could have kept us safe. We destroyed that threat, Ard. Just as we will find those who stand behind the new conspiracy and destroy them, too. Just as we will destroy those who come after them. Every enemy of the Empire, each and every one, we will kill them all, Ard. We will cast them into the abyss into which we shall then descend ourselves to kill them once more. Such is the lot of the Second Chancery—the heirs to the warband of the Kings of the Past. While the enemy lives, Ard, show no mercy. Kill them without pity or hesitation. To the very end. To the last drop of their blood...”

A year ago, these had merely been words. Harsh, perhaps even cruel, but still—only words. And now... Now Ardan knew that, just as his father and great-grandfather before him, on the night his and Tess’ first child was born, he would probably have to spend the night by the river. He’d spend it there in a futile attempt to wash his own hands clean.

That was what those words now meant. And that was how heavy the black credentials lying in his pocket had turned out to be.

“Captain Aloaeiol, Captain Ponskih,” the Prime Minister said curtly, returning the revolver to the elf’s holster.

By the time Duke Zakrovsky had made his way back to his desk, the mutant had already dragged the body into the secret room, where Klementiy was matter-of-factly drinking tea. And Senior Magister Ponskih had tapped his staff against the floor, casting several spells that had left the carpet and floor pristinely clean once more despite the fact that they’d been stained with blood, brain matter, and that characteristic hole in the parquet.

“Your mask, Corporal.”

Ardan, who was scarcely aware of himself, put the mask back on his face. He had seen death and killing… more often than he would have liked. Far more often... But for the first time ever, he had just sat in the front row at an execution.

“Captain Ponskih, be so kind as to bring in the next person.”

“Yes, sir, General.”

The Senior Magister stepped out briefly and returned with an unremarkable, middle-aged man.

“Your Excellency.”

“Ah, the Deputy Assistant to the Minister of Agriculture. How can I be of service on this sunny but, I confess, still rather cold day?”

“That is precisely why I’ve come, Your Excellency.” Without a shred of agitation, fear, or servility, the official settled into the chair and extended a folder, which the Prime Minister opened at once to its title page. “Due to the severe winter, we’re losing approximately half a percentage point of the strategic eastern granary every day. Thus, over the season, if the temperature doesn’t change, we risk losing more than half of it.”

“Well now. That’s not the most pleasant news. What is the initiative?”

“Our department proposes two options. Make a purchase in the western provinces, where the winter is far milder, or conduct an exchange with the Islanders. But...”

“The latter is prohibited by the domestic market protection law,” the Prime Minister said pensively.

“Precisely,” the deputy confirmed. “And I fear that such a purchase could be misconstrued by the public. They might think that the Crown does not wish to support the domestic producers and is increasing imports.”

“And in the event of an external threat, one would prefer our reserves to be above, not below, the cutoff thresholds.”

“Exactly, Your Excellency.”

“In that case, Mr. Deputy, I must ask—what specifically do you want from me? So far, I think this is the purview of your ministry, not mine.”

“I wanted to discuss an initiative to relax the protection law for a limited time,” the official extended a second folder, “and for a specific monetary amount. And also with an accompanying budget-secured increase in purchase prices for the domestic market the following year, until parity is reached with the additional funds spent on imports.”

“In other words, you wish to buy grain at double the price?”

“De jure, Your Excellency, yes. De facto, the added cost of the following year will settle in the pockets of our producers and partially return to us in the form of taxes and duties.”

“That sounds like an irrational expenditure.”

“That is precisely what I wished to discuss, Your Excellency. But I hasten to note that in the event of a conflict, the People will not be able to eat money. No matter how much of it we might have.”

“A fair point.” The Prime Minister smoothed his mustache and raised his gaze to Captain Ponskih. “Beaver, would you be so kind as to pour some tea for the gentleman and myself? There is something here worth discussing.”

It seemed that Ardan was the only one who could not tear his gaze away from the spot where Top Hat’s life had just been cut short. For everyone else in the office, this was the most ordinary, practically banal, first working day of the week.

They did not leave Parliament until well past midnight.

* * *

Ardi, his forearms resting on the balcony’s railing, gazed out at the city. The Prime Minister’s house stood at the mouth of a canal, and from its western wing, one had a breathtaking view of the Guild Embankment, and beyond that, across the snow-white surface of the frozen Niewa, the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Ablaze with lights, it was preparing to receive the foreign delegations.

And Ardan... he was simply breathing in the fresh, cold air. It was faintly crackling with frost and nipping the tip of his nose. Very gently. Like a cat trying to tell a person who doesn’t know its language about its feelings. Perhaps the wind, too, was trying to do the same?

“Here, Corporal.”

Ard had heard her approaching. He’d heard how slowly and steadily her heart was beating. Captain Aloaeiol came up behind him and held out a box. A perfectly ordinary one, unfinished and unlacquered. Ardi recognized it at once. He had seen its kind before.

“Thank you,” he said and, setting it on the wide railing, began removing its contents and placing them one by one in the slots on his belt.

