Night. Darkness. Speed.

The engine roars hoarsely; an armored car rushes along a country road soaked with rain, every minute and even every second the risk of flying to the side of the road and getting stuck in the mud, or even crashing into a tree or turning over. The wheels bounce on bumps and fall into potholes, the steering wheel twitches every time and tries to escape from the hands, you have to squeeze it with all your might, so as not to miss and lose control.

The first misstep threatened to be the last.

Speed. Risk.

My legs had been numb for a long time, my back ached mercilessly, and my eyes constantly watered, but I did not regret at all that I had broken into my uncle's estate in the dead of night, as soon as I had finished with the formalities in Chinatown. But Ramon Miro regretted it from the very beginning of our crazy trip.

His invariably reddish hue now resembled the color of sour cream, while the former constable himself split like a starfish, fearing to fly out of his chair with the next jerk, and clearly struggled with vomiting. He did not at all believe that the unknown strangler would be able to get ahead of us and did not stop talking about it until he was finally seasick.

“Stop cleaning the headlights!” he demanded.

- And so they shine! I waved it off, not wanting to waste time.

“Either pan, or gone! I mentally repeated the proverb I heard from my grandfather. “Either pan, or gone, and nothing else!”

We must be on time. Succeed by all means!

Fortunately, outside the city, the rain stopped, and the road mostly ran through the fields, bypassing the woods and groves. All I had to do was look out for holes and put pressure on the gas, squeezing all the horsepower out of the engine.

He chirped furiously, devouring TNT granules, an unsecured cargo rumbled in the back, and even his own thoughts were not heard, but I made out Ramon's question.

- No! - not for a moment taking his eyes off the road, he shouted back. “I have no idea who strangled the Jew!”

But definitely not human. The palms of ordinary mortals do not burn victims with cold, do not leave traces of frostbite on their skin. Aaron Malk was killed either by an infernal being or noble- one of those raiders who tried to take me into circulation.

Who exactly is not important. It's important to get ahead of it.

The killer now knows exactly where the aluminum box with the lightning rune on the lid is located, and very soon Count Kosice will part not only with it, but also with his own life. The latter, to be honest, touched me a little, but only the chances of going after my uncle in this situation exceeded all reasonable limits.

If the nobles get the box, the malefics will open the hunt for me, otherwise I will have to keep running from the mysterious bank robbers. Only with the box could I start my own game; only by advancing in the investigation, he had a real chance to outplay his opponents.

Then the front wheel sank into a hole, the self-propelled carriage was thrown up, and then dragged through the mud; at the very last moment, I took control and leveled the armored car when it had already pulled over to the side of the road and almost rolled over into a ditch.

Ramon swallowed hard and groaned:

I hate you Leo!

I just smirked.

“Think of three thousand…

- I've already earned them! the big man howled immediately. - Already! And you got me on a new adventure!

“Hunting a werewolf was also considered a gamble, right? I found the answer easily.

But Ramon Miro did not get into his pocket for a word. He stuck his finger into the hole in his cloak, torn and covered in blood, and said accusingly:

“Is that okay, do you think?”

There was nothing to fend off this indisputable argument, but I did not even try.

“We need to find out what started all this!” Let's find out what's at stake - get rich!

Once again, Ramon was ruthlessly precise in his wording.

- You need it! he said. - Not for me! You get rich, not me.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be left without money either,” I promised, noticed the lights flickering on my right hand and warned: “We passed the station, we will soon be there.”

Ramon was silent.

Having alarmed both dogs and people with its chirping, the armored car sped past the tenants' farm, then rounded the oak forest and drove straight to the estate.

“We’re coming,” I warned my friend. - Get ready.

“Turn off the headlights,” Ramon advised.

“Empty,” I refused, not so much even because of the fear of flying to the side of the road, but because of the clapping of the engine. Only the deaf can hear such a noise.

Or dead.

It was this thought that flashed through my mind when the armored car stopped in front of the closed gates of the estate. A dim light flickered in the window of the gatehouse, but the old man did not think to look out into the street and find out the reason for the visit of the police at such an inopportune hour.

Something was wrong.

"Something's wrong," I told Ramon.

Yes, even without my warning, he had already taken cover behind the steam-smoking hood of an armored car and rested the butt of a hard drive on his shoulder.

– What am I doing here anyway? he moaned.

- Covering me! - I reminded and got out of the cab. - Do not snooze! - warned a friend, ran around the self-propelled carriage and, throwing back the tailgate, threw a cane into the body. Instead, he pulled out a self-loading carbine and a pair of pouches with preloaded magazines.

- Glasses do not interfere? Ramon then asked.

I lifted the tinted glass eyepieces and chuckled.

- Do you think it's better?

My partner's reddish face was illuminated by the reflection of my eyes shining in the dark, and he admitted:

- No. Return.

I put my spectacles down on my nose, cautiously approached the gate, and, resting my rifle on the crossbar, commanded Ramon:

The burly man jumped over the fence in an instant, unlocked the gate and launched me into the estate.

- Watchman! he whispered.

- You're the first! I breathed out soundlessly in response.

I did not want to make noise and publicly announce my visit, even despite the considerable risk of catching a charge of salt or fine shot.

Covering each other, we crept up to the half-open door, where Ramon looked inside and immediately recoiled.

- Damn it! I cursed, hesitated for a moment, then ordered: “Wait! - and hurried to the armored car.

He took off the steering wheel, threw it into the body, then climbed himself. By touch, he found a box of grenades fixed under the bench, took out two, screwed in the fuses. Then he hung a massive lock on board and returned to his partner already calm and collected, without the slightest tremor in his knees.

We need to call for reinforcements! - Ramon met me with an evil whisper, completely forgetting about the recent dismissal.

I didn’t trample on his sore callus and just shook my head:

- I think we're late.

- Why do you think so? – the burly man was surprised.

“There is no airship,” I said, pointing to the lone lantern of the mooring mast.

The signal lights of the aircraft did not burn, the white oval of the semi-rigid hull did not peep out of the night darkness.

“The killer could have flown in the airship,” Ramon suggested.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I grunted and moved towards the family mansion.

The stout man was about to follow, but immediately stopped and said:

- The count or the murderer has flown away - we have no need to go there!

- Drop it! I tried to reason with my partner. “We need to find out exactly what happened here!”

- What the hell?

- To know exactly who to look for! In addition, if the count flew away on the airship, then the strangler is somewhere nearby. Would it be possible to talk to him?

“No,” Ramon said. - It is a bad idea.

Nerves, nerves sewn my heart!

Symphony group. Heart

Part one
Moor. Hardened steel and thickened kerosene

1

Night. Darkness. Speed.

The engine roars hoarsely; an armored car rushes along a country road soaked with rain, every minute and even every second the risk of flying to the side of the road and getting stuck in the mud, or even crashing into a tree or turning over. The wheels bounce on bumps and fall into potholes, the steering wheel twitches every time and tries to escape from the hands, you have to squeeze it with all your might, so as not to miss and lose control.

The first misstep threatened to be the last.

Speed. Risk.

My legs had been numb for a long time, my back ached mercilessly, and my eyes constantly watered, but I did not regret at all that I had broken into my uncle's estate in the dead of night, as soon as I had finished with the formalities in Chinatown. But Ramon Miro regretted it from the very beginning of our crazy trip.

His invariably reddish hue now resembled the color of sour cream, while the former constable himself split like a starfish, fearing to fly out of his chair with the next jerk, and clearly struggled with vomiting. He did not at all believe that the unknown strangler would be able to get ahead of us and did not stop talking about it until he was finally seasick.

“Stop cleaning the headlights!” he demanded.

- And so they shine! I waved it off, not wanting to waste time.

“Either pan, or gone! I mentally repeated the proverb I heard from my grandfather. “Either pan, or gone, and nothing else!”

We must be on time. Succeed by all means!

Fortunately, outside the city, the rain stopped, and the road mostly ran through the fields, bypassing the woods and groves. All I had to do was look out for holes and put pressure on the gas, squeezing all the horsepower out of the engine.

He chirped furiously, devouring TNT granules, an unsecured cargo rumbled in the back, and even his own thoughts were not heard, but I made out Ramon's question.

- No! - not for a moment taking his eyes off the road, he shouted back. “I have no idea who strangled the Jew!”

But definitely not human. The palms of ordinary mortals do not burn victims with cold, do not leave traces of frostbite on their skin. Aaron Malk was killed either by an infernal being or noble- one of those raiders who tried to take me into circulation.

Who exactly is not important. It's important to get ahead of it.

The killer now knows exactly where the aluminum box with the lightning rune on the lid is located, and very soon Count Kosice will part not only with it, but also with his own life. The latter, to be honest, touched me a little, but only the chances of going after my uncle in this situation exceeded all reasonable limits.

If the nobles get the box, the malefics will open the hunt for me, otherwise I will have to keep running from the mysterious bank robbers. Only with the box could I start my own game; only by advancing in the investigation, he had a real chance to outplay his opponents.

Then the front wheel sank into a hole, the self-propelled carriage was thrown up, and then dragged through the mud; at the very last moment, I took control and leveled the armored car when it had already pulled over to the side of the road and almost rolled over into a ditch.

Ramon swallowed hard and groaned:

I hate you Leo!

I just smirked.

“Think of three thousand…

- I've already earned them! the big man howled immediately. - Already! And you got me on a new adventure!

“Hunting a werewolf was also considered a gamble, right? I found the answer easily.

But Ramon Miro did not get into his pocket for a word. He stuck his finger into the hole in his cloak, torn and covered in blood, and said accusingly:

“Is that okay, do you think?”

There was nothing to fend off this indisputable argument, but I did not even try.

“We need to find out what started all this!” Let's find out what's at stake - get rich!

Once again, Ramon was ruthlessly precise in his wording.

- You need it! he said. - Not for me! You get rich, not me.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be left without money either,” I promised, noticed the lights flickering on my right hand and warned: “We passed the station, we will soon be there.”

Ramon was silent.

Having alarmed both dogs and people with its chirping, the armored car sped past the tenants' farm, then rounded the oak forest and drove straight to the estate.

“We’re coming,” I warned my friend. - Get ready.

“Turn off the headlights,” Ramon advised.

“Empty,” I refused, not so much even because of the fear of flying to the side of the road, but because of the clapping of the engine. Only the deaf can hear such a noise.

Or dead.

It was this thought that flashed through my mind when the armored car stopped in front of the closed gates of the estate. A dim light flickered in the window of the gatehouse, but the old man did not think to look out into the street and find out the reason for the visit of the police at such an inopportune hour.

Something was wrong.

"Something's wrong," I told Ramon.

Yes, even without my warning, he had already taken cover behind the steam-smoking hood of an armored car and rested the butt of a hard drive on his shoulder.

– What am I doing here anyway? he moaned.

- Covering me! - I reminded and got out of the cab. - Do not snooze! - warned a friend, ran around the self-propelled carriage and, throwing back the tailgate, threw a cane into the body. Instead, he pulled out a self-loading carbine and a pair of pouches with preloaded magazines.

- Glasses do not interfere? Ramon then asked.

I lifted the tinted glass eyepieces and chuckled.

- Do you think it's better?

My partner's reddish face was illuminated by the reflection of my eyes shining in the dark, and he admitted:

- No. Return.

I put my spectacles down on my nose, cautiously approached the gate, and, resting my rifle on the crossbar, commanded Ramon:

The burly man jumped over the fence in an instant, unlocked the gate and launched me into the estate.

- Watchman! he whispered.

- You're the first! I breathed out soundlessly in response.

I did not want to make noise and publicly announce my visit, even despite the considerable risk of catching a charge of salt or fine shot.

Covering each other, we crept up to the half-open door, where Ramon looked inside and immediately recoiled.

- Damn it! I cursed, hesitated for a moment, then ordered: “Wait! - and hurried to the armored car.

He took off the steering wheel, threw it into the body, then climbed himself. By touch, he found a box of grenades fixed under the bench, took out two, screwed in the fuses. Then he hung a massive lock on board and returned to his partner already calm and collected, without the slightest tremor in his knees.

We need to call for reinforcements! - Ramon met me with an evil whisper, completely forgetting about the recent dismissal.

I didn’t trample on his sore callus and just shook my head:

- I think we're late.

- Why do you think so? – the burly man was surprised.

“There is no airship,” I said, pointing to the lone lantern of the mooring mast.

The signal lights of the aircraft did not burn, the white oval of the semi-rigid hull did not peep out of the night darkness.

“The killer could have flown in the airship,” Ramon suggested.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I grunted and moved towards the family mansion.

The stout man was about to follow, but immediately stopped and said:

- The count or the murderer has flown away - we have no need to go there!

- Drop it! I tried to reason with my partner. “We need to find out exactly what happened here!”

- What the hell?

- To know exactly who to look for! In addition, if the count flew away on the airship, then the strangler is somewhere nearby. Would it be possible to talk to him?

“No,” Ramon said. - It is a bad idea.

I looked around the dark silhouette of the mansion without a single luminous window, the stable and the overgrown garden, capable of hiding a whole company of soldiers, and mentally agreed with my friend.

This was indeed a bad idea. Bad and very dangerous.

But he said something else.

“Either we go together,” I shrugged nonchalantly, “or wait for me in the armored car. Just keep in mind - if I disappear, the Jews will not pay you a centime for a werewolf. Think about it!

- Damn it! Ramon cursed, wiping his sweaty face and nervously looking at the gloomy mansion. - Damn you! he gave up. - Let's go!

With a quiet laugh, I was the first to move along the alley, reached the turn to the stables, but did not turn to it, not wanting to waste time. The mansion drew me in.

Manil? I caught myself thinking this and even slowed down.

Excitement subsided, as if I had crossed a certain line, the world regained volume, the silhouettes of buildings and garden trees no longer seemed to be cut out of plywood and casually painted theatrical scenery, the understanding came that all this was happening right here and now.

The fear returned.

I froze in place, listening to the stillness of the night. Without the splash of our boots, absolutely deathly silence reigned around the puddles, only the whistle of a locomotive swept somewhere far, far away. But it seemed to come from another world; even all the imperial armored trains, taken together, could not help us now, alas.

– Leo! Ramon whispered softly. - What's happened?

I shrugged my shoulders to appease my inopportune imagination and moved on. The family estate grew out of the darkness like a gloomy bulk; soon we were able to make out the front door, wide open.

"I'll be damned if we're not invited inside!" Ramon breathed. “Come visit,” said the spider to the fly!

Nervous tension loosened the tongue of the laconic, robust fellow, and I considered it necessary to calm him down. He simply held out one of the grenades he had taken with him.

- Can't wait to smash everything here? Ramon joked, looking around nervously. “Maybe we should set fire to the house right away so as not to waste time?”

- Great idea! I muttered, slowly and cautiously making my way onto the porch. - Cover up! called a friend, stepping over the threshold first.

We stood in the hallway, peering into the darkness, then I flipped the switch, but the electric bulb under the ceiling did not come on.

Then I hung the carbine on my shoulder, took out the Roth-Steyr from the holster and asked my partner:

- Flashlight!

Ramon handed me a flashlight; a bright beam slid down the hallway and immediately snatched the body of the butler out of the darkness. Moreover, someone's legs in well-worn boots were sticking out of the corridor.

Stepping over the body of the night watchman, we went into the living room, where the maid was lying on the sofa with her head thrown back. The bloodless face was no different in color from the white apron.

- Damn it! breathed Ramon Miro.

- Quiet! I hissed at him, listening to the silence.

Behind the wall, a cricket creaked softly, and nothing more. No more sound was heard.

- Behind me! - I then commanded and began to go up to the second floor first.

The bright beam of the lantern danced and jumped from side to side, lightly illuminating the dark corners, and yet I did not leave the feeling that someone's cold eyes were watching us from the darkness.

Self-hypnosis? Hell knows...

The second floor was not checked.

“First, let’s examine the count’s office,” I decided, and moved further up the stairs.

Somehow, completely unexpectedly, I lost all desire to track down the unknown strangler; I wanted to turn around and run away from here without looking back, and I don’t even know what exactly kept me from this shameful step - the remnants of the excitement raging in my blood or the fear of seeming ridiculous.

I suspect it's the second one.

We went up to the third floor, I stepped into the corridor and froze in my tracks when the reflections of a kerosene lamp flickered in the open door of the study.

And a shadow! The shadow on the floor in front of the door swayed slightly, now crawling in one direction, then sliding in the other. There was someone in the office.

Turning off the flashlight, I slipped it into my pocket and put my index finger to my lips. Ramon nodded, indicating that he saw the shadow, and all crept up in anticipation of a fight.

I grabbed the Roth Steyr with both hands and moved forward. Silently stepping along the carpet, he crept along the corridor and jumped into the office with one swift jump. And there he immediately recoiled to the side, making room for his partner.

He did not shoot: there was no one in the office, only scattered papers were scattered everywhere in a hurry and the secretary snarled with holes in the drawers turned out on the floor.

But I was wrong! For the first moment, the glance simply slipped from the figure dissolved in the shadows at the desk. The light of a kerosene lamp fluttered behind the motionless man and turned his black silhouette into the likeness of one of the slippery fish that thoughtlessly glided in the aquarium against the far wall.

Eyes snatched out of the darkness only a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown; nothing else could be seen.

Shadows to them!

I raised my gun, aiming at the stranger, but before I could, did I decide? - squeeze the trigger, there was an unpleasant whistling half-whisper, as ghostly as the shadows around:

- It's not worth it!

The phrase resonated with an unpleasant ache in my temples, and I froze in indecision with a raised pistol, but Ramon did not hesitate. The Winchester roared deafeningly, the muzzle flash ripped the shadows that filled the office to shreds, but the malefic did not even move.

He sustained a theatrical pause, then looked at the bullet clutched in his hand and said indifferently:

- Waste of ammo.

Angry at the failure, Ramon pulled the lever of the hard drive, throwing a spent cartridge case onto the floor, but I stopped him, repeating the words of a stranger:

- It's not worth it!

The bullet laid out by the mysterious strangler on the edge of the desk was not only covered with frost, but also deformed; the thin fingers of the stranger crumpled the aluminum shell.

“The right decision,” the malefic laughed and, with a gesture of a conjurer, took out of the air a box of light gray metal with a broken lightning rune on the lid. “I suppose you are interested in this, illustrious Orso?”

"Perhaps," I answered cautiously, wondering what to do next.

Act from a position of strength or show prudence? Attack first or try to negotiate?

A bullet crushed by the fingers made the first unpromising; the ruthlessness shown by the strangler deprived of hope for the second.

And what to do?

Ramon stepped from the door in one direction, I moved in the other. The kerosene lamp no longer shone on the strangler's back, but even so, the shadows thickened under his hat were impenetrable to the eye and hid his face better than any mask.

- Guess where the count is? the malefic asked calmly; Ramon, he stubbornly ignored and turned on the spot after me.

I stood so that we were separated by a desk, and defiantly holstered the pistol.

“Even if the Count is in hell, I won’t grieve too much about this,” he answered after that, not really deforming his soul.

“Perhaps in hell,” the strangler chuckled. - Do you want to take a look? - he held out the box, but immediately pulled his hand back, as if teasingly.

– Take a look? - I was puzzled, licked my lips, asked: - Under what conditions? - and immediately realized that he had made an unforgivable mistake. Perhaps even fatal.

The relaxation of the strangler in an instant was replaced by a predatory interest.

You don't know what's inside, do you? - he even leaned forward, and only the light of a kerosene lamp flashed in front of his face made him straighten up and retreat.

And for the first time, a whistling half-whisper did not echo in my head, forcing me to a quick and recklessly frank answer.

- And you? I asked, looking at the fiery moth fluttering behind the glass. - You know?

“It doesn't matter,” the malefic replied, and the shadows around him began to move, like boas wrapped around a circus performer.

One of the ghostly harnesses slid up to Ramon and wrapped around his ankle; the burly man froze at half a step, and the barrel of the hard drive pointed at the strangler suddenly shuddered and began to shift in my direction.

With a doomed sigh, I took off my dark glasses, but the radiance of the eyes did not bother the malefic at all, he only laughed:

"And what are you going to do, sir?" Scare me to death?

“I’ll take it with me to hell,” I answered, and with a casual movement threw the lamp to the floor.

The glass immediately shattered, kerosene spilled over the office and caught fire. The flame instantly reached the curtains, flew up to the ceiling, ignited papers scattered everywhere, inside out drawers, and then the furniture.

Ramon threw away the Winchester and tore off his cloak, enveloped in flames, stumbled upon a chair and rolled across the floor like a living torch. Me the fire cut off from the front door and drove it into a corner, but the strangler did not lose his presence of mind - or was he mad with fear? - and rushed to the saving exit straight through the fiery element.

I glanced at the chronometer, waiting for the promised minute, but Ramon held out his hand to me and croaked pleadingly:

- Stop doing that!

Deciding not to test my partner's patience, I took off my carbine from my shoulder and, with a blow from the butt, seated the side wall of the aquarium. The water that rushed to the floor washed away the puddle of burning kerosene in an instant, and impenetrable darkness reigned in the office.

- Hellfire! Ramon whispered with dry lips, and leaned away from the wall. - How painful!

- Shut up! I hissed at him, ran to the front door and looked out into the corridor, but the strangler was already gone. He listened - from the thick silence ringing in his ears.

Ramon stood next to him and breathed out softly:

"Gone," I confirmed just as quietly.

The burly man wiped his sweat-covered forehead with relief and collapsed exhaustedly into a chair. He was hooked only by a small echo of someone else's horror, but even so he looked like one of the fish thrashing in an empty aquarium.

- He will not return? Ramon asked as I turned on the electric flashlight and began to study the devastation that had been done in the office.

“No,” I answered confidently. “And if he does return, he will see the house on fire.”

- How did you do that?

I just laughed.

“That’s all my talent, buddy, remember?”

The strangler was afraid of fire; I noticed it by the abruptness with which he recoiled from the kerosene lamp. It only remained to pull this thread in time and turn the puddle of burning kerosene into a raging fire.

Fear has big eyes? Indeed so!

On the floor, in the beam of an electric torch, the reflection of an aluminum box flashed; I put on my gloves and picked it up, but the lock was broken and it was empty.

- Damn it! I cursed, not hiding my disappointment.

- Nothing.

“Nothing at all?”

- At all! I snapped, angrily tossing the casket into a corner and walking around the study, but never came to any definite conclusion, whose hands this mess was: the count fleeing or the malefic who arrived after his soul.

"Leo, we need to get out of here!" the stout man hurried me when I began to sort out the burnt papers scattered on the floor, wet because of the water that had spilled everywhere.

“We must,” I agreed with my partner and put the bullet crumpled with the strangler into my pocket. Let's just check the house first.

Room by room we walked around the entire mansion, but there was no one on the second and third floors, and all the servants below were dead. The strangler was distinguished by an enviable method, he did not miss anyone.

- Where are the count's relatives? Ramon asked as we walked into the living room.

“Daughters in a boarding house, wife on the waters,” I answered. “Continental Europe, neither we nor the malefic can reach them. To us, that's right.

“Are you going to look for the Count?”

- What do you think?

“Your business,” Ramon did not try to dissuade me, and suddenly pointed to the body of the maid, sprawled on the sofa. - Wait a minute!

- What's happened?

- Shine on your neck!

I followed my partner's instructions, took a closer look and immediately noticed two dark blue marks on the deathly pale skin.

- To tear me apart! - groaned the strong man. There was a vampire here!

An unpleasant chill ran down his back; I overcame myself and forced to touch the dead girl. The body was already cold, but unlike the rest of the victims, it was just beginning to stiffen.

What have you gotten me into, Leo? Ramon hissed, frightened and angry. “Malefics and vampires, just think! Yes, there are almost no vampires even in Europe, and even more so in our country!

“If a werewolf came from the New World, why not a vampire? I muttered.

- For what? What the hell? What's going on, Leo?

I brushed off my partner and hurried to the exit.

- Let's get out of here! It's already dawning!

- No, wait!

“So you can’t wait to go to jail?” I frowned, looking down at my friend.

- Okay, we'll talk later! - the burly man decided, but as soon as I moved to the exit, he grabbed my hand and held it. “Are you sure the malefic was alone?” he asked, and was the first to look out into the street with the hard drive at the ready.

- Why not? I was surprised.

How could he kill so many people by himself?

“Shadows,” I said. The shadows helped him. You almost shot me for one of these, remember?

Ramon frankly shuddered from an unpleasant memory, he drove a cartridge into the tubular magazine of the hard drive instead of the shot one and muttered:

"Still don't yawn!"

I nodded and took off my self-loading carbine from my shoulder. A strangler is definitely not going to get through with a rifle bullet, but vampires have a habit of surrounding themselves with mortal helpers. Yes, and calmer with a weapon in your hands ...

The high porch of the mansion faced east, on the very horizon the clouds were already turning pink, and I said softly:

- It's getting light!

The stout man nodded, making it clear that he heard my words, but did not lose his vigilance; he did not believe in stories about vampires burning in the sunlight. Me too, to be honest. Therefore, they got to the armored car without too much haste, without taking their eyes off the trees and bushes approaching the alley.

The birds had already started their usual morning squabble, the crowing of a rooster came from the tenants' farm, and the risk of stumbling upon a bystander increased by the minute. Approaching the gate, we threw open the gate and rushed headlong to the armored car.

Ramon prudently looked under the self-propelled carriage and gave the go-ahead:

- Order!

Then I unlocked the body and threw a rifle into it, in return I took out the steering wheel. The stout man ran up and held out the Winchester.

“Take it away,” he asked.

I took the gun and immediately groaned:

- Bolvan!

- What's happened? Ramon perked up.

- Gilza! I shouted. - The cartridge case was left in my uncle's office! Imprints!

- Damn me! - Ramon turned pale as a sheet, but immediately overcame his confusion, snatched the steering wheel from me and climbed into the cab.

- We're coming back! Faster! he shouted, putting the steering wheel back in place.

- Start up! - I said and jumped on the footboard from the passenger seat.

The engine crackled; under frequent, frequent claps, an armored car drove up to the gate, easily demolished it and drove into the estate. Upon impact, we were noticeably shaken, and the self-propelled carriage even rolled onto the lawn, but Ramon managed to turn the steering wheel in time and return to the alley.

In an instant, we rushed to the mansion, where the strong man braked sharply, jumped out of the cab and rushed headlong into the house. I moved to his place, turned the armored car to the exit in advance and lifted the frontal armor plate, which had been thrown back onto the hood. It was not possible to drive at night with a closed windshield, but now it was already dawn, the rural people had long since woken up, and the last thing I wanted was for some overly vigilant tenant to tell the police later our signs.

The front door slammed again, Ramon quickly ran off the porch and climbed into the cab.

- Let's go! he shouted.

- Yes! - confirmed the burly man, taking a breath. - Let's go!

And we drove. They didn’t stop until the very city, they didn’t even add water to the radiator, until they drove the armored car into a back alley in the backyard of some kind of manufactory.

Ramon ran with a bucket to a pump at a nearby intersection, and I began to pace around the self-propelled carriage, stretching my stiff legs and looking around. My back ached mercilessly, my head was filled with lead, and my hands were trembling with fatigue, but I didn’t find a place for myself at all because of poor health.

Worried about something else.

- What to do with a self-propelled stroller? – he asked his partner, who returned with water. - Everyone knew that my uncle and I were at odds, I would not be surprised if today or tomorrow they come to me with a search.

– Is this possible? – Surprised burly, filling the radiator.

- What do you think? I snorted.

- No! The friend waved his hand dismissively. What about quarantine? How will they get inside?

“Sooner or later they will find a noble with immunity to the Aggel plague. The armored car is a direct evidence, we have inherited a lot on the estate.

"Get rid of him," Ramon suggested.

“Not an option,” I said. - More useful.

– Leo! This tin can put us in jail!

I didn't even listen to anything.

“Your cousin from Locksmith…” he snapped his fingers. - What if we drive an armored car to him?

- Are you crazy? Ramon rolled his eyes. “I won’t involve my family in this!”

What about the coal storage?

The fort considered, then nodded.

“There are a couple of abandoned warehouses out there, you know,” he muttered. - Until the fall, no one will stick in them for sure.

- With a separate entrance? I clarified.

“There are some,” said the friend. - Go!

By this time, it had long since dawned, and the townsfolk who poured out into the streets stared with curiosity at the police armored car, splashed with mud to the very roof. Fortunately, the neighborhood of the coal depot, where Ramon now worked as a night watchman, was deserted; there the only company we had was a couple of liar dogs.

Ramon pointed to the right gate, ordered to wait and ran away somewhere, and returned with a weighty bunch of keys.

“Don't worry,” he reassured me, unlocking the rusty barn lock, “that drunkard won't wake up even if the ship's cannon fires over his ear.

Make a duplicate on your shift.

- Necessarily.

The gates gave way with a terrible creak, we had to fit in with all our might, throwing open the doors, and then I drove the armored car into the inside of the warehouse, black from coal crumbs, turned off the engine and, exhaustedly, extended my hand to my partner:

- Thank you! Rescued.

Ramon clenched his palm with his paws and asked:

“When do you claim the bounty for the murderer of a banker?”

“I’ll do it in the morning,” I decided, looked at my watch and corrected myself: “No, it’s closer to dinner, probably.

“Don’t delay this,” demanded the burly man. - Fine?

“Don't even hesitate,” I promised, took my cane and got out of the cab.

By joint efforts, we managed to slam the warehouse gates in half, Ramon hung a lock on them, smeared it with coal dust and looked around appraisingly from all sides.

“It will,” he decided.

It would be worth removing the necessary key from the bundle, but from fatigue, thoughts were confused, and the eyes closed by themselves. Sleepless night and hassle squeezed all the juice out of me, and the only thing I really wanted now was to lie down in bed and close my eyes.

So he just waved his hand and went home. Sleep.

But getting to the bed was not so easy.

Elizabeth Mary was confused. She gave me an appraising look and in a tone that brooked no objection, declared:

"A cup of tea won't hurt you right now."

I looked at the reflection of my pale and haggard face, turned away from the mirror and nodded:

- Okay, cover it.

- Have a drink in the kitchen. I hope this teaches you how to be home on time!

I did not begin to sort things out; just couldn't. Silently, he put his dusty jacket on a hanger, put his cane in an umbrella tube, then got rid of his dirt-stained boots and went into the kitchen.

He sat down by the window, drank hot sweet tea and stared thoughtlessly at the garden with black trees wet from the rain.

“I see it’s becoming a habit for you to come back in the morning!” the succubus remarked pointedly, lighting the stove.

I said nothing. I did not want to talk or move, and even the bed no longer beckoned with the promise of oblivion, now seeming to be something unrealistically far away.

I sat by the window and drank tea.

Elizabeth-Mary gave up trying to get me to talk and put a thick cast-iron pan on the fire. She poured oil, sprinkled spices, and the aroma of exotic spices immediately spread through the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, a piece of meat slammed onto the hot metal, but I did not pay the slightest attention to the hissing and sizzling, and only when the girl put a plate of barely fried steak in front of me did I express my bewilderment:

“Not too heavy for breakfast, don’t you think?”

“Look at you, skin and bones!” – objected girl. “Besides, I suspect this is not breakfast for you, but a late dinner.”

“What makes you think that I want to eat?”

“You smell of death,” Elizabeth Mary calmly replied, “and any murder for a person is just a prelude to a hearty meal.” Even if this is a murder of one's own kind, it has been so since ancient times.

- Like yourself? I grimaced. “Today we killed a werewolf. It was a terrible creature.

"Do you think you're so different from him?" - the girl could not resist the hairpin.

I was turned over.

- I'm different! I snapped. - Very, very much. All clear?

“As you say, dear,” Elizabeth-Mary shrugged her shoulders and took a bottle of sherry from the drawer. - By the way! Red wine continues to disappear. Cut down your blond monkey before I rip his arms off.

“The leprechaun and I haven't been getting along lately,” I shook my head.

To be honest, the fictional childhood friend just drove him crazy with his antics. I hadn't thought about the insolent shorty for many years and now I couldn't figure out why on earth he had gotten out of the subconscious at all. It frightened me of the possible loss of control over my own gift, because not a single nightmare of mine had lingered in this world for so long, not a single fantasy seemed so real.

Elizabeth Mary was only a succubus mask, but what gave strength to a leprechaun?

I didn't have an answer to this question.

“That shorty drinks like a horse,” the girl complained, sitting down across from me with a glass of fortified wine, and pushed a plate of sauce towards me. - Eat!

I was about to refuse, but my stomach suddenly failed from hunger. And although he never particularly complained about poorly fried meat - and even blood came out on the cut, he had to admit that the steak turned out to be very even nothing. A spicy sauce with an incomprehensible, but surprisingly delicate taste, set it off perfectly.

“Have you heard anything about the Convention?” I asked the girl, cutting off another piece of meat.

- About the Convention? – puzzled Elizabeth-Mary and took a sip of sherry, trying to hide her confusion. - These are ideological ones, - she said after a long pause, when it already began to seem that I would not wait for an answer at all.

- Ideological? I didn't understand.

“The common malefic is just happy to sell his miserable soul in exchange for a small fraction of strength and lifetime well-being. These are not like that, they dream of the old days. They want them back.

– Is that how?

"That's right," the girl confirmed. - Why are you asking?

I just shrugged my shoulders, not talking about the last words of the dying werewolf.

“Don't mess with the Convention,” Elizabeth Mary warned. “They are dangerous, extremely dangerous. If you cross their path, they will kill you and devour your soul.

“Why all of a sudden such concern for my soul?

For a moment, from under the guise of a pretty girl, the true appearance of an infernal creature appeared, and the fiery red eyes of the infernal creature burned me with undisguised hatred.

- In this case, I will be left with nothing! the succubus said.

But I wasn't fooled that easily. I understood fears and could say for sure - the succubus was afraid, and she was afraid for herself, not for me.

Nerves, nerves sewn my heart!

Symphony group. Heart

Part one
Moor. Hardened steel and thickened kerosene

1

Night. Darkness. Speed.

The engine roars hoarsely; an armored car rushes along a country road soaked with rain, every minute and even every second the risk of flying to the side of the road and getting stuck in the mud, or even crashing into a tree or turning over. The wheels bounce on bumps and fall into potholes, the steering wheel twitches every time and tries to escape from the hands, you have to squeeze it with all your might, so as not to miss and lose control.

The first misstep threatened to be the last.

Speed. Risk.

My legs had been numb for a long time, my back ached mercilessly, and my eyes constantly watered, but I did not regret at all that I had broken into my uncle's estate in the dead of night, as soon as I had finished with the formalities in Chinatown. But Ramon Miro regretted it from the very beginning of our crazy trip.

His invariably reddish hue now resembled the color of sour cream, while the former constable himself split like a starfish, fearing to fly out of his chair with the next jerk, and clearly struggled with vomiting. He did not at all believe that the unknown strangler would be able to get ahead of us and did not stop talking about it until he was finally seasick.

“Stop cleaning the headlights!” he demanded.

- And so they shine! I waved it off, not wanting to waste time.

“Either pan, or gone! I mentally repeated the proverb I heard from my grandfather. “Either pan, or gone, and nothing else!”

We must be on time. Succeed by all means!

Fortunately, outside the city, the rain stopped, and the road mostly ran through the fields, bypassing the woods and groves. All I had to do was look out for holes and put pressure on the gas, squeezing all the horsepower out of the engine.

He chirped furiously, devouring TNT granules, an unsecured cargo rumbled in the back, and even his own thoughts were not heard, but I made out Ramon's question.

- No! - not for a moment taking his eyes off the road, he shouted back. “I have no idea who strangled the Jew!”

But definitely not human. The palms of ordinary mortals do not burn victims with cold, do not leave traces of frostbite on their skin. Aaron Malk was killed either by an infernal being or noble- one of those raiders who tried to take me into circulation.

Who exactly is not important. It's important to get ahead of it.

The killer now knows exactly where the aluminum box with the lightning rune on the lid is located, and very soon Count Kosice will part not only with it, but also with his own life. The latter, to be honest, touched me a little, but only the chances of going after my uncle in this situation exceeded all reasonable limits.

If the nobles get the box, the malefics will open the hunt for me, otherwise I will have to keep running from the mysterious bank robbers. Only with the box could I start my own game; only by advancing in the investigation, he had a real chance to outplay his opponents.

Ramon swallowed hard and groaned:

I hate you Leo!

I just smirked.

“Think of three thousand…

- I've already earned them! the big man howled immediately. - Already! And you got me on a new adventure!

“Hunting a werewolf was also considered a gamble, right? I found the answer easily.

But Ramon Miro did not get into his pocket for a word. He stuck his finger into the hole in his cloak, torn and covered in blood, and said accusingly:

“Is that okay, do you think?”

There was nothing to fend off this indisputable argument, but I did not even try.

“We need to find out what started all this!” Let's find out what's at stake - get rich!

Once again, Ramon was ruthlessly precise in his wording.

- You need it! he said. - Not for me! You get rich, not me.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be left without money either,” I promised, noticed the lights flickering on my right hand and warned: “We passed the station, we will soon be there.”

Ramon was silent.

Having alarmed both dogs and people with its chirping, the armored car sped past the tenants' farm, then rounded the oak forest and drove straight to the estate.

“We’re coming,” I warned my friend. - Get ready.

“Turn off the headlights,” Ramon advised.

“Empty,” I refused, not so much even because of the fear of flying to the side of the road, but because of the clapping of the engine. Only the deaf can hear such a noise.

Or dead.

It was this thought that flashed through my mind when the armored car stopped in front of the closed gates of the estate. A dim light flickered in the window of the gatehouse, but the old man did not think to look out into the street and find out the reason for the visit of the police at such an inopportune hour.

Something was wrong.

"Something's wrong," I told Ramon.

Yes, even without my warning, he had already taken cover behind the steam-smoking hood of an armored car and rested the butt of a hard drive on his shoulder.

- Covering me! - I reminded and got out of the cab. - Do not snooze! - warned a friend, ran around the self-propelled carriage and, throwing back the tailgate, threw a cane into the body. Instead, he pulled out a self-loading carbine and a pair of pouches with preloaded magazines.

- Glasses do not interfere? Ramon then asked.

I lifted the tinted glass eyepieces and chuckled.

- Do you think it's better?

My partner's reddish face was illuminated by the reflection of my eyes shining in the dark, and he admitted:

- No. Return.

I put my spectacles down on my nose, cautiously approached the gate, and, resting my rifle on the crossbar, commanded Ramon:

The burly man jumped over the fence in an instant, unlocked the gate and launched me into the estate.

- Watchman! he whispered.

- You're the first! I breathed out soundlessly in response.

I did not want to make noise and publicly announce my visit, even despite the considerable risk of catching a charge of salt or fine shot.

Covering each other, we crept up to the half-open door, where Ramon looked inside and immediately recoiled.

- Damn it! I cursed, hesitated for a moment, then ordered: “Wait! - and hurried to the armored car.

He took off the steering wheel, threw it into the body, then climbed himself. By touch, he found a box of grenades fixed under the bench, took out two, screwed in the fuses. Then he hung a massive lock on board and returned to his partner already calm and collected, without the slightest tremor in his knees.

We need to call for reinforcements! - Ramon met me with an evil whisper, completely forgetting about the recent dismissal.

I didn’t trample on his sore callus and just shook my head:

- I think we're late.

- Why do you think so? – the burly man was surprised.

“There is no airship,” I said, pointing to the lone lantern of the mooring mast.

The signal lights of the aircraft did not burn, the white oval of the semi-rigid hull did not peep out of the night darkness.

“The killer could have flown in the airship,” Ramon suggested.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I grunted and moved towards the family mansion.

The stout man was about to follow, but immediately stopped and said:

- The count or the murderer has flown away - we have no need to go there!

- What the hell?

- To know exactly who to look for! In addition, if the count flew away on the airship, then the strangler is somewhere nearby. Would it be possible to talk to him?

“No,” Ramon said. - It is a bad idea.

I looked around the dark silhouette of the mansion without a single luminous window, the stable and the overgrown garden, capable of hiding a whole company of soldiers, and mentally agreed with my friend.

But he said something else.

“Either we go together,” I shrugged nonchalantly, “or wait for me in the armored car. Just keep in mind - if I disappear, the Jews will not pay you a centime for a werewolf. Think about it!

- Damn it! Ramon cursed, wiping his sweaty face and nervously looking at the gloomy mansion. - Damn you! he gave up. - Let's go!

With a quiet laugh, I was the first to move along the alley, reached the turn to the stables, but did not turn to it, not wanting to waste time. The mansion drew me in.

Manil? I caught myself thinking this and even slowed down.

Excitement subsided, as if I had crossed a certain line, the world regained volume, the silhouettes of buildings and garden trees no longer seemed to be cut out of plywood and casually painted theatrical scenery, the understanding came that all this was happening right here and now.

The fear returned.

I froze in place, listening to the stillness of the night. Without the splash of our boots, absolutely deathly silence reigned around the puddles, only the whistle of a locomotive swept somewhere far, far away. But it seemed to come from another world; even all the imperial armored trains, taken together, could not help us now, alas.

– Leo! Ramon whispered softly. - What's happened?

I shrugged my shoulders to appease my inopportune imagination and moved on. The family estate grew out of the darkness like a gloomy bulk; soon we were able to make out the front door, wide open.

"I'll be damned if we're not invited inside!" Ramon breathed. “Come visit,” said the spider to the fly!

Nervous tension loosened the tongue of the laconic, robust fellow, and I considered it necessary to calm him down. He simply held out one of the grenades he had taken with him.

- Can't wait to smash everything here? Ramon joked, looking around nervously. “Maybe we should set fire to the house right away so as not to waste time?”

- Great idea! I muttered, slowly and cautiously making my way onto the porch. - Cover up! called a friend, stepping over the threshold first.

We stood in the hallway, peering into the darkness, then I flipped the switch, but the electric bulb under the ceiling did not come on.

Then I hung the carbine on my shoulder, took out the Roth-Steyr from the holster and asked my partner:

- Flashlight!

Ramon handed me a flashlight; a bright beam slid down the hallway and immediately snatched the body of the butler out of the darkness. Moreover, someone's legs in well-worn boots were sticking out of the corridor.

Stepping over the body of the night watchman, we went into the living room, where the maid was lying on the sofa with her head thrown back. The bloodless face was no different in color from the white apron.

- Damn it! breathed Ramon Miro.

- Quiet! I hissed at him, listening to the silence.

Behind the wall, a cricket creaked softly, and nothing more. No more sound was heard.

- Behind me! - I then commanded and began to go up to the second floor first.

The bright beam of the lantern danced and jumped from side to side, lightly illuminating the dark corners, and yet I did not leave the feeling that someone's cold eyes were watching us from the darkness.

Self-hypnosis? Hell knows...

The second floor was not checked.

“First, let’s examine the count’s office,” I decided, and moved further up the stairs.