At last, after nearly two months, he had been issued accumulators again. Moreover, Lieutenant Dagdag had been generous enough to provide six of them for each of his Stars. They would all come in handy despite the fact that the phenomenon of Saturation did not permit a mage to use more than four accumulators for each of their Stars per day.

After making sure that the accumulators would not fall out, Ardan turned back to the Palace of the Kings of the Past. Majestic, ethereal, looking as though it wasn’t of this world, the Empire’s seat of power rose above the slumbering Niewa and the few automobiles crawling along the embankment lazily.

“Don’t agree.”

“What?” Ardi asked, turning to the captain.

The strange woman, who was now leaning her back against the railing, had tilted her head over the canal and offered her face to the falling snow.

“When they offer you a transfer to our ranks, to the Daggers, don’t agree, Snow Wolf,” Aloaeiol explained, her eyes closed as she savored the frosty kisses of the snow.

“Are they going to do that?”

“Of course,” the elf nodded without a second’s hesitation. “That’s why Major Mshisty requisitioned you from the Colonel. Ever sinceVulture... Ever since Lord Aversky met the Eternal Angels, Mshisty has been constantly hinting that your place isn’t among the investigators.”

“And why would Major Mshisty…”

Ardan didn’t finish that sentence. The Daggers were a division of the Second Chancery that operated primarily beyond the Empire’s borders, or wherever it was necessary not to advertise one’s affiliation with the Black House. They were considered to be something semi-mythical. Or else an echo of the times before parliamentary reforms had bound the Second Chancery hand and foot.

But if one thought about Katerina, the sharpshooter from Yonatan’s unit, Mshisty, and all the rest, then...

“The boundaries between the Cloaks and the Daggers have long since blurred, Ard,” Captain Aloaeiol confirmed. “I expect that in ten years’ time, maybe sooner, the divide will be abolished altogether.”

There was no longer any doubt about it—Major Mshisty, and most likely his “hounds” as well, were all members of the Daggers division.

“Thank you for the warning,” Ardan answered curtly.

“Don’t mention it,” Aloaeiol shrugged her small shoulders. “Your heart is too kind, Ard. Soft. And warm. And if you fall into the nets of Zakrovsky, Mshisty, and their ilk, then all that will eventually remain of you is your function. And nothing more.”

Ardan looked at this diminutive woman who was very likely capable of doing things that would make many men’s stomachs turn.

“Don’t get me wrong,” the captain continued. “I love my country. It’s just... To protect four hundred million people, Ard, you need several tens of thousands who, right here”—she placed her hand over her heart—“feel nothing. Who won’t hesitate to end Lord Krinitsky. And who certainly won’t spend the entire evening afterward standing on a balcony, contemplating the meaning of life and all that.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the meaning of life,” Ardi muttered.

“Then what were you thinking about?”

About Tess... About the Alcade. About Mother. Erti. About his friends. About everything Ardi had previously not dared to even dream of having.

“You see,” Aloaeiol half-opened her eyes and smiled softly at Ard. “Guard that quality of yours, Ard. As long as you have it, you’ll remain a human and not become a soulless machine... like us.”

Ardan held out his hand and, listening to the whispers of the snow dancing around them, called upon a fragment of a Name. A small snowflake in the shape of a swallow beat its wings and soared away toward the ocean, wrapped in the velvet darkness of the night.

“You’re a Listener, aren’t you?” Ardan asked.

Aloaeiol smiled.

“You figured it out,” she exhaled.

Ardan had indeed figured it out. But only just now.

“You’re not an elf.”

“I never tried to pass myself off as one,” the captain observed reasonably, and then leaned so far over the parapet that she would have tumbled into the canal if she’d gone a centimeter farther. “I was born into a family of simple farmers, Ard. On a small plot of land. And in an equally small town. It wasn’t far from here. A few days by train.”

“On the border of the High Forest.”

The captain didn’t need to confirm it. Everything was already clear...

“My parents didn’t understand at first. Then they started to be afraid. And when I first sensed the death of the tavern keeper’s daughter in advance, people began to fear me. To shun me, and then...” Aloaeiol sighed and gave him a brief shrug of her small shoulders. “There was no place in the village for a ten-year-old Listener girl who didn’t understand why she saw the world differently from everyone else. I didn’t wait for something conveniently unfortunate to happen to me. I ran away from home. Maybe I shouldn’t have, actually. My parents did love me. But not enough to be glad when I visited them fifteen years later. If anything, it was the opposite—I saw how the relief in their eyes gave way to wariness and apprehension.”

“When was that?” Was all Ard asked.

“Nearly forty years ago, Corporal. Mutants age more slowly than humans. That’s one of our peculiarities.”

Ardan had suspected something of the sort, because otherwise, Lieutenant Kornosskiy’s remarks would’ve made no sense. He had spoken as though he had personally witnessed some events from the fairly distant past. The lieutenant was likely well past fifty.

“And how did you end up in the High Forest?”