Somehow, completely unexpectedly, I lost all desire to track down the unknown strangler; I wanted to turn around and run away from here without looking back, and I don’t even know what exactly kept me from this shameful step - the remnants of the excitement raging in my blood or the fear of seeming ridiculous.

I suspect it's the second one.

We went up to the third floor, I stepped into the corridor and froze in my tracks when the reflections of a kerosene lamp flickered in the open door of the study.

And a shadow! The shadow on the floor in front of the door swayed slightly, now crawling in one direction, then sliding in the other. There was someone in the office.

Turning off the flashlight, I slipped it into my pocket and put my index finger to my lips. Ramon nodded, indicating that he saw the shadow, and all crept up in anticipation of a fight.

I grabbed the Roth Steyr with both hands and moved forward. Silently stepping along the carpet, he crept along the corridor and jumped into the office with one swift jump. And there he immediately recoiled to the side, making room for his partner.

He did not shoot: there was no one in the office, only scattered papers were scattered everywhere in a hurry and the secretary snarled with holes in the drawers turned out on the floor.

But I was wrong! For the first moment, the glance simply slipped from the figure dissolved in the shadows at the desk. The light of a kerosene lamp fluttered behind the motionless man and turned his black silhouette into the likeness of one of the slippery fish that thoughtlessly glided in the aquarium against the far wall.

Eyes snatched out of the darkness only a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown; nothing else could be seen.

Shadows to them!

I raised my gun, aiming at the stranger, but before I could, did I decide? - squeeze the trigger, there was an unpleasant whistling half-whisper, as ghostly as the shadows around:

- It's not worth it!

The phrase resonated with an unpleasant ache in my temples, and I froze in indecision with a raised pistol, but Ramon did not hesitate. The Winchester roared deafeningly, the muzzle flash ripped the shadows that filled the office to shreds, but the malefic did not even move.

He sustained a theatrical pause, then looked at the bullet clutched in his hand and said indifferently:

- Waste of ammo.

Angry at the failure, Ramon pulled the lever of the hard drive, throwing a spent cartridge case onto the floor, but I stopped him, repeating the words of a stranger:

- It's not worth it!

The bullet laid out by the mysterious strangler on the edge of the desk was not only covered with frost, but also deformed; the thin fingers of the stranger crumpled the aluminum shell.

“The right decision,” the malefic laughed and, with a gesture of a conjurer, took out of the air a box of light gray metal with a broken lightning rune on the lid. “I suppose you are interested in this, illustrious Orso?”

"Perhaps," I answered cautiously, wondering what to do next.

Act from a position of strength or show prudence? Attack first or try to negotiate?

A bullet crushed by the fingers made the first unpromising; the ruthlessness shown by the strangler deprived of hope for the second.

And what to do?

Ramon stepped from the door in one direction, I moved in the other. The kerosene lamp no longer shone on the strangler's back, but even so, the shadows thickened under his hat were impenetrable to the eye and hid his face better than any mask.

- Guess where the count is? the malefic asked calmly; Ramon, he stubbornly ignored and turned on the spot after me.

I stood so that we were separated by a desk, and defiantly holstered the pistol.

“Even if the Count is in hell, I won’t grieve too much about this,” he answered after that, not really deforming his soul.

“Perhaps in hell,” the strangler chuckled. - Do you want to take a look? - he held out the box, but immediately pulled his hand back, as if teasingly.

– Take a look? - I was puzzled, licked my lips, asked: - Under what conditions? - and immediately realized that he had made an unforgivable mistake. Perhaps even fatal.

The relaxation of the strangler in an instant was replaced by a predatory interest.

You don't know what's inside, do you? - he even leaned forward, and only the light of a kerosene lamp flashed in front of his face made him straighten up and retreat.

And for the first time, a whistling half-whisper did not echo in my head, forcing me to a quick and recklessly frank answer.

- And you? I asked, looking at the fiery moth fluttering behind the glass. - You know?

“It doesn't matter,” the malefic replied, and the shadows around him began to move, like boas wrapped around a circus performer.

One of the ghostly harnesses slid up to Ramon and wrapped around his ankle; the burly man froze at half a step, and the barrel of the hard drive pointed at the strangler suddenly shuddered and began to shift in my direction.

With a doomed sigh, I took off my dark glasses, but the radiance of the eyes did not bother the malefic at all, he only laughed:

"And what are you going to do, sir?" Scare me to death?

“I’ll take it with me to hell,” I answered, and with a casual movement threw the lamp to the floor.

The glass immediately shattered, kerosene spilled over the office and caught fire. The flame instantly reached the curtains, flew up to the ceiling, ignited papers scattered everywhere, inside out drawers, and then the furniture.

Ramon threw away the Winchester and tore off his cloak, enveloped in flames, stumbled upon a chair and rolled across the floor like a living torch. Me the fire cut off from the front door and drove it into a corner, but the strangler did not lose his presence of mind - or was he mad with fear? - and rushed to the saving exit straight through the fiery element.

I glanced at the chronometer, waiting for the promised minute, but Ramon held out his hand to me and croaked pleadingly:

- Stop doing that!

Deciding not to test my partner's patience, I took off my carbine from my shoulder and, with a blow from the butt, seated the side wall of the aquarium. The water that rushed to the floor washed away the puddle of burning kerosene in an instant, and impenetrable darkness reigned in the office.

- Hellfire! Ramon whispered with dry lips, and leaned away from the wall. - How painful!

- Shut up! I hissed at him, ran to the front door and looked out into the corridor, but the strangler was already gone. He listened - from the thick silence ringing in his ears.

Ramon stood next to him and breathed out softly:

"Gone," I confirmed just as quietly.

The burly man wiped his sweat-covered forehead with relief and collapsed exhaustedly into a chair. He was hooked only by a small echo of someone else's horror, but even so he looked like one of the fish thrashing in an empty aquarium.

- He will not return? Ramon asked as I turned on the electric flashlight and began to study the devastation that had been done in the office.

“No,” I answered confidently. “And if he does return, he will see the house on fire.”

- How did you do that?

I just laughed.

“That’s all my talent, buddy, remember?”

The strangler was afraid of fire; I noticed it by the abruptness with which he recoiled from the kerosene lamp. It only remained to pull this thread in time and turn the puddle of burning kerosene into a raging fire.

Fear has big eyes? Indeed so!

On the floor, in the beam of an electric torch, the reflection of an aluminum box flashed; I put on my gloves and picked it up, but the lock was broken and it was empty.

- Damn it! I cursed, not hiding my disappointment.

- Nothing.

“Nothing at all?”

- At all! I snapped, angrily tossing the casket into a corner and walking around the study, but never came to any definite conclusion, whose hands this mess was: the count fleeing or the malefic who arrived after his soul.

"Leo, we need to get out of here!" the stout man hurried me when I began to sort out the burnt papers scattered on the floor, wet because of the water that had spilled everywhere.

“We must,” I agreed with my partner and put the bullet crumpled with the strangler into my pocket. Let's just check the house first.

Room by room we walked around the entire mansion, but there was no one on the second and third floors, and all the servants below were dead. The strangler was distinguished by an enviable method, he did not miss anyone.

- Where are the count's relatives? Ramon asked as we walked into the living room.

“Daughters in a boarding house, wife on the waters,” I answered. “Continental Europe, neither we nor the malefic can reach them. To us, that's right.

“Are you going to look for the Count?”

- What do you think?

“Your business,” Ramon did not try to dissuade me, and suddenly pointed to the body of the maid, sprawled on the sofa. - Wait a minute!

- What's happened?

- Shine on your neck!

I followed my partner's instructions, took a closer look and immediately noticed two dark blue marks on the deathly pale skin.

An unpleasant chill ran down his back; I overcame myself and forced to touch the dead girl. The body was already cold, but unlike the rest of the victims, it was just beginning to stiffen.

What have you gotten me into, Leo? Ramon hissed, frightened and angry. “Malefics and vampires, just think! Yes, there are almost no vampires even in Europe, and even more so in our country!

“If a werewolf came from the New World, why not a vampire? I muttered.

- For what? What the hell? What's going on, Leo?

I brushed off my partner and hurried to the exit.

- Let's get out of here! It's already dawning!

- No, wait!

“So you can’t wait to go to jail?” I frowned, looking down at my friend.

- Okay, we'll talk later! - the burly man decided, but as soon as I moved to the exit, he grabbed my hand and held it. “Are you sure the malefic was alone?” he asked, and was the first to look out into the street with the hard drive at the ready.

- Why not? I was surprised.

How could he kill so many people by himself?

“Shadows,” I said. The shadows helped him. You almost shot me for one of these, remember?

Ramon frankly shuddered from an unpleasant memory, he drove a cartridge into the tubular magazine of the hard drive instead of the shot one and muttered:

"Still don't yawn!"

I nodded and took off my self-loading carbine from my shoulder. A strangler is definitely not going to get through with a rifle bullet, but vampires have a habit of surrounding themselves with mortal helpers. Yes, and calmer with a weapon in your hands ...

The high porch of the mansion faced east, on the very horizon the clouds were already turning pink, and I said softly:

- It's getting light!

The stout man nodded, making it clear that he heard my words, but did not lose his vigilance; he did not believe in stories about vampires burning in the sunlight. Me too, to be honest. Therefore, they got to the armored car without too much haste, without taking their eyes off the trees and bushes approaching the alley.

The birds had already started their usual morning squabble, the crowing of a rooster came from the tenants' farm, and the risk of stumbling upon a bystander increased by the minute. Approaching the gate, we threw open the gate and rushed headlong to the armored car.

Ramon prudently looked under the self-propelled carriage and gave the go-ahead:

- Order!

Then I unlocked the body and threw a rifle into it, in return I took out the steering wheel. The stout man ran up and held out the Winchester.

“Take it away,” he asked.

I took the gun and immediately groaned:

- Bolvan!

- What's happened? Ramon perked up.

- Gilza! I shouted. - The cartridge case was left in my uncle's office! Imprints!

- Damn me! - Ramon turned pale as a sheet, but immediately overcame his confusion, snatched the steering wheel from me and climbed into the cab.

- We're coming back! Faster! he shouted, putting the steering wheel back in place.

- Start up! - I said and jumped on the footboard from the passenger seat.

The engine crackled; under frequent, frequent claps, an armored car drove up to the gate, easily demolished it and drove into the estate. Upon impact, we were noticeably shaken, and the self-propelled carriage even rolled onto the lawn, but Ramon managed to turn the steering wheel in time and return to the alley.

In an instant, we rushed to the mansion, where the strong man braked sharply, jumped out of the cab and rushed headlong into the house. I moved to his place, turned the armored car to the exit in advance and lifted the frontal armor plate, which had been thrown back onto the hood. It was not possible to drive at night with a closed windshield, but now it was already dawn, the rural people had long since woken up, and the last thing I wanted was for some overly vigilant tenant to tell the police later our signs.

The front door slammed again, Ramon quickly ran off the porch and climbed into the cab.

- Let's go! he shouted.

- Yes! - confirmed the burly man, taking a breath. - Let's go!

And we drove. They didn’t stop until the very city, they didn’t even add water to the radiator, until they drove the armored car into a back alley in the backyard of some kind of manufactory.

Ramon ran with a bucket to a pump at a nearby intersection, and I began to pace around the self-propelled carriage, stretching my stiff legs and looking around. My back ached mercilessly, my head was filled with lead, and my hands were trembling with fatigue, but I didn’t find a place for myself at all because of poor health.

Worried about something else.

- What to do with a self-propelled stroller? – he asked his partner, who returned with water. - Everyone knew that my uncle and I were at odds, I would not be surprised if today or tomorrow they come to me with a search.

– Is this possible? – Surprised burly, filling the radiator.

- What do you think? I snorted.

- No! The friend waved his hand dismissively. What about quarantine? How will they get inside?

“Sooner or later they will find a noble with immunity to the Aggel plague. The armored car is a direct evidence, we have inherited a lot on the estate.

"Get rid of him," Ramon suggested.

“Not an option,” I said. - More useful.

– Leo! This tin can put us in jail!

I didn't even listen to anything.

“Your cousin from Locksmith…” he snapped his fingers. - What if we drive an armored car to him?

- Are you crazy? Ramon rolled his eyes. “I won’t involve my family in this!”

What about the coal storage?

The fort considered, then nodded.

“There are a couple of abandoned warehouses out there, you know,” he muttered. - Until the fall, no one will stick in them for sure.

- With a separate entrance? I clarified.

“There are some,” said the friend. - Go!

By this time, it had long since dawned, and the townsfolk who poured out into the streets stared with curiosity at the police armored car, splashed with mud to the very roof. Fortunately, the neighborhood of the coal depot, where Ramon now worked as a night watchman, was deserted; there the only company we had was a couple of liar dogs.

Ramon pointed to the right gate, ordered to wait and ran away somewhere, and returned with a weighty bunch of keys.

“Don't worry,” he reassured me, unlocking the rusty barn lock, “that drunkard won't wake up even if the ship's cannon fires over his ear.

Make a duplicate on your shift.

- Necessarily.

The gates gave way with a terrible creak, we had to fit in with all our might, throwing open the doors, and then I drove the armored car into the inside of the warehouse, black from coal crumbs, turned off the engine and, exhaustedly, extended my hand to my partner:

- Thank you! Rescued.

Ramon clenched his palm with his paws and asked:

“When do you claim the bounty for the murderer of a banker?”

“I’ll do it in the morning,” I decided, looked at my watch and corrected myself: “No, it’s closer to dinner, probably.

“Don’t delay this,” demanded the burly man. - Fine?

“Don't even hesitate,” I promised, took my cane and got out of the cab.

By joint efforts, we managed to slam the warehouse gates in half, Ramon hung a lock on them, smeared it with coal dust and looked around appraisingly from all sides.

“It will,” he decided.

It would be worth removing the necessary key from the bundle, but from fatigue, thoughts were confused, and the eyes closed by themselves. Sleepless night and hassle squeezed all the juice out of me, and the only thing I really wanted now was to lie down in bed and close my eyes.

So he just waved his hand and went home. Sleep.

But getting to the bed was not so easy.

Elizabeth Mary was confused. She gave me an appraising look and in a tone that brooked no objection, declared:

"A cup of tea won't hurt you right now."

I looked at the reflection of my pale and haggard face, turned away from the mirror and nodded:

- Okay, cover it.

- Have a drink in the kitchen. I hope this teaches you how to be home on time!

I did not begin to sort things out; just couldn't. Silently, he put his dusty jacket on a hanger, put his cane in an umbrella tube, then got rid of his dirt-stained boots and went into the kitchen.

He sat down by the window, drank hot sweet tea and stared thoughtlessly at the garden with black trees wet from the rain.

“I see it’s becoming a habit for you to come back in the morning!” the succubus remarked pointedly, lighting the stove.

I said nothing. I did not want to talk or move, and even the bed no longer beckoned with the promise of oblivion, now seeming to be something unrealistically far away.

I sat by the window and drank tea.

Elizabeth-Mary gave up trying to get me to talk and put a thick cast-iron pan on the fire. She poured oil, sprinkled spices, and the aroma of exotic spices immediately spread through the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, a piece of meat slammed onto the hot metal, but I did not pay the slightest attention to the hissing and sizzling, and only when the girl put a plate of barely fried steak in front of me did I express my bewilderment:

“Not too heavy for breakfast, don’t you think?”

“Look at you, skin and bones!” – objected girl. “Besides, I suspect this is not breakfast for you, but a late dinner.”

“What makes you think that I want to eat?”

“You smell of death,” Elizabeth Mary calmly replied, “and any murder for a person is just a prelude to a hearty meal.” Even if this is a murder of one's own kind, it has been so since ancient times.

- Like yourself? I grimaced. “Today we killed a werewolf. It was a terrible creature.

"Do you think you're so different from him?" - the girl could not resist the hairpin.

I was turned over.

- I'm different! I snapped. - Very, very much. All clear?

“As you say, dear,” Elizabeth-Mary shrugged her shoulders and took a bottle of sherry from the drawer. - By the way! Red wine continues to disappear. Cut down your blond monkey before I rip his arms off.

“The leprechaun and I haven't been getting along lately,” I shook my head.

To be honest, the fictional childhood friend just drove him crazy with his antics. I hadn't thought about the insolent shorty for many years and now I couldn't figure out why on earth he had gotten out of the subconscious at all. It frightened me of the possible loss of control over my own gift, because not a single nightmare of mine had lingered in this world for so long, not a single fantasy seemed so real.

Pavel Kornev

Heartless

Nerves, nerves sewn my heart!

Symphony group. Heart

Part one

Moor. Hardened steel and thickened kerosene

Night. Darkness. Speed.

The engine roars hoarsely; an armored car rushes along a country road soaked with rain, every minute and even every second the risk of flying to the side of the road and getting stuck in the mud, or even crashing into a tree or turning over. The wheels bounce on bumps and fall into potholes, the steering wheel twitches every time and tries to escape from the hands, you have to squeeze it with all your might, so as not to miss and lose control.

The first misstep threatened to be the last.

Speed. Risk.

My legs had been numb for a long time, my back ached mercilessly, and my eyes constantly watered, but I did not regret at all that I had broken into my uncle's estate in the dead of night, as soon as I had finished with the formalities in Chinatown. But Ramon Miro regretted it from the very beginning of our crazy trip.

His invariably reddish hue now resembled the color of sour cream, while the former constable himself split like a starfish, fearing to fly out of his chair with the next jerk, and clearly struggled with vomiting. He did not at all believe that the unknown strangler would be able to get ahead of us and did not stop talking about it until he was finally seasick.

“Stop cleaning the headlights!” he demanded.

- And so they shine! I waved it off, not wanting to waste time.

“Either pan, or gone! I mentally repeated the proverb I heard from my grandfather. “Either pan, or gone, and nothing else!”

We must be on time. Succeed by all means!

Fortunately, outside the city, the rain stopped, and the road mostly ran through the fields, bypassing the woods and groves. All I had to do was look out for holes and put pressure on the gas, squeezing all the horsepower out of the engine.

He chirped furiously, devouring TNT granules, an unsecured cargo rumbled in the back, and even his own thoughts were not heard, but I made out Ramon's question.

- No! - not for a moment taking his eyes off the road, he shouted back. “I have no idea who strangled the Jew!”

But definitely not human. The palms of ordinary mortals do not burn victims with cold, do not leave traces of frostbite on their skin. Aaron Malk was killed either by an infernal being or noble- one of those raiders who tried to take me into circulation.

Who exactly is not important. It's important to get ahead of it.

The killer now knows exactly where the aluminum box with the lightning rune on the lid is located, and very soon Count Kosice will part not only with it, but also with his own life. The latter, to be honest, touched me a little, but only the chances of going after my uncle in this situation exceeded all reasonable limits.

If the nobles get the box, the malefics will open the hunt for me, otherwise I will have to keep running from the mysterious bank robbers. Only with the box could I start my own game; only by advancing in the investigation, he had a real chance to outplay his opponents.

Then the front wheel sank into a hole, the self-propelled carriage was thrown up, and then dragged through the mud; at the very last moment, I took control and leveled the armored car when it had already pulled over to the side of the road and almost rolled over into a ditch.

Ramon swallowed hard and groaned:

I hate you Leo!

I just smirked.

“Think of three thousand…

- I've already earned them! the big man howled immediately. - Already! And you got me on a new adventure!

“Hunting a werewolf was also considered a gamble, right? I found the answer easily.

But Ramon Miro did not get into his pocket for a word. He stuck his finger into the hole in his cloak, torn and covered in blood, and said accusingly:

“Is that okay, do you think?”

There was nothing to fend off this indisputable argument, but I did not even try.

“We need to find out what started all this!” Let's find out what's at stake - get rich!

Once again, Ramon was ruthlessly precise in his wording.

- You need it! he said. - Not for me! You get rich, not me.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be left without money either,” I promised, noticed the lights flickering on my right hand and warned: “We passed the station, we will soon be there.”

Ramon was silent.

Having alarmed both dogs and people with its chirping, the armored car sped past the tenants' farm, then rounded the oak forest and drove straight to the estate.

“We’re coming,” I warned my friend. - Get ready.

“Turn off the headlights,” Ramon advised.

“Empty,” I refused, not so much even because of the fear of flying to the side of the road, but because of the clapping of the engine. Only the deaf can hear such a noise.

Or dead.

It was this thought that flashed through my mind when the armored car stopped in front of the closed gates of the estate. A dim light flickered in the window of the gatehouse, but the old man did not think to look out into the street and find out the reason for the visit of the police at such an inopportune hour.

Something was wrong.

"Something's wrong," I told Ramon.

Yes, even without my warning, he had already taken cover behind the steam-smoking hood of an armored car and rested the butt of a hard drive on his shoulder.

– What am I doing here anyway? he moaned.

- Covering me! - I reminded and got out of the cab. - Do not snooze! - warned a friend, ran around the self-propelled carriage and, throwing back the tailgate, threw a cane into the body. Instead, he pulled out a self-loading carbine and a pair of pouches with preloaded magazines.

- Glasses do not interfere? Ramon then asked.

I lifted the tinted glass eyepieces and chuckled.

- Do you think it's better?

My partner's reddish face was illuminated by the reflection of my eyes shining in the dark, and he admitted:

- No. Return.

I put my spectacles down on my nose, cautiously approached the gate, and, resting my rifle on the crossbar, commanded Ramon:

The burly man jumped over the fence in an instant, unlocked the gate and launched me into the estate.

- Watchman! he whispered.

- You're the first! I breathed out soundlessly in response.

I did not want to make noise and publicly announce my visit, even despite the considerable risk of catching a charge of salt or fine shot.

Covering each other, we crept up to the half-open door, where Ramon looked inside and immediately recoiled.

- Damn it! I cursed, hesitated for a moment, then ordered: “Wait! - and hurried to the armored car.

He took off the steering wheel, threw it into the body, then climbed himself. By touch, he found a box of grenades fixed under the bench, took out two, screwed in the fuses. Then he hung a massive lock on board and returned to his partner already calm and collected, without the slightest tremor in his knees.

We need to call for reinforcements! - Ramon met me with an evil whisper, completely forgetting about the recent dismissal.

I didn’t trample on his sore callus and just shook my head:

- I think we're late.

- Why do you think so? – the burly man was surprised.

“There is no airship,” I said, pointing to the lone lantern of the mooring mast.

The signal lights of the aircraft did not burn, the white oval of the semi-rigid hull did not peep out of the night darkness.

“The killer could have flown in the airship,” Ramon suggested.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I grunted and moved towards the family mansion.

The stout man was about to follow, but immediately stopped and said:

- The count or the murderer has flown away - we have no need to go there!

- Drop it! I tried to reason with my partner. “We need to find out exactly what happened here!”

- What the hell?

- To know exactly who to look for! In addition, if the count flew away on the airship, then the strangler is somewhere nearby. Would it be possible to talk to him?

“No,” Ramon said. - It is a bad idea.

I looked around the dark silhouette of the mansion without a single luminous window, the stable and the overgrown garden, capable of hiding a whole company of soldiers, and mentally agreed with my friend.

This was indeed a bad idea. Bad and very dangerous.

But he said something else.

“Either we go together,” I shrugged nonchalantly, “or wait for me in the armored car. Just keep in mind - if I disappear, the Jews will not pay you a centime for a werewolf. Think about it!

- Damn it! Ramon cursed, wiping his sweaty face and nervously looking at the gloomy mansion. - Damn you! he gave up. - Let's go!

With a quiet laugh, I was the first to move along the alley, reached the turn to the stables, but did not turn to it, not wanting to waste time. The mansion drew me in.

Manil? I caught myself thinking this and even slowed down.

Excitement subsided, as if I had crossed a certain line, the world regained volume, the silhouettes of buildings and garden trees no longer seemed to be cut out of plywood and casually painted theatrical scenery, the understanding came that all this was happening right here and now.

The fear returned.

I froze in place, listening to the stillness of the night. Without the splash of our boots, absolutely deathly silence reigned around the puddles, only the whistle of a locomotive swept somewhere far, far away. But it seemed to come from another world; even all the imperial armored trains, taken together, could not help us now, alas.

– Leo! Ramon whispered softly. - What's happened?

I shrugged my shoulders to appease my inopportune imagination and moved on. The family estate grew out of the darkness like a gloomy bulk; soon we were able to make out the front door, wide open.

"I'll be damned if we're not invited inside!" Ramon breathed. “Come visit,” said the spider to the fly!

Nervous tension loosened the tongue of the laconic, robust fellow, and I considered it necessary to calm him down. He simply held out one of the grenades he had taken with him.

- Can't wait to smash everything here? Ramon joked, looking around nervously. “Maybe we should set fire to the house right away so as not to waste time?”

- Great idea! I muttered, slowly and cautiously making my way onto the porch. - Cover up! called a friend, stepping over the threshold first.

We stood in the hallway, peering into the darkness, then I flipped the switch, but the electric bulb under the ceiling did not come on.

Then I hung the carbine on my shoulder, took out the Roth-Steyr from the holster and asked my partner:

- Flashlight!

Ramon handed me a flashlight; a bright beam slid down the hallway and immediately snatched the body of the butler out of the darkness. Moreover, someone's legs in well-worn boots were sticking out of the corridor.

Stepping over the body of the night watchman, we went into the living room, where the maid was lying on the sofa with her head thrown back. The bloodless face was no different in color from the white apron.

- Damn it! breathed Ramon Miro.

- Quiet! I hissed at him, listening to the silence.

Behind the wall, a cricket creaked softly, and nothing more. No more sound was heard.

- Behind me! - I then commanded and began to go up to the second floor first.

The bright beam of the lantern danced and jumped from side to side, lightly illuminating the dark corners, and yet I did not leave the feeling that someone's cold eyes were watching us from the darkness.

Self-hypnosis? Hell knows...

The second floor was not checked.

“First, let’s examine the count’s office,” I decided, and moved further up the stairs.

Somehow, completely unexpectedly, I lost all desire to track down the unknown strangler; I wanted to turn around and run away from here without looking back, and I don’t even know what exactly kept me from this shameful step - the remnants of the excitement raging in my blood or the fear of seeming ridiculous.

I suspect it's the second one.

We went up to the third floor, I stepped into the corridor and froze in my tracks when the reflections of a kerosene lamp flickered in the open door of the study.

And a shadow! The shadow on the floor in front of the door swayed slightly, now crawling in one direction, then sliding in the other. There was someone in the office.

Turning off the flashlight, I slipped it into my pocket and put my index finger to my lips. Ramon nodded, indicating that he saw the shadow, and all crept up in anticipation of a fight.

I grabbed the Roth Steyr with both hands and moved forward. Silently stepping along the carpet, he crept along the corridor and jumped into the office with one swift jump. And there he immediately recoiled to the side, making room for his partner.

He did not shoot: there was no one in the office, only scattered papers were scattered everywhere in a hurry and the secretary snarled with holes in the drawers turned out on the floor.

But I was wrong! For the first moment, the glance simply slipped from the figure dissolved in the shadows at the desk. The light of a kerosene lamp fluttered behind the motionless man and turned his black silhouette into the likeness of one of the slippery fish that thoughtlessly glided in the aquarium against the far wall.

Eyes snatched out of the darkness only a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat with a flat crown; nothing else could be seen.

Shadows to them!

I raised my gun, aiming at the stranger, but before I could, did I decide? - squeeze the trigger, there was an unpleasant whistling half-whisper, as ghostly as the shadows around:

- It's not worth it!

The phrase resonated with an unpleasant ache in my temples, and I froze in indecision with a raised pistol, but Ramon did not hesitate. The Winchester roared deafeningly, the muzzle flash ripped the shadows that filled the office to shreds, but the malefic did not even move.

He sustained a theatrical pause, then looked at the bullet clutched in his hand and said indifferently:

- Waste of ammo.

Angry at the failure, Ramon pulled the lever of the hard drive, throwing a spent cartridge case onto the floor, but I stopped him, repeating the words of a stranger:

- It's not worth it!

The bullet laid out by the mysterious strangler on the edge of the desk was not only covered with frost, but also deformed; the thin fingers of the stranger crumpled the aluminum shell.

“The right decision,” the malefic laughed and, with a gesture of a conjurer, took out of the air a box of light gray metal with a broken lightning rune on the lid. “I suppose you are interested in this, illustrious Orso?”

"Perhaps," I answered cautiously, wondering what to do next.

Act from a position of strength or show prudence? Attack first or try to negotiate?

A bullet crushed by the fingers made the first unpromising; the ruthlessness shown by the strangler deprived of hope for the second.

And what to do?

Ramon stepped from the door in one direction, I moved in the other. The kerosene lamp no longer shone on the strangler's back, but even so, the shadows thickened under his hat were impenetrable to the eye and hid his face better than any mask.

- Guess where the count is? the malefic asked calmly; Ramon, he stubbornly ignored and turned on the spot after me.

I stood so that we were separated by a desk, and defiantly holstered the pistol.

“Even if the Count is in hell, I won’t grieve too much about this,” he answered after that, not really deforming his soul.

“Perhaps in hell,” the strangler chuckled. - Do you want to take a look? - he held out the box, but immediately pulled his hand back, as if teasingly.

– Take a look? - I was puzzled, licked my lips, asked: - Under what conditions? - and immediately realized that he had made an unforgivable mistake. Perhaps even fatal.

The relaxation of the strangler in an instant was replaced by a predatory interest.

You don't know what's inside, do you? - he even leaned forward, and only the light of a kerosene lamp flashed in front of his face made him straighten up and retreat.

And for the first time, a whistling half-whisper did not echo in my head, forcing me to a quick and recklessly frank answer.

- And you? I asked, looking at the fiery moth fluttering behind the glass. - You know?

“It doesn't matter,” the malefic replied, and the shadows around him began to move, like boas wrapped around a circus performer.

One of the ghostly harnesses slid up to Ramon and wrapped around his ankle; the burly man froze at half a step, and the barrel of the hard drive pointed at the strangler suddenly shuddered and began to shift in my direction.

With a doomed sigh, I took off my dark glasses, but the radiance of the eyes did not bother the malefic at all, he only laughed:

"And what are you going to do, sir?" Scare me to death?

“I’ll take it with me to hell,” I answered, and with a casual movement threw the lamp to the floor.

The glass immediately shattered, kerosene spilled over the office and caught fire. The flame instantly reached the curtains, flew up to the ceiling, ignited papers scattered everywhere, inside out drawers, and then the furniture.

Ramon threw away the Winchester and tore off his cloak, enveloped in flames, stumbled upon a chair and rolled across the floor like a living torch. Me the fire cut off from the front door and drove it into a corner, but the strangler did not lose his presence of mind - or was he mad with fear? - and rushed to the saving exit straight through the fiery element.

I glanced at the chronometer, waiting for the promised minute, but Ramon held out his hand to me and croaked pleadingly:

- Stop doing that!

Deciding not to test my partner's patience, I took off my carbine from my shoulder and, with a blow from the butt, seated the side wall of the aquarium. The water that rushed to the floor washed away the puddle of burning kerosene in an instant, and impenetrable darkness reigned in the office.

- Hellfire! Ramon whispered with dry lips, and leaned away from the wall. - How painful!

- Shut up! I hissed at him, ran to the front door and looked out into the corridor, but the strangler was already gone. He listened - from the thick silence ringing in his ears.

Ramon stood next to him and breathed out softly:

"Gone," I confirmed just as quietly.

The burly man wiped his sweat-covered forehead with relief and collapsed exhaustedly into a chair. He was hooked only by a small echo of someone else's horror, but even so he looked like one of the fish thrashing in an empty aquarium.

- He will not return? Ramon asked as I turned on the electric flashlight and began to study the devastation that had been done in the office.

“No,” I answered confidently. “And if he does return, he will see the house on fire.”

- How did you do that?

I just laughed.

“That’s all my talent, buddy, remember?”

The strangler was afraid of fire; I noticed it by the abruptness with which he recoiled from the kerosene lamp. It only remained to pull this thread in time and turn the puddle of burning kerosene into a raging fire.

Fear has big eyes? Indeed so!

On the floor, in the beam of an electric torch, the reflection of an aluminum box flashed; I put on my gloves and picked it up, but the lock was broken and it was empty.

- Damn it! I cursed, not hiding my disappointment.

- Nothing.

“Nothing at all?”

- At all! I snapped, angrily tossing the casket into a corner and walking around the study, but never came to any definite conclusion, whose hands this mess was: the count fleeing or the malefic who arrived after his soul.

"Leo, we need to get out of here!" the stout man hurried me when I began to sort out the burnt papers scattered on the floor, wet because of the water that had spilled everywhere.

“We must,” I agreed with my partner and put the bullet crumpled with the strangler into my pocket. Let's just check the house first.

Room by room we walked around the entire mansion, but there was no one on the second and third floors, and all the servants below were dead. The strangler was distinguished by an enviable method, he did not miss anyone.

- Where are the count's relatives? Ramon asked as we walked into the living room.

“Daughters in a boarding house, wife on the waters,” I answered. “Continental Europe, neither we nor the malefic can reach them. To us, that's right.

“Are you going to look for the Count?”

- What do you think?

“Your business,” Ramon did not try to dissuade me, and suddenly pointed to the body of the maid, sprawled on the sofa. - Wait a minute!

- What's happened?

- Shine on your neck!

I followed my partner's instructions, took a closer look and immediately noticed two dark blue marks on the deathly pale skin.

- To tear me apart! - groaned the strong man. There was a vampire here!

An unpleasant chill ran down his back; I overcame myself and forced to touch the dead girl. The body was already cold, but unlike the rest of the victims, it was just beginning to stiffen.

What have you gotten me into, Leo? Ramon hissed, frightened and angry. “Malefics and vampires, just think! Yes, there are almost no vampires even in Europe, and even more so in our country!

“If a werewolf came from the New World, why not a vampire? I muttered.

- For what? What the hell? What's going on, Leo?

I brushed off my partner and hurried to the exit.

- Let's get out of here! It's already dawning!

- No, wait!

“So you can’t wait to go to jail?” I frowned, looking down at my friend.

- Okay, we'll talk later! - the burly man decided, but as soon as I moved to the exit, he grabbed my hand and held it. “Are you sure the malefic was alone?” he asked, and was the first to look out into the street with the hard drive at the ready.

- Why not? I was surprised.

How could he kill so many people by himself?

“Shadows,” I said. The shadows helped him. You almost shot me for one of these, remember?

Ramon frankly shuddered from an unpleasant memory, he drove a cartridge into the tubular magazine of the hard drive instead of the shot one and muttered:

"Still don't yawn!"

I nodded and took off my self-loading carbine from my shoulder. A strangler is definitely not going to get through with a rifle bullet, but vampires have a habit of surrounding themselves with mortal helpers. Yes, and calmer with a weapon in your hands ...

The high porch of the mansion faced east, on the very horizon the clouds were already turning pink, and I said softly:

- It's getting light!

The stout man nodded, making it clear that he heard my words, but did not lose his vigilance; he did not believe in stories about vampires burning in the sunlight. Me too, to be honest. Therefore, they got to the armored car without too much haste, without taking their eyes off the trees and bushes approaching the alley.

The birds had already started their usual morning squabble, the crowing of a rooster came from the tenants' farm, and the risk of stumbling upon a bystander increased by the minute. Approaching the gate, we threw open the gate and rushed headlong to the armored car.

Ramon prudently looked under the self-propelled carriage and gave the go-ahead:

- Order!

Then I unlocked the body and threw a rifle into it, in return I took out the steering wheel. The stout man ran up and held out the Winchester.

“Take it away,” he asked.

I took the gun and immediately groaned:

- Bolvan!

- What's happened? Ramon perked up.

- Gilza! I shouted. - The cartridge case was left in my uncle's office! Imprints!

- Damn me! - Ramon turned pale as a sheet, but immediately overcame his confusion, snatched the steering wheel from me and climbed into the cab.

- We're coming back! Faster! he shouted, putting the steering wheel back in place.

- Start up! - I said and jumped on the footboard from the passenger seat.

The engine crackled; under frequent, frequent claps, an armored car drove up to the gate, easily demolished it and drove into the estate. Upon impact, we were noticeably shaken, and the self-propelled carriage even rolled onto the lawn, but Ramon managed to turn the steering wheel in time and return to the alley.

In an instant, we rushed to the mansion, where the strong man braked sharply, jumped out of the cab and rushed headlong into the house. I moved to his place, turned the armored car to the exit in advance and lifted the frontal armor plate, which had been thrown back onto the hood. It was not possible to drive at night with a closed windshield, but now it was already dawn, the rural people had long since woken up, and the last thing I wanted was for some overly vigilant tenant to tell the police later our signs.

The front door slammed again, Ramon quickly ran off the porch and climbed into the cab.

- Let's go! he shouted.

- Yes! - confirmed the burly man, taking a breath. - Let's go!

And we drove. They didn’t stop until the very city, they didn’t even add water to the radiator, until they drove the armored car into a back alley in the backyard of some kind of manufactory.

Ramon ran with a bucket to a pump at a nearby intersection, and I began to pace around the self-propelled carriage, stretching my stiff legs and looking around. My back ached mercilessly, my head was filled with lead, and my hands were trembling with fatigue, but I didn’t find a place for myself at all because of poor health.

Worried about something else.

- What to do with a self-propelled stroller? – he asked his partner, who returned with water. - Everyone knew that my uncle and I were at odds, I would not be surprised if today or tomorrow they come to me with a search.

– Is this possible? – Surprised burly, filling the radiator.

- What do you think? I snorted.

- No! The friend waved his hand dismissively. What about quarantine? How will they get inside?

“Sooner or later they will find a noble with immunity to the Aggel plague. The armored car is a direct evidence, we have inherited a lot on the estate.

"Get rid of him," Ramon suggested.

“Not an option,” I said. - More useful.

– Leo! This tin can put us in jail!

I didn't even listen to anything.

“Your cousin from Locksmith…” he snapped his fingers. - What if we drive an armored car to him?

- Are you crazy? Ramon rolled his eyes. “I won’t involve my family in this!”

What about the coal storage?

The fort considered, then nodded.

“There are a couple of abandoned warehouses out there, you know,” he muttered. - Until the fall, no one will stick in them for sure.

- With a separate entrance? I clarified.

“There are some,” said the friend. - Go!

By this time, it had long since dawned, and the townsfolk who poured out into the streets stared with curiosity at the police armored car, splashed with mud to the very roof. Fortunately, the neighborhood of the coal depot, where Ramon now worked as a night watchman, was deserted; there the only company we had was a couple of liar dogs.

Ramon pointed to the right gate, ordered to wait and ran away somewhere, and returned with a weighty bunch of keys.

“Don't worry,” he reassured me, unlocking the rusty barn lock, “that drunkard won't wake up even if the ship's cannon fires over his ear.

Make a duplicate on your shift.

- Necessarily.

The gates gave way with a terrible creak, we had to fit in with all our might, throwing open the doors, and then I drove the armored car into the inside of the warehouse, black from coal crumbs, turned off the engine and, exhaustedly, extended my hand to my partner:

- Thank you! Rescued.

Ramon clenched his palm with his paws and asked:

“When do you claim the bounty for the murderer of a banker?”

“I’ll do it in the morning,” I decided, looked at my watch and corrected myself: “No, it’s closer to dinner, probably.

“Don’t delay this,” demanded the burly man. - Fine?

“Don't even hesitate,” I promised, took my cane and got out of the cab.

By joint efforts, we managed to slam the warehouse gates in half, Ramon hung a lock on them, smeared it with coal dust and looked around appraisingly from all sides.

“It will,” he decided.

It would be worth removing the necessary key from the bundle, but from fatigue, thoughts were confused, and the eyes closed by themselves. Sleepless night and hassle squeezed all the juice out of me, and the only thing I really wanted now was to lie down in bed and close my eyes.

So he just waved his hand and went home. Sleep.

But getting to the bed was not so easy.

Elizabeth Mary was confused. She gave me an appraising look and in a tone that brooked no objection, declared:

"A cup of tea won't hurt you right now."

I looked at the reflection of my pale and haggard face, turned away from the mirror and nodded:

- Okay, cover it.

- Have a drink in the kitchen. I hope this teaches you how to be home on time!

I did not begin to sort things out; just couldn't. Silently, he put his dusty jacket on a hanger, put his cane in an umbrella tube, then got rid of his dirt-stained boots and went into the kitchen.

He sat down by the window, drank hot sweet tea and stared thoughtlessly at the garden with black trees wet from the rain.

“I see it’s becoming a habit for you to come back in the morning!” the succubus remarked pointedly, lighting the stove.

I said nothing. I did not want to talk or move, and even the bed no longer beckoned with the promise of oblivion, now seeming to be something unrealistically far away.

I sat by the window and drank tea.

Elizabeth-Mary gave up trying to get me to talk and put a thick cast-iron pan on the fire. She poured oil, sprinkled spices, and the aroma of exotic spices immediately spread through the kitchen. A couple of minutes later, a piece of meat slammed onto the hot metal, but I did not pay the slightest attention to the hissing and sizzling, and only when the girl put a plate of barely fried steak in front of me did I express my bewilderment:

“Not too heavy for breakfast, don’t you think?”

“Look at you, skin and bones!” – objected girl. “Besides, I suspect this is not breakfast for you, but a late dinner.”

“What makes you think that I want to eat?”

“You smell of death,” Elizabeth Mary calmly replied, “and any murder for a person is just a prelude to a hearty meal.” Even if this is a murder of one's own kind, it has been so since ancient times.

- Like yourself? I grimaced. “Today we killed a werewolf. It was a terrible creature.

"Do you think you're so different from him?" - the girl could not resist the hairpin.

I was turned over.

- I'm different! I snapped. - Very, very much. All clear?

“As you say, dear,” Elizabeth-Mary shrugged her shoulders and took a bottle of sherry from the drawer. - By the way! Red wine continues to disappear. Cut down your blond monkey before I rip his arms off.

“The leprechaun and I haven't been getting along lately,” I shook my head.

To be honest, the fictional childhood friend just drove him crazy with his antics. I hadn't thought about the insolent shorty for many years and now I couldn't figure out why on earth he had gotten out of the subconscious at all. It frightened me of the possible loss of control over my own gift, because not a single nightmare of mine had lingered in this world for so long, not a single fantasy seemed so real.

Elizabeth Mary was only a succubus mask, but what gave strength to a leprechaun?

I didn't have an answer to this question.

“That shorty drinks like a horse,” the girl complained, sitting down across from me with a glass of fortified wine, and pushed a plate of sauce towards me. - Eat!

I was about to refuse, but my stomach suddenly failed from hunger. And although he never particularly complained about poorly fried meat - and even blood came out on the cut, he had to admit that the steak turned out to be very even nothing. A spicy sauce with an incomprehensible, but surprisingly delicate taste, set it off perfectly.

“Have you heard anything about the Convention?” I asked the girl, cutting off another piece of meat.