“I fell in with a troupe of traveling performers—they liked that I could guess the cards before they were laid out on the table. So, the magician they’d brought to the village was happy to take me on as an apprentice,” Aloaeiol answered calmly. “And then we passed through the High Forest, and there, well, I suppose an Aean’Hane Heard me. There’s only a single elven settlement left in the entire High Forest, Ard. And I spent another ten years there, until I realized that if I stayed any longer, I would break the hearts of those who had replaced my family. Because they...”

“Didn’t really age,” Ardi filled the pause.

Aloaeiol nodded again.

“And so I left. The Aean’Hane taught me how to Listen, gave me a new name, and taught me languages. Including the Fae tongue.”

“And what were you called before the High Forest?”

The captain answered eventually, after a lengthy pause:

“I don’t remember, Corporal.”

She was lying. They both knew it, too, but Ard didn’t press further.

“As a young woman, I wanted adventures, handsome and passionate men, and exes, of course. So, I ended up in the Metropolis. Then on Sleepless Street. Then, after several years of carousing—I found myself at the docks,” Captain Aloaeiol gave him a brief smile. “And then I was in the mines.”

Ardan knew the rest of this story.

“Where a gentleman in an expensive suit and with manicured hands approached you.”

“Ivan Kornosskiy,” Aloaeiol did not deny the obvious. “But he didn’t come for me. He came for his son. I simply happened to be nearby at that moment...”

She didn’t finish her story. She just stood silently beside him. But no additional words were needed. And so, nearly two years later, Ardan finally learned who’d taught Yonatan the languages of the elves and the Fae. After all, every time Cassara had addressed their “cargo” in one of the aforementioned tongues, it had been obvious that the lieutenant had understood everything. Even though he’d pretended otherwise.

Back then on the steppe, Ardan had decided not to probe. There’d been no need...

Were there truly four hundred million inhabitants in the Empire? Sometimes, he felt like they all lived in a village of a few streets and a dozen houses. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because of the kind of life they all led. Not many would choose to walk such a path, after all.

“How is he?” Was all she asked.

“Rude, boorish, he lives as though he’s seeking death, and...” Ardi recalled how Yonatan had refused the bundle of banknotes, and how, without a moment’s hesitation, he had charged through the mist to face the Shanti’Ra. “...and he tries, as best he can, to help people.”

Aloaeiol smiled and briefly touched her ring finger.

“So that’s how it is, Snow Wolf. A mortal Listener girl who was raised among the elves of the High Forest exchanged hard labor for a mutation and lifelong service in the Black House.”

“That sounds like quite a story.”

“That it is, Corporal,” Aloaeiol opened her mouth and caught a snowflake on her tongue. “Cold...”

“Why do you call me Snow Wolf?”

“Because I can Hear him inside you, Corporal,” Aloaeiol answered calmly. “I can Hear the ice ringing, the snow crunching underfoot, and... children laughing as they play in the snow. It must be a very beautiful Name of Ice and Snow, Ard.”

Ardan looked at the girl... at the woman who was older than his own mother and yet looked to be the same age as Tess. What was it like to live in a world where you could Hear Names but had no ability to Speak them?

Ardi didn’t even want to imagine such torment.

“The Aean’Hane once looked at me just like that,” Aloaeiol laughed suddenly. “But you needn’t pity me, Corporal. It would have been far worse had I been born a Speaker. Imagine living your entire life knowing that your lifespan is too short to master a Name in full.”

“But you yourself said that mutants live longer.”

“And we pay our own price for it.”

She opened her eyes. The blood vessels there had burst and blood was streaming down her cheeks.

“Hearing, the special kind of Hearing, now causes me harm,” she whispered and, scooping a handful of snow, washed her bloodied face. “But, you know, in this line of work, it’s actually better not to Hear. Anything. Or anyone. Don’t agree, Ard. Whatever they offer you at the end of this wretched Congress—don’t agree to it for anything. There are enough of us callous killers already serving the Black House for the sake of the Empire’s survival. Don’t swell our ranks even further.”

She smiled at him lightly, like he was an old acquaintance she hadn’t seen in a long time. The expression was perfectly… plain and human. Then, yawning and stretching, she headed back inside the mansion.

When she reached the doors, he called out:

“You’re trying to deceive me, Aloaeiol.”

She stopped.

“Whatever you might say about your heart, I can Hear how much you miss him. Yonatan. And now I understand why he wanted to go to the capital so badly that he volunteered to escort me. He was coming here to see you.”

Aloaeiol briefly clenched her fists, then relaxed and, turning back to Ard, she smiled again. This time, it was an entirely different expression.

“Yes... Now I remember why I really ran away from the High Forest,” she said, and with those parting words, she was gone.

Ardan was now alone again, watching the snow swirl over the sleeping Niewa. In the distance, the lights of the Palace blazed. And for some reason, they reminded Ardan of how, from the heights of his native mountain, he would peer into the night, searching for the distant lights of Evergale.