- About the Convention? – puzzled Elizabeth-Mary and took a sip of sherry, trying to hide her confusion. - These are ideological ones, - she said after a long pause, when it already began to seem that I would not wait for an answer at all.

- Ideological? I didn't understand.

“The common malefic is just happy to sell his miserable soul in exchange for a small fraction of strength and lifetime well-being. These are not like that, they dream of the old days. They want them back.

– Is that how?

"That's right," the girl confirmed. - Why are you asking?

I just shrugged my shoulders, not talking about the last words of the dying werewolf.

“Don't mess with the Convention,” Elizabeth Mary warned. “They are dangerous, extremely dangerous. If you cross their path, they will kill you and devour your soul.

“Why all of a sudden such concern for my soul?

For a moment, from under the guise of a pretty girl, the true appearance of an infernal creature appeared, and the fiery red eyes of the infernal creature burned me with undisguised hatred.

- In this case, I will be left with nothing! the succubus said.

But I wasn't fooled that easily. I understood fears and could say for sure - the succubus was afraid, and she was afraid for herself, not for me.

“You were summoned from hell by a malefic, weren’t you?” I squinted. Was he from the Convention?

- I do not want to talk about it.

"You ran away from him and he's looking for you?" What will happen if he finds it?

“You won’t be able to piss me off, Leo,” Elizabeth-Mary smiled sweetly, but I was not going to change the subject of the conversation.

“Perhaps he also announced the award?” the succubus asked, looking straight into his eyes.

“You don’t understand anything,” the girl sighed. “Leo, we made a deal with you, it can only mean one thing…

- And what?

“He’s been dead for a long time,” Elizabeth Mary announced. - I cut off my head with my own hands. You can't even imagine how nice it was!

Please spare me the details! We're at the table!

“I didn’t start this conversation,” the succubus reminded dryly. “And no, he wasn't from the Convention. Presumptuous nonentity! smart people choose acquaintances demons and small evil spirits with which you can do anything! And he swung at the succubus! Arrogant upstart!

– But small evil spirits will give less strength, right? I was surprised. - What good is it?

- Forces? – the girl laughed. – The source of power is the divine fire of the human soul. Acquaintances are needed for another.

- Enlighten?

But the girl had already finished her wine and got up from the table.

“Eat your meal and go to bed,” she demanded. Then she went to the next window, looked at the dead garden and suddenly said: - Pain.

- Sorry, what? I decided as if I had misheard.

“Pain,” repeated Elizabeth Mary. - This world meets with pain, and when the owner casts spells, it multiplies tenfold. Acquaintances take it upon themselves, like this. Not all, only a part, but even this is an unbearable torment.

- Indeed?

- Oh yeah! The burning sensation tears through the head and pierces with hundreds of cold needles. Have you heard about Chinese water torture? Monotonous pain suppresses and reduces to the level of the animal. Words. You hear them, but you cannot understand. You can't even realize that you're really hearing them.

- And now?

“No, dear Leo, not at all. Thanks to this body,” the girl turned away from the window and ran her hand from her chest to her thigh, “the pain left me. But she's around, trust me.

I nodded and got up from the table.

- Shadows? I got worried. “Shadows that have a life of their own?”

Elizabeth-Mary did not answer and turned back to the window.

I hesitated, but in the end I did not bother her with questions, waved my hand and went to the bedroom.

Malefics, their acquaintances and incomprehensible burning, the dead Kira and her companion, the shadows of the strangler - all this could be part of something larger, but fatigue prevented putting everything on the shelves; the only thing that was enough for me was to crawl to the bed, fall on it and put a pillow under my head.

Woke up in an instant. I just woke up with a clear premonition of trouble, grabbed a Roth-Steyr from the bedside table and jumped out of bed.

He looked around the bedroom and took a breath with relief - no one.

Bad dream?

But then, on the windowsill of the left open window, the lean figure of a were-fox appeared; a swift jump - and now she is already standing in the middle of the room.

“Long time no see,” said a tiny girl with a clear Chinese accent, and then her smooth face suddenly stretched into a terrible muzzle, a grin of yellow teeth flashed, small but extremely sharp.

What sharp - I knew it for sure. And so, without hesitation, he unloaded the pistol into the creature that prepared to jump. The bullets pierced the wooden panel behind the fox's back in vain, she herself jumped swiftly towards me, but even faster I threw out my hand and barked:

- Enough!

The creature dispersed in the air, only a tight gust of air hit his face, immediately chasing the remnants of sleep. Nightmare, it's just a nightmare...

Subconsciously, I was afraid that the fox would try to get even, and my talent was not slow to bring this fear to life. Lately, he's gone rogue, my talent. No matter how bad things happen.

There was a knock at the door; I unlocked the bolt and let Elizabeth Mary into the room.

- Another nightmare? she asked calmly, noting the numerous bullet holes in the wall.

“Not at all,” I protested, looking down at the smoking gun in my hand and shrugging. - Tried to depict the monogram of Her Imperial Majesty, that's all.

“I found something to do,” the girl snorted and disappeared into the corridor. - Go to the shooting range! You're a terrible shooter! she shouted from there.

Theodore came to replace the red echidna.

“Will it need repairs, Viscount?” - he said, studying the rout I had caused.

“Perhaps we’ll just hang it with a carpet,” I decided, and took out a spare clip, then noticed the butler’s pale look and asked: “Is everything all right, Theodore?”

“Of course, Viscount,” the servant assured me, as expected, who was noticeably asleep from his face, as if by some instinct accessible only to the twins he caught the death of a loved one.

I should have told him about my brother's death, but I hesitated, not imagining how the servant would react to this news. And does he need extra worries? Not at all sure.

“You can go,” then dismissed the butler, without coming to any definite decision.

Someday I will definitely tell him about everything, but not now. Next time.

Cowardice, you say? Not at all, the usual tact, and nothing more. You can’t just take and dump such news on the butler! You need to somehow prepare him for this first, come up with something ...

Okay, cowardice, so what?

Who among us is without flaws?

I reloaded the Roth Steyr, got dressed and left the bedroom. I went down to the first floor, meticulously looked at myself in the mirror, but the suit did not bulge anywhere and sat perfectly, as if it was sewn specifically for me. Surprising even, given the non-standard figure. Long and skinny, buying such a ready-made dress is a real torment.

– Leo! Elizabeth called me from the kitchen. Let's go have tea!

- Not now! – refused, glancing at the wall clock. It was the second hour of the day.

I took a deep breath and gave up.

“Let's try to imagine that we are an ordinary family,” suggested Elizabeth Mary, when I sat down at the table and stared out the window.

I was tempted to respond with rudeness, but by an effort of will I restrained this inappropriate impulse and only remarked:

- In our case, we are talking about the owner and the servant. This analogy seems to me more appropriate.

Elizabeth-Mary poured two spoons of sugar into her mug and calmly retorted:

“Many families live like that, dear. Husband-master and disenfranchised slave-wife.

I took some toasted toast from the basket and removed the lid from a jar of raspberry marmalade, scooped it up with my knife, and shook my head with a rueful sigh.

- Succubus suffragette. Where is this world heading?

“I can’t say that hell is equal, but we are more than tolerant of other people’s shortcomings, dear. Mortals have a lot to learn from us.

- No need for a gift! I snorted, took a sip of tea and asked, “What do you know about vampires?”

The girl tilted her head to one side and stared at me with interest, suggesting to continue with her whole appearance.

- What is not clear? I muttered, spreading marmalade on the second toast. “Fangs, pale skin, an allergy to sunlight, an unhealthy craving for other people's blood. What do you know about them?

- Going to Transylvania? - Elizabeth-Mary joked.

Or not joking, but asked in all seriousness?

– Why in Transylvania?

– Do you remember, yesterday there was a conversation about burning? - The girl stared thoughtfully into a cup of tea, then pushed it away from her and went for wine; she hid a bottle of fortified red in her cereal box.

- Burning? I was surprised. - So what?

“Malefics only feel pain when they cast spells. This does not happen so often, you can endure or make a friend suffer instead of yourself. Werewolves are tormented immediately after turning back into a human, but even so, they are infrequent guests in New Babylon.

I nodded in agreement with this statement, and Elizabeth Mary continued:

- Natives of the underworld get out into this world in a rush, they escape from pain by dressing in someone else's flesh, taking people's souls and bodies. Other creatures, creatures of bygone times, either flee from civilization, or degrade, losing the last remnants of the mind. Only ghosts and creatures of magic do not feel pain, because they do not feel anything.

- What are you leading to?

“No one is able to endure such pain for a long time,” Elizabeth Mary announced. “A vampire cannot give up his essence and become an ordinary person again, not for a day, not for a minute. The vampire is not a zombie raised by Haitian masters, he is able to feel pain. But his body is dead, and dead flesh does not protect from pain.

How long ago were you called to our world? I asked, catching the anguish in the succubus's voice.

- Doesn't matter! - the girl waved her hand in annoyance and closed her eyelashes, covering her eyes that lit up with an unkind radiance. “It doesn't matter, Leo. The main thing is that not a single vampire will come to New Babylon of their own free will. This is like the most sophisticated torture. Only if under threat of death.

- And yet, where to look for them?

– In Transylvania, Romania or the South Indies. Among the Egyptians or Aztecs. In Cuba or in the African colonies. In the Siberian taiga, the mountains of Afghanistan and the endless Asian steppes. Anywhere, but not here, not in big cities. Even in the provinces, the burning is not so strong ...

But I had before my eyes the bloodless body of a maid with two neat wounds on her neck, so I clarified the question, continuing to insist on my own:

- Where to look for a vampire in New Babylon?

Elizabeth-Mary looked back with open doubt, then shrugged her shoulders with an indifferent air, obviously losing all interest in this conversation:

“In some hole, the deeper the better.” If he really arrived in New Babylon, he was buried in a lead sarcophagus somewhere in the catacombs outside the city.

- Sarcophagus? I was surprised. - And why exactly in lead?

- If you meet a vampire - ask. Perhaps he will even answer, - the girl smiled distantly, thinking about something completely different. – What are your plans for the evening? she suddenly asked, twisting a long red curl around her finger.

“I’m going to the circus,” I said, getting up from the table and taking off the apron I was wearing so as not to get marmalade on my suit. - And what?

You don't look like a circus fan.

In fact, it was; I didn't like the circus. And the circus, and the circus.

Devil! If you look at it, there were not so many people in the world to whom, for one reason or another, I did not feel antipathy.

Misanthrope? No, more like a clinical introvert.

“A friend asked me to keep him company,” I explained to Elizabeth-Mary, and when she followed me out into the hallway, I in turn asked: “This is a burning sensation, what causes it?”

- The million dollar question! - the girl laughed, took a feather duster and began to shake off the dust from the shelves. “But in the time of the fallen it was not, then the whole world belonged to us, and only to us.

“Yes, yes,” I chuckled and went out into the street, not taking with me either a raincoat or a jacket.

The weather pleased. There was no trace of yesterday's bad weather, the sky cleared up, and only on the very horizon, unkind-looking cumulus clouds continued to swirl.

I began to descend from the porch, and immediately a bruised leg reminded me of itself with an uncomfortable ache. And although today she did not bother so much, it still seemed reasonable to return to the house for Alexander Diak's cane.

- You were fast! Elizabeth-Mary grunted caustically at my return, without ceasing to shake off the dust with a whisk.

- And you, I see, are you busy with the housework? - I did not remain in debt and looked with surprise at my feet, only now paying attention to the bare floor. - And what did you not like about the carpet?

- Carpet? – the girl was surprised.

Yes, carpet!

“Leo, do you take me for a housekeeper?” What do I care about your carpets?

- Theodore!

Yes, viscount? the butler came out to shout.

– Theodore, did you remove the carpet from the hallway?

"No, viscount," the servant replied dispassionately, and said nothing more.

Elizabeth Mary stared at me with lively curiosity. I gave her an equally interested look.

"Is this really not your doing?"

“Not mine,” the girl confirmed.

I don't know why, but I believed. And that made me even more worried.

He walked around the living room, carefully looking at his feet, and soon noticed a long brown smear on one of the plinths, as if someone was hastily trying to wipe up the red paint spilled there. Or blood?

“Look,” I asked Elizabeth Mary.

The girl gracefully sat down, scratched the spot that alerted me with a long nail, licked her finger and stretched out in puzzlement:

- How interesting!

- What is this?

Theodore's detached imperturbability vanished as if by magic.

- But let me! he was indignant. - There is no one in the house except us and there cannot be! Viscount, don't you know that!

“And meanwhile the carpet is gone and the floor is stained with blood,” I muttered, continuing to look around the room. At first glance, everything remained in its place, no other traces of extraneous presence could be found.

Are you having nightmares again? purred Elizabeth Mary.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged my shoulders and looked out into the corridor. - Theodore, bring the lamp!

The butler complied with the order, and soon, in the uneven light of the "bat", we managed to detect a few more drops of blood, smeared and half-dried.

I pulled the Roth-Steyr out of the holster and sent a cartridge. There was someone else in the house, and he didn’t even want to think for what purpose he needed to roll up the carpet. However, the blood on the floor did not leave much room for imagination.

Someone killed someone and is now covering their tracks.

But who? And most importantly, who?

Theodore armed himself with a poker, Elizabeth-Mary ran for a saber, and we moved along the bloody marks, as if following a trail of bread crumbs. The attacker did not differ in particular accuracy, and it was not difficult to look for brown spots.

We passed the closet and pantry, turned into a side corridor, and Theodore guessed:

- The carriage house!

And sure enough - drops of blood reached for the inner door to the annex; it was possible to get into it not only from the street, but also directly from the house.

- Quiet! I whispered, jerking open the door and stepping inside with my gun raised. Theodore quickly followed and raised the lamp over his head, illuminating the dark shed.

The leprechaun, taken by surprise, annoyedly pushed the top hat crumpled by the accordion to the back of his head, spat out a cigarette on the floor and cursed:

- Fuck, it's not the right time!

And in fact, when you are caught at a fresh corpse laid out on a workbench with a hacksaw in your hand, this is really not the right time ...

- What the heck?! I growled, and, ducking my head so as not to catch the top of my head on the low lintel, I went down the stairs. - What the hell are you doing?

The leprechaun didn't answer. He tore off his kitchen apron and deftly jumped out the open window.

I holstered the pistol and approached the body with its throat ripped open from ear to ear. The dead man was not familiar to me, and he certainly was not radiant - in the dead eyes, the bloody haze of the curse that had entangled the house had already spread. The radiant organism would not have capitulated to the Aggel plague so quickly.

“You know, Leo…” Elizabeth-Mary drawled with an incomprehensible expression, slowly sorting through the tools prepared by the leprechaun: a hacksaw, an axe, a set of shoe knives, a hammer and a chisel, “your fantasies are much darker than I could believe ...

I cursed.

- It's not my fantasy!

"Then it's a nightmare?"

- Stop doing that! - I waved it off and turned over the belongings of the dead man lying on the floor.

A purse with a couple of hundred francs, gloves, a penknife aroused no suspicion, but a mask with slits for the eyes, a set of master keys, a short crowbar and a glass cutter spoke for themselves.

We were visited by a burglar. Well, he picked the wrong house.

“It seems to me that the situation is ambiguous,” I muttered, shifting the money into my own wallet.

“Well, if you want to think so…” Elizabeth-Maria grinned, amused by what was happening.

Theodore remained unperturbed.

“What are we going to do, Viscount? - he asked. "Shall we dispose of the body or report it to the police?"

I walked around the shed, nervously tapping my fingers on the crates of captured weapons, then decided:

- We'll take it to the glacier.

- Fresh meat? The girl laughed and threw up her hands. – Leo! Don't be so serious, it's just a joke!

“Well, if so,” I muttered, straightening the blood-stained carpet. Theodore, help!

Together with the butler, we lowered the dead man to the floor, wrapped him up and dragged him into the house. Elizabeth-Mary lifted the manhole cover, and all that remained for us was to lower the body down and lay it on the ice.

"That's wrong," the butler pursed his lips. He can't stay here!

“He can't,” I agreed, hurrying out of the basement; I didn't want to stay there any longer than necessary.

"And what are we going to do with him?" Theodore followed me up.

“We’ll think of something,” I shrugged, intending to later drive an armored car and take the body out of town.

Elizabeth Mary lowered the manhole cover and sarcastically asked:

“Do you want to ask your imaginary friend what he intended to do?”

I'll do without his advice.

“Viscount…” the butler began, but I cut him off:

Later, Theodore! I'll take care of things and figure something out.

Elizabeth Mary straightened my neckerchief and smiled:

“Darling, are there really more urgent things to do than a fresh dead man on a glacier?”

"Much more urgent," I confirmed, putting on my bowler hat in front of the mirror, and went out the door.

My solicitor's office was in one of the featureless glass-and-concrete towers that were rising in the northern part of the city, where the empire's new center of business was gradually taking shape. Large corporations bought entire floors there for their own needs, less wealthy companies were content with renting individual offices. Particularly prestigious among successful entrepreneurs were rooms with a view of the historical part of New Babylon; my lawyer sat in a cell with no windows.

A recent law graduate, red-haired and sickly pale, looked up from his papers and pursed his lips into something like a welcoming smile. From our cooperation, the novice lawyer did not receive a centime of profit, content only with the status of an attorney for Viscount Cruz, and therefore considered it possible to work carelessly. Usually I was fine with that, usually - but not today.

When the young man began to rise to his feet, I pushed him back into the chair, and I sat down on the edge of the table.

- There is an urgent task. We need to deal with them urgently, right now! ordered in a tone that brooked no objection.

“But, Viscount, I can't abandon my other clients! protested the lawyer, who had indeed been sorting through some papers before I arrived.

I laid out a check for ten thousand francs in front of him and smiled:

“Your commission is ten percent.

The solicitor studied the check and looked at me with astonishment.

- Ten percent? he asked with ill-concealed excitement.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “Ten percent of ten thousand. But you'll have to work hard.

The lawyer opened the notebook and clarified:

- Under what circumstances did you receive the check and in connection with what was it protested?

“It doesn't matter,” I waved it off, jumped off the table and ordered: “File a claim for the recovery of the entire amount, seize the count's bank accounts, his country estate and the airship Syracuse as an interim measure. The airship must be put on the wanted list immediately.

“But, Viscount! the attorney protested. - For such an amount, this is excessive measures ...

- Before you have time to seize the accounts and rip off cash from the count, you will have to wait on a common basis for funds from the sale of property. I wouldn't like it. And you?

The lawyer shook his head and bleated indecisively:

But the airship?

“Uncle might try to fly to the continent. As soon as we deprive him of his means of transportation, he will immediately become more accommodating.

“If the check is voluntarily paid…” the attorney cracked his knuckles nervously, “do my commissions still stand?”

- Yes, ten percent is yours in any case. But if you don't do it right now, you'll have to hire someone else.

The lawyer jumped out from behind the table, straightened his waistcoat, pulled his worn jacket off the hanger and reported:

- I'm going to court immediately!

- Stop! “I barely had time to stop him. “First, draw up an official claim, I will deliver it to my uncle’s attorney so that we won’t be accused of dishonesty later.

Anyone would have done that if he had not known for sure about the flight of the count, and I was not going to give reason to suspect myself of being overinformed.

The lawyer returned to the table, tucked a sheet into a beat-up typewriter, and began pounding the keys with crazy speed, glancing from time to time at the check laid out in front of him.

I didn't sit down on the wobbly visitor's chair and began pacing from wall to wall. The uneven flickering of an electric lamp under the ceiling was pretty nerve-wracking.

- Here, it's ready! Sign! the lawyer handed me the statement a quarter of an hour later.

I did not sign anything, for a start I carefully studied the claim, ordered me to correct a few typos, and only after that put my signature at the bottom.

“If you lose the check, I’ll cut off your head,” the attorney warned, putting the application in his inside pocket.

- Don't hesitate! he said poignantly. - I'll hand it over to the notary's office.

“Surrender,” I nodded. “And don't waste your time.

- Already going!

Without waiting for a lawyer, I went down the street alone, stopped the first cab I saw, and told me to go to Via Benardos, where my dear uncle's lawyer was.

Maitre Lasalle rented an office on the top floor of a building that looked rather like a piece of cake: the facade overlooking a small square was of normal width, but the builders brought the side walls at a strong angle in order to squeeze the architectural freak between two neighboring houses. If desired, one could not even jump from roof to roof, but simply step over.

The corrosive watchman at the entrance wished to know the purpose of the visit, then he contacted the lawyer's assistant through the eustachian tube and, only after receiving confirmation from him, allowed him to pass. There were no elevators in the assignment, so I had to climb the stairs to the fifth floor, which wound around the courtyard - a tiny and dark well.

The attorney's assistant met me in the waiting room and tried to fool me with questions, but I angrily waved him off and went straight to the lawyer's office.

- Viscount Cruz! - With surprise, a thin, if not slender gentleman of about fifty looked up from his papers, who conducted the personal affairs of several representatives of the old aristocracy at once, who were still wealthy, but had long lost their former influence. - What do you owe the visit to?

I turned to the stubborn assistant who stood in the doorway and snarled in annoyance:

- Hide!

“Leave us,” ordered Maitre Lasalle, and reproached me: “A little courtesy, viscount! Nothing is as cheap or as valuable as common courtesy.

“Your right, master, but I would prefer cash,” I retorted, laying out a claim on the table. “For example, ten thousand francs.

The lawyer put reading glasses on his nose and began to study the document; I did not stand over his soul and went to the window, which overlooked the neighboring house with a rusty fire escape caterpillar. The view opened onto one of the side streets, narrow and crooked.

- It's some kind of mistake! exclaimed the uncle's confidant. - It's just a misunderstanding!

“I don’t think so, master,” I shook my head, continuing to stand at the window, “but in any case, no one forbids you to contact the count and talk to him directly.

- Do you have a check?

– What do you think?

- Some kind of nonsense, - the lawyer muttered, picked up the phone and asked to be connected to the estate of Count Kosice. Soon he hung up and said: - Trouble on the line.

- It's annoying.

“Where did you get the check, Viscount?”

“Doesn't matter, it's bearer.

- I question your right to it, its authenticity and the very fact of refusal to repay! - the lawyer easily brought three contradictory arguments at once, but it was so easy not to get through to me.

“It remains only to convince the judge of this,” I smiled.

This is an abuse of the right! the lawyer was outraged. – The requirement to seize property, accounts and vehicles on such an insignificant occasion is simply ridiculous!

“Contact the count, master,” I advised. – Contact and strongly recommend to meet with me as soon as possible. Further it will only get worse.

The lawyer got up from the table and very quietly but clearly said:

“You will regret this, Viscount. You will greatly regret your indiscretion.

- Politeness! I exclaimed as I left the office. - Master, remember to be polite!

I didn’t try to catch a cab on Via Benardos, I immediately turned onto one of the side streets, went through the archway to a quiet boulevard and walked towards the Imperial Academy, since the ache in my leg didn’t bother me so much today. Besides, I wasn't in a hurry.

As a result, it took about ten minutes to get to Leonardo da Vinci Square. When I looked into the Mechanisms and Rarities shop, Alexander Dyak was reading a newspaper.

- Leopold Borisovich! - the inventor was delighted at my appearance, went around the counter and extended his hand. - You can be congratulated?

- With what? I got worried.

– With a successful scientific experiment, of course! Alexander Dyak laughed and broke off. “Or was it not you who killed Procrustes?”

I sighed doomedly and corrected the inventor:

It wasn't Procrustes.

- As you say, Leopold Borisovich, as you say! The owner of the shop nodded. I hope you have not forgotten my request? Accurate time frames are extremely important for science...

Surprisingly, I did not forget about the request of the inventor, and right in the opium den, while I was waiting for the outfit, I wrote in a notebook a complete chronology of events - from the first shot to the last breath of the werewolf.

“Hold it,” I handed the sheet torn from the notebook to the interlocutor, and I myself took the newspaper from the counter and deepened into reading, but, apart from the catchy headline “Procrustes is dead!”, The article did not contain any specifics. The chief inspector's ban on communicating with the press was strictly observed. Only one of the coroner's assistants could not keep his mouth shut and blurted out about the coincidence of bites on the body of Isaac Levinson's maid and casts of the jaws of a werewolf shot in Chinatown.

My name was not mentioned in the editorial.

- Amazing, just amazing! Alexander Dyak muttered under his breath, studying my notes. “There is a lot to think about here.

“I'm afraid werewolves are rare in New Babylon,” I smiled.

“The world is not limited to New Babylon alone,” the inventor shrugged his shoulders, folded the sheet and hid it in his coat pocket. - How's the cane?

“Above all praise,” I replied, not exaggerating at all, “but I have a new request for you of a scientific and applied nature.

- Very interesting, - Alexander Dyak became interested. - What is it this time?

“Fire,” I said. “We need a compact source of powerful flames.

- Flamethrower? the inventor was surprised. - Leopold Borisovich, do you need a flamethrower?

“I have a flamethrower,” I admitted with a grin, “but it is too bulky and not very convenient to carry ...

“Tell me,” the inventor waved his hand. - I will help with all I can.

And I told about the strange strangler, his shadows and fear of fire. I did not specify only where exactly we clashed and why I am afraid to meet him again.

And I really was afraid. Fear is a weapon, fear kills, but there are things incomparably more deadly. For example, dark spells. Once the malefic escaped from the fire, but this trick will not work again, just try it and he will simply tear off my head. With a creature capable of intercepting a ten-gauge bullet, jokes are bad.

- Well, you have set a task! Alexander Diak shook his head. - I am familiar with the flamethrower device, there is nothing complicated, but the flamethrower is compact and suitable for carrying ...

“I know,” I nodded, “it’s not easy….

- A cylinder with a fire mixture, a cylinder with compressed nitrogen, a hose, - the inventor began to list.

“You don’t need a full-fledged flamethrower,” I reminded him again. - Something will be enough for the most extreme case, for one time!

- Disposable flamethrower? thought Alexander Dyak. - Yes, Leopold Borisovich, you will not get bored!

At that moment, a couple of students entered the shop, and I hurried to take my leave.

“Look at me tomorrow at the same time,” the inventor asked and went to the buyers: “What do you want, young people?

I went out into the street, bought a fresh issue of the Atlantic Telegraph, and went to Emperor Clement Square on my own, without spending money on a cab.

The recent storm has been good for the city. A downpour washed away dust and soot, a fresh wind dispersed smog and smoke from chimneys, and puddles and numerous streams dried up before our eyes. It soared strongly, new clouds swirled on the horizon, dark and unkind.

The bad weather threatened to return, but while the sun shone in the sky, the townspeople walked along the boulevards and squares, sat on the open verandas of cafes, looked at the windows of expensive shops sparkling with freshly washed glass.

On the square of Emperor Clement, there was a demonstration of suffragettes at all. A dozen and a half ladies shook posters calling for equality; there were incomparably more curious onlookers, newspapermen and policemen. I calmly walked around the crowd.

Calm down - yes. Although the public used to gather in the square, wealthy and dapper, I no longer felt like a poor relative here. The fashionable suit was in no way inferior to the outfits of wealthy loafers, and the worn shoes sparkled with fresh polish so that it seemed that they had been purchased in one of the local shops no more than five minutes ago.

I entered the Benjamin Franklin Hotel with the confident air of a winner, casually nodded to the receptionist, and announced:

- Viscount Cruz to Mr. Witshtein.

- One minute. The hotel clerk checked the list, made the call, and pointed to the elevator. “You are expected, Viscount.

Abraham Witshtein stepped out into the hall of the imperial apartments, his skin reddened from a recent shave. On the coffee table was a pile of fresh press, and on top I noticed the morning issue of the Atlantic Telegraph.

Might as well not buy...

- Viscount! The Jew smiled. “I take it you bring good news this time?”

I laid out on the table a deformed 10-gauge bullet I had dug out of the wall of an opium den, and confirmed:

The news is even better than you think.

- What is this? - the banker was alert, looking at a crumpled lead ball with a torn aluminum shirt.

“This is the bullet that hit Procrustes,” I said. - This ruthless monster was considered elusive for many years, but when it killed Isaac Levinson and his family, a certain private investigator on behalf of the Witstein Banking House tracked down the creature and sent it to the underworld. Mr. Witshtein, I hope you have nothing against this version? That's what I told the police.

The Jew took the bullet, turned it over in his fingers, put it back and pursed his lips.

– You have been urged not to refer to our enterprise in the future...

- Do you like the story in which a private detective kills a visiting werewolf, who for some reason has climbed up on your enterprise?

The banker considered my words and waved his hand:

- Viscount, do not pay attention to my grumbling, you did everything right. The police have already called about the coincidence of bites, so I will immediately arrange for the payment of three thousand francs to you ...

Abraham Witstein smiled:

“Dear Leopold, if my memory serves me right, you were promised three thousand francs for the dead murderer.

- Mr. Whitstein! - in turn, I broke into a smile, no less fake. - Is it possible to compare a banal werewolf and Procrustes himself? The whole city is buzzing, your enterprise is well known...

We don't chase fame!

- That's right, but judge for yourself: who in their right mind would dare to attack a bank that found justice for the most terrible legend of this city?

“Not the worst,” the banker corrected me. - Far from the best.

“Okay, the scariest legend of recent years,” I agreed. - Aren't you interested?

- Five thousand?

- Five thousand.

- Is that all? No monthly payments?

“Blackmail is deeply repugnant to my nature,” I assured the Jew. “If you don’t value my efforts at five thousand, well, pay three. I'll make up for the remaining two thousand with cheap publicity, which you don't aspire to. The statement that it was not Procrustes who was killed, but an unknown native of the New World, will become a sensation, I assure you! Clients will not line up for me, but I will tell the pure truth, and nothing but the truth.

– But it’s much more pleasant for pride to go down in history as the murderer of Procrustes, isn’t it? Abraham Witstein chuckled.

“That is why there can be no question of subsequent blackmail on my part. If exposed, I will lose incomparably more than you.

Are you in such need of money?

- It's just a question of the adequacy of the assessment of my work, - I said in response, leaned back in my chair and admitted: - Well, an additional two thousand will not be superfluous either.

The banker called the guard. The bald-headed, big-nosed Jew confidently split a pack of hundred-franc notes in half, counted them, and handed me the agreed amount. I closely followed his manipulations, so I did not check the correctness of the calculations, I just put a stack of bills in my purse and got to my feet.

– It was a pleasure to work with you, Mr. Witshtein.

He looked sourly in response and clarified:

Our cooperation continues, doesn't it?

“Unofficially,” I said.

“Unofficially,” the Jew confirmed.

Then I leaned towards him and said softly:

- If this information comes up anywhere, I will deny everything, but unofficially one raider is already dead. Total - two out of four.

Abraham Witshtein gave me a piercing look and asked:

- What happened to him?

– Careless handling of explosives.

- This is all?

“That’s all for now,” I replied. – Allow me to take my leave, I have a lot of urgent events planned for today.

“Keep me posted,” the banker said, rising from his chair. - Fine?

“Definitely,” I promised, shaking the outstretched hand, and went down to the first floor. There he looked thoughtfully in the direction of the bar, but, although the purse was swollen from hundred-franc notes, he did not squander money and went out into the street.

The sun still peeked through the shaggy clouds, and steam rose from the wet pavement. I did not leave the square, I sat down on one of the benches not far from the equestrian statue of the founder of the Second Empire, took out a half-empty tin of candies, and threw one into my mouth.

What did the emperor's brother do if it backfired sixteen years after his death?

Casket, rune of lightning, radiant. CONSPIRACY? Perhaps a conspiracy.

But I didn't know for sure. I was sure of only one thing: the sooner I figure it out, the better. There will be more chances to stay alive.

The main question now was which of the threads to pull first in order to unravel this tangle with the least effort. My solicitor is already digging his nose in the ground in search of Count Kosice, and if my uncle has not yet managed to cross over to the continent, sooner or later he will find him. I myself could apply my efforts in two directions: to take up the search for the strangler or try to track down a gang of illustrious ones.

Even though they did not have the mysterious contents of the box, they knew exactly what was inside, and in such cases information is worth its weight in gold. Besides, both the strangler and the raiders had a grudge against me, and a preemptive attack in such cases is the best defense option. The potential threat should be eliminated ahead of time.

Malefic or illustrious, that is the question.

I even decided to throw a coin, but changed my mind and went to the magistrate. The illustrious ones were incomparably easier to find; I decided to start with them.

Incomparably easier - so it seemed to me at first. The idea was excellent: to establish the owner of the warehouse blown up by me and through him to go to the robbers. I knew the approximate location of the land plot, the matter remained small - it was necessary to spend several days in the archive, go through half a ton of dilapidated documents and, having become allergic to paper dust, find the necessary information in the very last box that you want to open.

This prospect did not appeal to me at all.

But money often works real miracles, right? One hundred francs was more than enough for one of the quick-witted clerks to agree to pick up the necessary documents for me by the evening. Having bargained for fifty more in case of successful completion of the search, the young man retired to the archive, and I again went out into the street and thought about what to do with myself until the end of the day.

You could consider your work as a private detective done and, with a clear conscience, go to dinner or take a walk around the city, enjoying idle idleness, but you didn’t want to return to the mansion with a corpse on the glacier, and I had to refuse exercise along the Yarden embankment due to pain in a broken leg . The cane saved him from lameness, but that was all.

Albert Brandt was waiting for me at six, Ramon Miró was probably still sleeping off before going to work, and somehow unexpectedly I realized that, in general, I had nothing to do.

Strange feeling. I'm not used to this.

After standing for a while on the steps of the magistrate, I went down to the pavement and jumped into the steam engine, which was traveling towards Newtonstraat.

I still had one more thing to do, unpleasant and even somewhat dangerous, but it was not worth delaying with it, on the contrary - the sooner the trial balloon was rolled in this direction, the higher the chances of success would be.

I did not go to Newton Markt, from Omagh Square I went straight to the Blue Ostrich.

Each division of the metropolitan police had their favorite places. The guards disappeared after their shifts in the surrounding ryumashki, nameless, but always always the same; detective police officers preferred to drink at Archimedes' Screw, while the Green Fairy coffee house served as a gathering place for clerks. The detectives of the Third Department gathered at the Blue Ostrich.

This establishment was considered one of the quietest in all of New Babylon, and I sincerely hoped that the pacifying atmosphere would keep my interlocutor from assault. Going to jail because of a fight with a police inspector would be damned unpleasant.

The Blue Ostrich Restaurant occupied the first two floors of a corner building at the intersection of Newtonstraat and Ampère Boulevard. Outwardly, it did not differ in anything, and even the ostrich on the sign was a noble dark blue shade of a police uniform. Music was playing inside, palm trees in tubs stretched to the ceiling, and there was a smell of expensive tobacco. The third department knew how to relax with taste.

The head waiter smiled politely and said:

- Have you booked a table?

“Chief Inspector Moran is expecting me,” I lied. – Is he already here?

"Here," the maitre d' confirmed. - to see you off?

- Be so kind.

Bastian Moran was not pleased with my presence. At all.

In front of him stood an untouched stuffed hazel grouse in pineapple sauce; The chief inspector first looked at the appetizing dish, then looked at me and, no doubt, came to the conclusion that the hazel grouse and I categorically do not combine with each other.

“Don’t worry, Bastian, I won’t distract you from the meal for a long time,” I smiled, sitting down at the table.

- Would you like to order something? the maitre d' said.

“No, it won’t,” the chief inspector answered for me, and when we were left alone, he pursed his lips. “You know, Viscount, you are the last person I expected to meet here today.

“Life is full of surprises,” I shrugged.

“Come to ruin my appetite?”

- Not at all. I want to provide a service.

Bastian Moran put down his knife and fork, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and nodded.

- I'm hearing you. “He obviously hoped to get rid of me before the hazel grouse had time to cool down.

I took a police report out of my inner pocket and handed it to my interlocutor.

- Where did you get it from? asked Bastian Moran, hastily looking through the sheets.

“Wrong question,” I shook my head. “You'd better ask how a copy of the police report got into the hands of the raiders.

“I don't think a newly minted private investigator has an answer to that,” the Chief Inspector pointed out reasonably, and slammed his hand on the table. - I ask again: where did you get this from?

“I was attacked,” I replied, not really grimacing. - During the skirmish, one of the criminals lost the sheets.

– And what about them? the chief inspector stared at me with the unblinking gaze of a boa constrictor.

- They disappeared. Why else would I contact you?

“Why did you contact me, Viscount?”

I looked around the bright hall with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, a dance floor and an orchestra stage, then crossed my legs and calmly said:

“There's a rat in Newton Markt, Chief Inspector. I think it's in your best interest to find her.

Bastian Moran rolled up the paper and tapped it on the edge of the table.

"What's wrong with you, Viscount?" and he smiled venomously. “Apart from the desire to help bring justice, of course?

- Waiting for a stab in the back does not contribute to finding peace of mind.

- Do you want to solve the problem with someone else's hands? Or are you hinting at my involvement in this unfortunate incident?

"That thought crossed my mind," I nodded, and changed the subject. "I assume you're aware of yesterday's events in Chinatown?"

- Would you like to brag?

I laid a ten-gauge round bullet on the table, the fingers of the strangler clearly pressed into the aluminum shell.

“On the metal are the marks of the strangler who strangled Aaron Malk.

The Chief Inspector frowned before his eyes.

“Where did you get that bullet from, Viscount?” he demanded.

“I work, and I don’t sit my pants in the office,” I smiled, rising to my feet, wished my interlocutor a good appetite and went out.

Bastian Moran remained at the table, but he now looked at the stuffed hazel grouse without any interest. It even warmed my heart.

Stepping out onto the porch, I gazed at the distant bulk of Newton Markt, took out a can of candy, popped an orange one into my mouth. Clouds rushed across the sky in whitish shaggy patches, a fresh wind drove the smog and stove smoke out of the city, and it was surprisingly easy to breathe today, despite the evaporation rising from the ground.

I stood for a moment, enjoying the pleasant sourness, then waved my hand to a cab that was rolling through the intersection and ordered it to go to the city library.

On the spot, he thrust a couple of coins into the black-tanned peasant, but did not enter the temple of knowledge and instead went up to the terrace of a neighboring cafe. Before my eyes was a hazel grouse with pineapple sauce, and candy alone could not appease the hunger. Something more substantial was required.

In addition, the very idea of ​​​​just sitting in a wicker chair and doing nothing, absolutely nothing for a while, attracted me. Forget about all your worries and worries and just have a cup of coffee in the middle of the working day.

Is this not a dream?

I ordered Viennese coffee, a couple of Belgian waffles and maple syrup ice cream, leaned back in my chair and realized that I was sorely lacking fresh press. Without a newspaper, the image of a bored idler was incomplete, and I had forgotten the issue of the Atlantic Telegraph that I had bought earlier.

Looking outside, I snapped my fingers, and immediately there was a boy with a stack of newspapers, satirical magazines sticking out of a bag on his side.

“Atlantic Telegraph,” I asked, deciding to read the latest news.

The boy held out the requested newspaper, received a coin of ten centimes and walked down the street, loudly announcing the passers-by:

- A storm warning! A hurricane is coming! Airship flights to the mainland have been cancelled! Undermining the police armored car by the anarchists! Read the details! Bloody action and storm warning!

I returned to the table and began to leaf through the newspaper in anticipation of the order, but there was nothing new in Procruste in the newspaper, as before, only rumors and gossip. Newton-Markt stubbornly kept silent.

They brought coffee, crispy waffles, and two scoops of ice cream topped with maple syrup. I had a snack without any haste, leafed through the newspaper - a hurricane was expected any day, and then just sat and drank coffee.

But no longer idle, no. I thought about further actions and calculated the possible moves of my opponents. There was no need to fear an attack by a malefic-strangler in the near future - why would he need me? - but the gang of illustrious was set up seriously. And it is not at all necessary that the upcoming activity of Bastian Moran will force them to lay low. He himself can work for them.

Paranoia? Not at all. A broken neck and electric shock burns on my arms and legs clearly indicated that in my case, real paranoia was still very, very far away. So, a slight distrust of others.

I paid and went to the library, where I spent some time getting a library card and began flipping through old newspapers. I looked for any mention of the dead with characteristic marks on the neck, but in the crime chronicle for the past five years there was no mention of such cases. Elizabeth Mary was right - the vampires bypassed New Babylon. And if not, they were damned good at hiding the traces of their atrocities.

After wasting several hours, I glanced at the chronometer dial and ordered several books on the rise of the Second Empire. But disappointment awaited me: even though more than a dozen plump volumes were written about the great brothers Ree, Emperor Clement and Emil, his permanent chancellor, nothing useful could be gleaned from them.

Everywhere one or another variation of the official version was stated about the fallen fighters for freedom and justice who raised an uprising against tyranny, and if the personality of the emperor still became the subject of comprehensive biographical studies, then the younger brother always remained in the shadow of the older one. Even as chancellor, he was not a very public person, and after his sudden death, the Grand Duke of Arabia was simply forgotten at all. I believe that hostility on the part of the dowager empress played a significant role in this.

One thing could be said for sure: of those who, along with the Ree brothers, took part in the uprising, only a few remained alive. Their generation is gone. There were incomparably more people who found Emile Rey in the post of chancellor, but I would hardly have been able to find someone initiated into his secrets.

And with the aluminum box with a lightning rune on the lid, some terrible secret was definitely connected.

"Out of respect for Emil Rea..."

What the hell did that illustrious one mean?

What more respect? What is it about here?

And I went to the magistrate, without finding answers to the questions that tormented me.

Arrived at the magistrate's office just before closing. I went into the lobby, looked around for the clerk I had greased up, and was unpleasantly surprised by the sour expression of his pretty face.

“Alas, Monsieur Orso,” the young man sighed, “I can’t help in any way…

- Listen, dear! I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards me. – Our agreement is mutually beneficial, do not complicate things!

“I checked the archive,” the frightened clerk whispered back frantically. “This is an escheated estate, you can see for yourself!

- Where are the documents?

The young man straightened his coat and pointed to one of the doors.

“Please follow me,” he said formally.

We went into the office, where the clerk darted behind the desk, opened a dusty folder and turned it to me.

I quickly became convinced that the documents were talking about the estate I needed, and its last owner had actually died half a century ago, and looked at the official with undisguised bewilderment:

– How can this be?

“I don’t know,” he spread his hands. - They simply forgot about this land!

– Does this happen?

“That was not the case in those years.

- Maybe. - I wrote down the address of my attorney in a notebook, tore out a piece of paper and handed it to the interlocutor. - If you can find out something, I will be grateful.

“Absolutely,” nodded the clerk, putting the paper in his pocket.

And I went out into the street with nothing.

Twilight was already creeping into the city, and lamplighters were lighting lanterns in the streets adjoining the magistrate. The clouds against the darkening sky seemed to be cut out of black paper. A steam engine rumbled through the square, a couple of carriages and a police armored car rolled by.

I followed him with a gaze and went to the "Lovely Bacchante".

I wasn't in the right mood for going to the circus, but Albert Brandt certainly wouldn't forgive me if a precious counterfeit was lost through my fault.

When he went up to the poet, he, in his underwear, stood in front of the mirror and shaved, from time to time dipping the razor into a basin of soapy water on a stool. Evening dress lay on the sofa, in a glass on the table there was a fresh carnation for a buttonhole. And is it necessary to say that the servants polished the lacquered shoes behind the door so that it hurt the eyes?

– Leo! Albert was delighted to see me. - You are as always punctual to the point of impossibility! The driver will be here in five minutes.

Have you booked a crew?

- It's a social event! the poet chuckled. - Being late or coming on foot is bad manners.

“As you say,” I chuckled, sinking onto the ottoman.

“I even shaved myself on this occasion!” the poet boasted, wiping his cheeks with a towel.

- Hands for once do not shake?

“You are evil and ill-mannered,” Albert reproached me, took the suit and went behind the screen to change. – What news? he shouted from there.

– A storm warning has been issued, showers and thunderstorms are expected.

- Is this news? snorted the poet. What do you hear about Procrustes? Who else did he kill? I worked all day today, I didn't even go outside.

“Procrustes is dead,” I told my friend.

- Come on, Leo! - he did not understand me. “If you knew what I was promised a fee for a poem about him, you would be envious.

I felt my purse swollen with bills and laughed.

- It is unlikely.

- Yah you! Albert waved him off, coming out from behind the screen dressed to the nines. - And take your billiard ball already, why the hell did you bring it here at all?

“Would you like to take him to the circus?”

- Yes, at least throw it away, what do I want?

“Don’t grumble like an old grandfather,” I sent my friend away and asked: “Aren’t you going to put on a raincoat?”

Albert looked out the window, looked at the sky appraisingly and agreed:

“Yeah, a cape wouldn’t hurt.

- A storm warning!

We left the apartment and went down to the first floor, and soon the carriage ordered by the poet drove up to the variety show.

- To the old circus! - announced Albert, and we were taken along the narrow streets of the Greek quarter, dark and still not crowded.

Twilight fell, the sky was completely covered with clouds, and the wind increased and freshened. By evening it got noticeably colder.

By this time, traffic was not very intense, so it took ten minutes to reach the square near the Yarden embankment, in the middle of which stood the round building of the old circus with a stone dome and arched entrances.

People gathered here - do not push through.

In the light of the lanterns, the venerable public sauntered along the alleys of the square and the embankment, someone asked for an extra ticket, someone sold not extra tickets at all at exorbitant prices. Several detachments of mounted police looked after the order at once, blue uniforms of constables loomed at the fences in front of the entrance to the circus building.

“Today is full house,” I noted, getting out of the carriage.

“The speculators will get rich,” Albert confirmed.

We entered the square and walked past the numerous carts and stalls of street vendors offering spectators a refreshment before the performance.

“We’ll have a snack at the buffet,” the poet decided.

I didn't argue. Visiting the buffet is a tradition. Go to the circus or the theater and not look into the buffet - bad manners.

Damn! What a captivating word!

Standing on the edge of the square, I glanced at the stone bulk of the circus and shuddered.

“Yes, I get goosebumps from this place, too,” Albert nodded. “Terrible things have happened here before. Creepy.

It was rumored that not all spectators returned home after the performances during the fallen, and although there was no documentary evidence of such cases, these stories tickled the nerves of more than one generation of citizens. Thirty years ago, the authorities even built a new circus building - light, airy and spacious, and since then only visiting groups and independent troupes have performed in the same place.

I didn’t pay much attention to these rumors, I just felt something incomprehensible in the air, that’s all. Echoes of ancient fears? Perhaps so.

- Special issue! Procrustes is dead! - suddenly scurried between people, a boy with a stack of newspapers began to wail. - Buy the special edition! Indisputable fact: Procrustes was shot dead in Chinatown!

Albert Brandt immediately purchased a fresh issue of Capital News; that consisted of only a couple of sheets and was entirely devoted to the legendary killer. The poet, by the light of a gas lamp, read the editorial and cursed:

“Damn me, Leo! He is dead!

“I told you about it,” I chuckled meaningfully.

The poet caught the understatement and stared at me with obvious disapproval.

- I thought you were talking about ... - out of delicacy, he did not mention my father, which means that he was not so angry, - about the old times! Not about the new killer!

- I said what I said.

“It says here Procrustes was shot dead by the cops in the line of duty.

- In the place of the chief inspector, it would be at least stupid to say otherwise.

- So I understand that it could not have happened without your participation?

I nodded.

- Tell me! the poet demanded, looked around and immediately corrected himself: “No, wait! Let's go to the buffet!

“They’re not allowed inside yet,” I prompted, but Albert was not at all embarrassed by the spectators crowding in front of the circus.

He resolutely moved forward, without much difficulty pushed his way to the wide stone steps, and there cleared his throat, clearing his throat, and demanded in a low and hoarse voice:

- Skip it!

And people, not fully giving an account of their actions, began to part. We did not have to swear and fight forward, the talent of my comrade easily influenced the audience and paved the way through the crowd.

With security, this number would not have passed. Yes, Albert did not even try, for such tricks it is quite possible to sit out the entire performance in the neighboring police station.

- Manager, please! - asked the poet, and if a note of an order slipped through his roaring voice, the constables did not notice anything, and one of the porters suddenly jumped up and rushed to fulfill the request of the lord.

The crowd around with an unhappy look rustled, then Albert waved countermarks in the air, making it clear that we were not going to take advantage of our connections and go inside without tickets.

- Calm, gentlemen, only calm! he announced in a casual and good-natured way. - I intend to perform comic verses today, and my friend is trying out for the role of a tap dancer!

Everyone around us laughed, and when the manager ordered to let us inside, no one said a bad word after us.

Mr Brandt! The circus attendant hugged the poet and patted him on the back in a friendly way. - Damn glad to meet you, but, to my great regret, I have to leave you. So many things! So many things!

"We'll talk later," Albert nodded casually.

I waited until we were alone and pushed my friend in the side.

- A tap dancer, you mean?

“Well, you have a cane,” he waved lightly and strode through the vestibule hung with old posters. “Let’s hurry, my young friend, before the entertainment-hungry crowd rushes after us!”

I followed and shuddered involuntarily when Albert turned around sharply and asked:

- Do you feel it? Smells like a circus! The circus is a special world, Leo! Circus people are not like you and me, they are a special people, amazing!

I did not share my friend's enthusiasm at all. At one time, my father ran the affairs of a middle-class impresario, and I had the opportunity to communicate with these same circus people to my heart's content. There were good people among them, and frankly trashy ones, but on the whole, the memories were not pleasant.

Have you ever been backstage? the poet clarified, striding through the vestibule.

- I have, - I confirmed, without saying that somehow I lived in this very building for a couple of months and even took part in the preparation for the performances.

– Amazing world! - Albert went to the buffet, ordered a cup of coffee, a glass of cognac and a lemon sprinkled with sugar, then hurried me: - You tell me, Leo, tell me.

I asked for soda with pear syrup and a scoop of sundae, and I told my friend about my encounter with a werewolf in Chinatown last night.

“Alexander Dyak is just a godsend,” he said at the end. I don't even know what I would have done without his help!

“Alexander is a head,” Brandt agreed with me, then asked reproachfully: “But, Leo, why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

- I was afraid.

- Afraid?

“Well, yes,” I confirmed, pushing my empty plate away from me. - I was afraid to deprive you of inspiration. You said it yourself the other day...

“Leo, you are not a good person,” Albert Brandt sighed, recognizing the mockery in my words.

At that moment, a human rumble was heard, the audience began to quickly fill the circus.

I finished my sparkling water and chuckled.

- So I understand that your lady of the heart is busy in the evening?

“Yes, she couldn’t go,” the poet confirmed with a dreamy smile, “but I already saw her today and gave her a huge bouquet of tulips. She is crazy about flowers.

- How original!

“Leo, sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” the poet grimaced, knocked over the brandy remaining in his glass and suggested: “Let’s go?”

"Let's go," I nodded, as the second bell had already rung.

And, taking a program and a pair of theatrical binoculars, we went to look for our seats.

As it turned out, a benefactor unknown to me allocated an entire box to the poet, so we settled comfortably and looked at the audience that occupied the usual places with undisguised superiority.

“The Moon Circus is five centuries old, can you imagine? - said Albert, opening the program. “Initially they performed in New Babylon, but for the last three hundred years they have been traveling around Europe. Some numbers have not changed since the day of foundation!

“Very educational,” I snorted, surveying the stage and the rows of seats, most of which were already filled with spectators.

The round arena, covered with sawdust, was traditionally located in the very center of a spacious room, the dome vault went up, there were no windows or lanterns, and the cables were lost in the twilight.

“I always liked to learn something new,” the poet shrugged.

“Always liked to learn something useful,” I retorted.

"You're boring, Leo!"

- And you're a bore.

“I should have taken cognac,” the poet sighed, and then the third bell rang.

Then an entertainer performed, a session orchestra played, clowns - red and white, grimaced, a magician pulled rabbits and pigeons out of a top hat, a pretty girl disappeared from a closed box, jugglers were thrown with burning maces. Nothing out of the ordinary, just like always.

But I was bored only until the number of aerial gymnasts began. They performed without safety nets and a net stretched over the arena, but at the same time they performed such tricks under the dome that I simply froze with my mouth open.

Gymnasts flew. Indeed, they flew, every second violating the law of universal gravitation, and in the old days they would inevitably have been accused of witchcraft. And so people just froze in horror; the hall either exploded with applause, or covered me with waves of enthusiastic fear. Sometimes it seemed that one of the artists breaks down and falls down like a stone, but every time a trapeze turned out to be at hand at the very last moment, or a partner who perfectly calculated the time intercepted him.

This performance alone was worth going to the circus.

- Amazing! Albert Brandt sighed as the gymnasts bowed and ran offstage.

I was forced to agree with him. I have never seen anything like it before.

The master of ceremonies came out again and announced:

– And now the virtuoso of scientific hypnosis Maestro Marlini will perform before the honorable audience!

The music stopped, and an imposing-looking gentleman of about forty or forty-five, gray-haired and swarthy-faced, strode into the arena with an important air. Unlike most magicians, the maestro came out not in a tailcoat, but in an ordinary business suit, but otherwise he did not deviate from the workshop rules. He started with simple tricks, guessing thoughts and forcing people to recall long-forgotten events, and only then did the assistants begin to take out the props.

- We need a man from the audience! - announced the maestro, when a cable was stretched between the two posts.

There was no shortage of volunteers, we even had to cast lots.

“Try walking the tightrope,” the magician suggested to an awkward gentleman with a rather big beer belly. Don't be afraid, it's very simple.

The volunteer tried and already on the second step, as expected, jumped off the rope that began to sway under his feet, since it was stretched only at the height of the middle of the thigh.

- But it's simple! - Maestro Marlini announced, and in confirmation of these words one of the gymnasts returned to the arena; he walked the rope with mocking ease, bowed to the audience and ran backstage.

- A person is capable of more, it is enough just to release hidden reserves! the hypnotist shouted when the screams and laughter ceased. - The brain is a unique tool, not everyone uses even a quarter of its capabilities!

The audience laughed again, and the conjurer took out a watch from his vest pocket and began to swing it on a chain in front of the volunteer, who turned red with embarrassment.

- Three! Two! One! – the maestro loudly counted out and demanded: – On the rope!

The clumsy gentleman calmly stepped onto the sagging rope, confidently walked along it to the opposite post; then he went back, and when the hypnotist sharply snapped his fingers, bringing him out of the trance, he immediately lost all his confidence and almost sprained himself, jumping down.

- Voila! - Maestro Marlini announced, dismissed the volunteer, shocked no less than the audience, and called the next one: - Well, who else doubts the power of the human mind?

This time the assistants brought two coasters, one with three large oranges, the other with felt balls of the same size.

- I'll ask you right away - do you know how to juggle? - the hypnotist turned to the skeptical old man, judging by his brave appearance - a retired military man.

"I can't," he replied with a laugh.

- Now we will fix it. - The magician took the oranges and began to throw them into the air one by one, throwing them from hand to hand. - Watch and remember!

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” the volunteer shook his head, but the maestro continued to juggle oranges, and somehow imperceptibly the old man renounced reality so much that, at the first request, he closed his eyes and rather deftly repeated the simple trick of the magician.

Do you think that's all? Maestro Marlini looked around the hushed hall. - Not at all!

He doused the felt balls with kindling liquid and struck a match on the side of the box; a colorless flame immediately flared up.

The old man tossed and tossed and tossed oranges like a clockwork, and even when one of the magician's assistants grabbed the fruits and put them on a stand, his hands continued to move, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Someone laughed, and Maestro Marlini put his finger to his lips, and his assistant, who pulled on gloves, suddenly grabbed the burning balls and threw them to the volunteer, immersed in a trance. He did not notice the substitution and began to juggle with them, as he had previously juggled with oranges. Hall gasped.

“The pain is in our head,” said the hypnotist. “But the abilities of the mind and body are limitless!” No mysticism, no magic! Just scientific knowledge! - He looked back at the juggler and continued with a smile: - We have unjustifiably deprived our charming ladies of attention. Is there a brave lady among the spectators ...

Before he could continue, a slender girl entered the arena, and my heart sank. I recognized her. The magician was approached by Elizabeth-Maria von Naltz, the daughter of the chief inspector and the love of my life.

- ABOUT! I appreciate determination in people, beautiful mademoiselle! - Maestro Marlini laughed, kissed her hand and deftly pulled off the glove from a thin girlish hand. - No tricks! he announced and held his hand in front of the face of Elizabeth Mary, and then suddenly pierced her palm with a long knitting needle.

Everyone gasped, and I jumped up from my seat.

"Sit down," Albert jerked me back. - Calm down, I've already seen this number.

Number? The needle pierced through the arm!

I became ill.

- Pain in our heads! - the hypnotist repeated instructively, carefully pulled out the knitting needle and, with a snap of his fingers worked out to automatism, dispelled the trance.

Elizabeth-Mary looked at her hand in amazement, kissed the magician on the cheek and hurried to her place.

“You see,” said Albert Brandt phlegmatically. - Focus!

At that moment, six auxiliary workers carried a long stretcher, covered with red-hot coals, onto the stage. The overhead light was dimmed, the improvised path shone in the twilight with an unkind scarlet glow. A piece of paper thrown on the coals quickly turned black, curled up and caught fire.

- There may be decoy acrobats and jugglers in the hall, and mademoiselle, it is possible, belongs to those unique people who do not feel pain at all, but coals are another matter. I hope no one thinks that I specifically ordered an Indian yoga for this issue?

The hall responded with laughter, but somehow uncertainly. Everyone was waiting for the climax.

– Any volunteers? We need two people! Maestro Marlini raised his voice. Don't worry, we'll pay for the treatment!

This time, the audience laughed quite nervously.

As a result, two people appeared on the stage: a tall young man in a shabby suit from the back rows and a mannered short man with pomaded hair from the center of the hall. Decoy yogis in them could not be suspected with all desire.

- A thousand francs! Maestro Marlini announced to the young man. “A thousand francs if you reach the end!” And a hundred for trying!

Without hesitation, the young man pulled off his worn boots and socks, rolled up his trousers and walked to the hot path.

- Forward! the hypnotist agreed. - Begin, please!

The young man shivered nervously, but nevertheless stepped onto the coals. To my surprise, he took a few steps, picking up his pace before dropping onto the sawdust and hopping on his burned soles. The magician's assistants immediately jumped up to him, put him on a stretcher and carried him backstage.

There was deathly silence.

- Well? Maestro Marlini turned to the second volunteer. Are you still willing to take the risk? Do you believe in the power of the mind, as I do?

The little man swallowed hard and began to take off his shoes. There was noise in the hall.

And again the hypnotist took out his pocket watch. This time it took a minute or two to prepare, and then the dandy calmly approached the path of hot coals and walked along it from beginning to end.

The audience burst into applause, and the entertainer immediately entered the arena.

- Antr-r-rakt! he announced. - Ladies and gentlemen, after the break, trained predators await you, wonderful tricks and a crown number - sawing a woman in two! Hurry to see!

But everyone hurried to the buffet.

I leaned back in my chair and mopped my sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

“These are just tricks,” Albert reminded him. - Cognac? he suggested and immediately waved his hand. - Oh yes! You don't drink! – and left the box, whistling softly under his breath.

I sat for a while, then went up the aisle between the sectors to the exit from the hall and suddenly stumbled upon Elizabeth Mary hurrying along the corridor. Her hat was decorated with a fresh rose, her narrow waist was tied with a sash, and she looked incredibly attractive in a skirt cut in the latest fashion, a white blouse and a jacket.

“Good evening,” I greeted, not at all hoping for recognition, but the girl suddenly slowed down.

- Viscount Cruz! - she exclaimed. - That's the meeting! Daddy is fucking mad at you!

- Indeed? I murmured in response. - Again?

- Oh yeah! - Elizabeth-Mary approached and whispered: - She can't forgive you for going around them with Procrustes.

- Did he tell you?

“About the fact that you shot the monster?” The girl smiled, and orange specks flashed in her colorless-light eyes. - Oh yeah! He was just bursting with frustration!

The inspector general's daughter pulled away, and then, in a frantic attempt to continue the conversation, I blurted out:

- How is your hand?

- Hand? - Elizabeth-Mary was surprised and laughed: - Ah, the viscount! Maestro Marlini is simply a genius! Here, see for yourself!

She held out her narrow hand to me; I gently touched her and, barely holding back a shudder, said:

- Just unbelieveble!

– I have been to all the performances of the maestro, he is really incredible! – admired the girl. - Tomorrow he speaks at a reception at Baron Dürer, I will also be there. And you?

No one invited me to the aluminum king's dinner party, but I only said pointedly:

- Don't even know. I'm doing two investigations right now...

“Come by all means, viscount. It will be fun, - the girl assured me and hurried down the corridor.

I took off my glasses and watched her closely, then stood in line to buy soda and syrup, and sat down on an empty bench. They gave a call, the intermission ended, but I still could not move, unsettled by an unexpected meeting.

My heart was pounding unevenly, nervously, with interruptions and injections, every now and then I caught my breath. A glass of water helped to calm down, but I did not want to return to the hall, and I remained sitting on the bench.

So he sat out the whole second act, and when the audience poured out, he reluctantly got up and intercepted Albert Brandt, surrounded by enthusiastic fans.

– Leo! he was surprised. - Where have you been? I completely lost you!

- Empty.

– Is it possible that Maestro Marlini made such a strong impression on you? the poet laughed. - Tomorrow we will entertain the guests at the reception of Baron Dürer together! - A friend leaned towards me and whispered: - Alas, I can’t take you with me, I myself was invited by the personal secretary of the aluminum king ...

I shrugged my shoulders, not at all upset about it.

Even though I grimaced, speaking about the investigation of two crimes at once, but the groom will certainly accompany Elizabeth-Mary to the reception, and what am I to look at them and bite my elbows with annoyance? Don't want.

– Are you home now? I asked the poet.

Albert Brandt turned to the waiting fans and shook his head.

- No I do not think so.

- Bye then. Talk to you tomorrow.

“The reception is scheduled for four o’clock,” the poet warned, “I won’t be in the afternoon.

“So, until the day after tomorrow,” I smiled. - I won't be here in the morning.

We said goodbye; Albert led his admirers to the nearest drinking establishment, and I went outside, stood on the top step of the circus and leaned heavily on my cane. He just stood and admired the black surface of the Yarden, where the lanterns illuminating the embankment were reflected.

What an unexpected meeting! - came suddenly from behind.

I turned around and found myself face to face with a slender gentleman in a long cloak and with a white scarf wound carelessly around his neck.

Bastian Moran, to be torn apart!

But I didn't ask what the hell the Third Department wanted from me. Instead, he smiled wryly.

“Truly they say: the world is small, Chief Inspector!”

Bastian Moran raised an arched eyebrow in mock surprise.

“Didn’t I hear sarcasm in your voice, Viscount?” he asked. “Do you really think you are being followed?”

You don't look like a circus fan.

"And I'm not one to waste manpower recklessly spying on a gentleman as predictable as you," said the Chief Inspector. “Remembering your friendship with a certain poet, I already knew where to look for you. How your talented friend spends time is no secret to anyone.

“Did you seek me out for any particular reason?” - I singled out the essence of the interlocutor's remark. “Have they arrested the accomplice of the robbers?”

“Not arrested,” Bastian Moran replied calmly. “Until they are arrested,” he added, looked around and suggested: “Shall we walk along the embankment?”

I didn't refuse. We left the spectators who had dispersed after the performance and walked along the bank of the river lit by gas lamps.

“When was the last time you saw your uncle, Viscount?” asked the Chief Inspector suddenly.

- Something happened? I stopped, leaning on my cane.

- Answer the question! demanded Bastian Moran, losing all his courtesy at once.

I grimaced and said uncertainly:

“I last spoke to the Count on the day of the bank raid, Chief Inspector.

- And after that?

“No,” I shook my head. – Tried to get through in the morning, but the line was damaged. I had to talk to his attorney. And what happened?

Bastian Moran took out a pack of Chesterfields, lit a cigarette, and looked out over the river.

“Your uncle's estate was attacked tonight.

What about the Count? I immediately asked.

"Disappeared," the Chief Inspector replied curtly. He was probably not at home at the time of the attack.

“What a misfortune,” I joked unkindly and waved my hand. - Pay no attention, it boiled.

“Given your differences, Viscount, I must ask how you spent your night.

For a moment, I felt uneasy.

Do you suspect me? Indeed?

- We are working on all versions.

I laughed.

“I got lucky this time with an alibi. Midnight handed over the remains of Procrustes to detectives in Chinatown.

Bastian Moran nodded and, as expected, clarified:

What about the second half of the night?

- Come with Ramon to me. We climbed to the top of Kalvaria, looked at the city. They came to their senses. It's not every day you kill a legend, you know, - I gave out a lie agreed with a friend in advance and smiled. “And although you may suspect Ramon of wanting to supply me with a false alibi, I could not manage to get to my uncle's country estate in any case.

“I suppose you were not among the passengers of the night train in that direction?”

“No, Chief Inspector, I was not among them.

Bastian Moran took one last drag and tossed his cigarette into the cast-iron urn.

"Okay," he nodded, and nodded.

“Let me ask you a question,” I said then. - What's happened? Is it the elusive gang of raiders again?

“Why do you think so, viscount?”

I don't believe in coincidences.

“The raiders have definitely been there,” Bastian Moran confirmed. “The tread marks in the mud at the gate match those we made earlier.

I nodded and turned back to the river. On the bridge over the Yarden, the lights of the carriages carrying the audience after the performance crawled, and I suddenly wanted to be in one of them. Not to play cat and mouse with a representative of the all-powerful Third Department, but to go home, to family or friends.

But the fleeting weakness passed by itself, I sighed and asked:

“And now you think your uncle has something to do with the bank robbery?”

“I don't suppose anything,” said Bastian Moran, pulling on kid gloves. “I'm more interested in a check for ten thousand francs drawn by your uncle to bearer. How did you get it, Viscount?

Did the master complain? I chuckled, not at all surprised by this circumstance and certainly not frightened or unbalanced. I did not care.

“No,” said the Chief Inspector, shaking his head, “I accidentally found out about the lawsuit you filed. And you know, I don't believe in coincidences either, Viscount. Your uncle's estate is attacked, and the next day a check for such a large amount appears.

“The check was presented for payment long before this unfortunate incident.

“And yet, Viscount, where did you get it from?”

I took a deep breath and wondered if I should send the annoying policeman to hell. Decided it wasn't time yet, and shrugged his shoulders.

“The Count wrote this check for me the last time we met.

Bastian Moran chuckled meaningfully and asked:

- Continue.

“We made a deal: Uncle writes the check and I don't bother him with probate lawsuits for the rest of this year and all of next.

- The count won thirty thousand francs, - the senior inspector demonstrated awareness of my financial affairs, - what did you get?

- Quick money.

- But only? You received only a quarter of the potential income. It's not very smart, in my opinion. Was there anything else?

I confirmed:

- Was. I was going to use this money to pay off my own debts. My uncle declares me an impostor, Isaac Levinson offers creditors ten cents from every franc ...

- And the money remains in the family? Bastian Moran smiled. - Is everyone happy?

“Not too ethical, but we didn’t break the law.

– And what went wrong?

Aaron Malk, Levinson's assistant, was supposed to receive the cash on the check. But first, the bank was attacked by robbers, then Procrustes killed Levinson himself, and Malk disappeared with my money!

"So that's why you were looking for him!" thought the Chief Inspector, who was quite convinced by the logic of the story I had told.

- And went to sort things out with your uncle? said Bastian Moran suddenly.

- Nonsense! I laughed nonchalantly. - Acting through the court, I can now twist ropes from my uncle! The law is on my side!

“This is amazing,” the interlocutor thought. - Why did your uncle go to such a rash act?

“If you find him, ask him,” I shrugged. “I intend to get what is rightfully mine. It would be enough.

Bastian Moran nodded and clarified:

“Viscount, I believe Ramon Miro will confirm your story?”

I shrugged nonchalantly again.

- Ask him.

“Absolutely,” the chief inspector promised, saluted me goodbye and walked along the embankment. Soon an unmarked covered carriage turned out of the square, Bastian Moran threw open the door, deftly climbed inside and drove off into the night.

I am sure that if my answers had not satisfied him, I would now be riding in this carriage with him. But no - he got out, again deceived fate.

I took a few deep breaths, calming my breath, drank from the drinking water fountain and leaned on the railing of the embankment.

Surprisingly, when talking with the chief inspector, he did not worry at all. At all. All this time, the image of Elisabeth-Maria von Naltz stood before my eyes, her voice sounded in my head, and the delicate aroma of perfume was felt. It hasn't gone away even now, and it was driving me crazy in the most natural way. I wanted to howl at the moon or tear my own heart out of anguish.

Of course, I did nothing of the sort. I just stood there and looked at the river.

I stood and watched.

Clouds covering the sky hid a scattering of stars and a nascent moon; now the darkness that enveloped the city was scattered only by street lamps and the light of shop windows on the opposite bank of the river. In the distance, the beacons of the towers glowed in the distance.

At night you can't see dirt, at night you can't see gilding. Night equalizes everyone.

She looks down on both the poor and the rich. Love is not so condescending to other people's shortcomings.

The lights of the carriages were still crawling across the bridge to the other side, and I did not wander around the night city on foot either. Moreover, not wanting to be in the electric chair again, he chose the cabman meticulously and hired only the third or fourth of those that caught his eye. And even so, he climbed inside only after he removed the Cerberus tucked into his pocket from the safety lock.

“Place Balsamo,” he commanded the driver.

We bargained briefly, then the driver waved the reins, and the horses dragged the carriage through the night streets of New Babylon. I closed my eyes and remembered Elizabeth Mary, the scent of her perfume, the softness of her palm, her voice and her amazing, bewitching eyes.

She remembered the awkward viscount. She remembered!

And even believed that it was I who stopped the legendary Procrustes. That thought made me feel embarrassed for a moment. Just for a moment, because I didn't stand a chance anyway. I was no match for her.

Not a couple, that's all.

Piazza Balsamo was black with a perfectly smooth surface of caked stone. Once upon a time there was a prison with powerful bastions and damp dungeons that went down many tens of meters; so it was until the mystic and adventurer Giuseppe Balsamo, the self-styled Count of Cagliostro, was transferred from the castle of the Lion.

It is still not known for certain whether Balsamo possessed witchcraft abilities initially or in desperation turned to the dukes of the underworld already from captivity, but the fact remains: the count was the first of those who challenged the fallen and withstood the power of their anger. Not for long, but survived.

The confrontation lasted two days, as a result, the then rulers of New Babylon destroyed the prison to the ground, and the cellars were filled with molten stone. Along the way, several surrounding blocks went underground, but the main consequence of that incident was not destruction at all; many historians seriously believed that it was the example of Cagliostro that inspired the revolt of the Ree brothers half a century later.

An indirect confirmation of this was the fact that the emperor Clement, by personal order, assigned the name of Balsamo to the bald spot remaining at the site of the prison, although the count did not fit at all into a number of scientists and philosophers who carried the light of science, revered in the empire as the main engines of progress.

I didn't like this area. Too hectic, too eclectic even for New Babylon. Old houses squinted, new buildings were deliberately erected unevenly broken, iron gratings came across everywhere under their feet, but not storm sewers - there was another street below, windows of floors that had sagged underground opened onto it, people walked there, music played, lanterns burned.

The nearest descent into the dungeon turned out to be a ladder with swollen stone steps. I went downstairs, pressed my hand to my pocket with a purse and walked along the underground street with determination and confidence.

In the daytime, the light came here through the bars, now the windows of the shops and rare gas lamps shone. There were plenty of people; for the most part - unscrupulous crooks and naive dreamers. Miraculous elixirs from unrecognized inventors and outright rogues did not differ in any way in taste or color; palmists easily substantiated their skills with the scientific works of ancient scientists and Renaissance geniuses, and horoscopes were compiled in accordance with the latest astronomical discoveries. It was not worth yawning here, otherwise you will not have time to look back, as you find yourself embroiled in trouble, you buy a blood-purifying magnetic bracelet or an amulet made of meteorite iron that protects from the evil eye.

- All-good electricity! yelled a chubby guy nearby in a white coat with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. – A scientific method of exorcising demons and removing damage with electric discharges! Only five francs! Don't pass by! Unique opportunity!

The lathered assistant was diligently turning the pedal drive of the dynamo, and the wires of the sinister-looking chair sparkled with electric discharges from time to time.

I quickened my pace. There was not the slightest desire to sit down on the electric chair voluntarily; it seemed doubly strange to pay money for this.

A little later, the hubbub of the crowd left behind, I turned into an inconspicuous passage and went down a narrow staircase to the level below. The light did not get here at all, and even the sharp vision of the radiant was lacking in order to normally navigate in such darkness; on the contrary, the glow of glowing eyes now only interfered.

I flicked the wheel of the lighter, but the flickering flame flared up and went out, and then the sparks scattered in vain; ran out of kerosene. I swore and moved on, looking for the right door almost blindly.

I found it, knocked, and soon it opened hospitably.

“Leo, you surprise me,” Charles Malacar shook his head, letting me inside. - For five years there was neither a rumor nor a spirit, and suddenly I began to frequent!

There was at least an eye in the dwelling of the blind draftsman, and, stepping over the threshold, I immediately asked:

Do you have kerosene for your lighter?

“Did you just come here for this?”

“What do you think, Charles?”

The artist laughed hoarsely.

- Someone's portrait is needed so urgently that he could not wait until morning?

There was a rustle of a match against a box, then a light flared up and a candle lit up.

“It’s not worth it ...” I tried to stop the blind draftsman, but he did not listen to anything, sat down at the table and began to sharpen his pencil.

- Is this urgent? he repeated his unspoken question.

“I just didn’t want to sit on public display,” I replied, looking at the artist’s closet.

Fireplace, canvases, glasses with countless pencils on the shelves, an easel, a couple of chests, a table, a bed. Nothing else, only a jug of water and a couple of chipped mugs stood by the bed.

So is it private? - Charles chuckled and suggested: - Kerosene is on the shelf by the fireplace.

I began to fill the lighter, and he muttered thoughtfully:

“I don’t know if I can…

- Why not?

“Your talent shines so brightly that it hurts the eyes,” the draftsman replied, and I took his words seriously.

What if I try to calm down?

“I don't think it will do much good, Leo. It's about the girl, right? You are young and hot-blooded.

- Come on, Charles! I laughed. "I'm cold-blooded as a viper!"

The artist sighed noisily, then asked:

“Think of something aloof, I’ll take what I need myself.”

Then I lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, on which the uneven reflections of the candle glided, but it was not at all easy not to think about Elizabeth Mary.

The girl occupied all my thoughts. All of me.

A pencil lead creaked across the paper, and without waiting for Charles to shout, I began to wonder where my uncle was now hiding and whether the strangler would find him. Gradually, thoughts began to revolve around the box with a lightning rune on the lid, then the dying werewolf was remembered, and in the end, no matter how hard he tried to calm down, the image of Elizabeth Mary again appeared before his eyes.

– Leo! groaned Charles Malacar, putting down his pencil. - It's impossible to work with you! You pour like molten gold into my head! - He got up from the easel, kissed the jug and offered: - Okay, look ...

I took the candle, walked over to the portrait, and froze in place, stunned.

Elizabeth-Maria von Naltz looked alive. Even though the drawing was completely black and white, only the eyes of the radiant one shone with orange specks, but it seemed that now she would smile and speak to me. Here right now...

– Leo! Charles pulled me back. - Control your talent. Control!

"I'm fine," I whispered, wiping my sweaty face with a handkerchief. Charles, this is amazing!

“Love, love,” the artist shook his head.

I took the sheet off the easel and rolled it into a tube. I felt better, no, really easier. I don’t know if this was a feature of Charles’s talent or a twist of the human psyche, but every time the draftsman splashed out my fantasies on paper, they dimmed and no longer tore my head apart.

Thoughts about Elizabeth-Mary ceased to torment me, mental clarity returned, and left an obsessive desire to see the girl again at all costs. It was only now that I realized how close I was to sneaking into Baron Dürer's tomorrow's reception by trickery. It didn't work out on its own...

– Leo! the artist called out to me as he repaired the pencils that had been blunted during the day. - There is something else...

Something in your head...

- What's in my head? I frowned, because no one likes it when strangers rummage through his memories. And even though Charles perceived only the most vivid images, for a moment he felt uneasy.

The artist was well aware of the delicacy of the situation and continued without the former confidence.

“I saw something,” he sighed. - Something that I've seen before. With my own eyes. I haven't always been a blind mole! Once I was young and sighted. Once upon a time ladies even considered me pretty!

- And what did you see?

“Shadow,” the draftsman replied simply. “A man whose face I could not see then, or now. You thought about him briefly, but the image is very memorable ...

I involuntarily nodded. The image of the strangler really stuck in my memory.

Charles, who is this?

“I don’t know,” the blind artist replied simply. - In the time of the fallen, they were considered servants of one of the close associates of the brilliant Raphael.

- Their? I wondered.

“Them,” Charles confirmed. – Leo! The faceless shadows served one of the most powerful of the Fallen, the return of these brats will not lead to anything good.

“I only saw one.

Where there is one, there are others! - cut off the old man; his face was haggard and pale. “No one has seen them since the uprising. Nobody ever. Something serious is underway if they crawled out of their hole.

I tried to hide my nervousness and assured the draftsman:

I hope no one sees them again.

- Well, - I did not argue with the artist. - I'll think about it.

“Be careful,” the old man asked, wrapping himself in a blanket chillily. Greetings from the past frankly unsettled him.

“Definitely,” I promised, and took out my purse.

- I do not need money! - said the artist, hearing the rustle of banknotes.

“Everyone needs money,” I objected, laid fifty francs on the table and walked to the door. Take care, Charles.

– Leo! The painter laughed. You stole my phrase!

“I know,” I chuckled and walked out the door.

In the flickering light of the lighter, I climbed to the underground street one level above, there I hurried to the nearest stairs. I did not want to linger underground longer than necessary, and not at all because of a dislike for cellars, I just needed to take a breath and think carefully about what I heard.

Although I tried not to show it, Charles's words disturbed me greatly. If the history books are to be believed, the brilliant Raphael was a major figure even by the standards of the fallen. The assault on his country estate dragged on for several days, and subsequently became one of the most popular themes of battle painting of that time.

Did someone close to the fallen one survived that massacre and now returned back more than half a century later? But why? And what does Emile Rea's aluminum box have to do with it?

The unanswered questions gave me a headache. Sharp gusts of wind threw a fine drizzle in the face; I wanted to get home as soon as possible, close the shutters, and lie down in bed. Just forget about all the troubles and problems at least for the night. Sleep and with a clear head to think about the current situation, which every day I liked less and less.

Servants of the fallen, think!

But immediately after returning home, it was not possible to go to sleep; traditionally already had to keep Elizabeth-Mary company at dinner. Fortunately, she turned out to be unusually silent, and Theodore brought dishes from the kitchen in a quiet, silent shadow.

Over the past few days, the butler has given up hard.

Having dined in deathly silence, I got up from the table, and only then did Elizabeth-Mary ask:

What are your plans for tomorrow, dear?

- And what? I got worried.

- I'm bored! - the girl said. Boring, Leo! You understand? I'm not used to being confined within four walls!

- I can't help it.

“Maybe we can go somewhere?” Elizabeth suggested. “You need to unwind yourself!”

“Not an option,” I shook my head. I'm leaving town tomorrow for the day.

- All day?

- Exactly.

"And what am I to do with myself?"

Have you tried visiting the library? Ask Theodore, he conducts.

I know where the library is in the house! - the girl was offended. "Leo, you're insufferable!" And judge for yourself - how can you read all day long? This will drive anyone crazy!

- Well I do not know. Try to catch a leprechaun. This will cheer you up.

Elizabeth-Mary only snorted, but the butler unexpectedly supported me.

“Mistress, you better find his treasure,” he advised.

- Silver plate? I sighed resignedly.

“Now the knives are gone,” Theodore confirmed.

“This little fictional bastard deserves a good beating,” the girl smiled dreamily. “It would be nice to flick him on the nose.

“He can't have a treasure,” I reminded him. “He is just my imagination.

“All leprechauns have treasures,” the butler continued to persist, who was touched to the core by the loss of silverware. – Fictional or not, nature is stronger.

“Perhaps I really will do it,” Elizabeth Mary decided.

I just shook my head and walked out the door.

He got up into the bedroom, literally falling down from fatigue, but did not forget to lock the shutters. Then he undressed, fell on the bed and instantly fell into a deep restless sleep.

And in a dream he returned to the circus again, only now there was not a single living soul in the whole hall; the only company I had was a leprechaun. Clearly realizing that this was just a simple dream, I left the box, went into the lobby and again came across Elisabeth-Maria von Naltz. I tried to grab the outstretched hand, but the girl laughed and easily slipped out of my arms. I followed her down the empty corridors, down the backstage, and somehow ended up in the basement of my own mansion.

It became quiet, dark and cold.

And suddenly the icy crumble sank, rustled and, like the legendary quicksand, pulled me down into the icy hell, into the underworld itself ...

I rushed, grabbed the bottom rung of the stairs and tried to escape, but I did not succeed at all. The icy whirlpool pulled harder and harder, my fingers, numb from the cold, slipped, my nails broke, the pain twisted and broke my joints, and I would have definitely fallen into a black icy abyss, but then something whipped across my face.

In an instant I woke up, tore off the towel thrown over my head and sat down on the bed.

- Fuck! - muttered the leprechaun, who settled in an armchair with a book in his hands. On one armrest stood a glass with a burning candle, on the other a half-empty bottle of wine. - You're interfering!

I took a few deep breaths and sank back into the pillow.

Are you too old for Alice's Adventures in Wonderland? asked the shorty.

- Get off! demanded the albino, licked his finger and turned the page. - Sleep! Got it!

But the dream had already left me, I raised myself on one elbow and asked my own fantasy:

- Whom did you kill in the morning?

The leprechaun glared at me sullenly and reluctantly said:

- Wandered. Dared. Ran up!

I did not reproach the albino for killing the burglar, but I did not intend to close the topic either.

What did you want to do with the body? asked the shorty.

He swore silently and stared at the book.

- What? I repeated my question.

“Homeless animals are starving because of such heartless people like you, Leo,” the leprechaun answered without looking up from the book and demanded: “Fuck! Don't stop reading!

Homeless animals? Was he going to feed the corpse to stray dogs?

Only there were not enough cannibals in the district to breed!

I rolled over on the other side, pulled the blanket tighter over myself and asked:

- Do not do it anymore.

The leprechaun didn't answer. I just didn’t have time: something fell down with a deafening thud, so much so that the floor shuddered.

- Fuck! - out of surprise, the shorty even poured himself with wine. - Buffet?

I didn't think so. In an instant, he jumped out of bed, grabbed a Cerberus from the bedside table, pulled the Roth-Steyr out of its holster and rushed to the exit. He fell out into the corridor and almost ran into Elizabeth Mary, who looked out of her room.

- From the road! - barked at her and rushed past, and the girl, as she was in a nightgown, ran after me.

Headlong, I rolled down to the first floor, slipped through the kitchen into the hallway with the front door wide open and rushed into the living room. He climbed over the fallen sideboard and immediately took aim at the dark figure, which pressed the half-strangled butler against the wall. Under a wide-brimmed hat with a flat top, shadows thickened; The hands that wrapped around Theodore's neck were distinguished by their unnatural blackness.

- Let him go! I demanded, not daring to shoot.

The Strangler slowly turned around, and then through another door, Elizabeth Mary burst into the living room.

In the blink of an eye, the girl was at the fireplace, plucked a saber from the wall and rushed at the malefic. He quickly recoiled from the butler and stepped towards the succubus, throwing up his open palm in a protective gesture. Sharpened steel collided with flesh and rebounded with a mournful clatter, leaving only a bleeding scratch.

I fired, aiming for the head; the Moor with an imperceptible movement intercepted the bullet, threw a chair at the girl with his other hand and suddenly rushed at me! He immediately stumbled over a leprechaun that had arisen from nowhere, quickly jumped to his feet, but fell back again when the albino slashed his tendons with a rusty kitchen knife. The blade unexpectedly easily pierced into the flesh so unyielding for ordinary steel, the blade gnashed against the bones, but the strangler did not even scream.

In an instant, the malefic was wrapped in shadows, they became an extension of his arms and spread out in all directions, threatening to reach out and enslave his consciousness. Backing away from them, I took aim again, but then Elizabeth Mary stepped forward. She struck the Moor's neck with her saber with all her might, and the cleanly cut off head flew off her shoulders and rolled on the floor.

Then the girl's eyes, burning with a scarlet light, stopped at the leprechaun, and he immediately put out a kitchen knife in front of him, and laid his left hand behind his back, like a real swordsman.

- Shall we dance, baby? - he jumped to the girl, immediately jumped back - one or two! - and with this simple maneuver, he noticeably approached the front door.

It worked. Elizabeth-Mary, with a bloody saber in her hand, leaned against the window, Theodore ran to lock the front door, and only the leprechaun behaved as if nothing had happened. He lifted his accordion-crumpled top hat, shook it off with a kick on his knee, and spat on the floor.

- Fuck! The carpet is gone!

And in fact - the black blood of the strangler has spread almost to half the living room.

“The carpets in the house are in trouble,” the succubus joked and said: “No one is visible in the courtyard, but they can be hiding in the garden.

- Why should they wait? I grunted and turned to the butler, who brought a double-barreled hunting rifle and a box of cartridges. “Theodore, are you all right?”

“There are advantages to my condition,” the servant shook his head from side to side. You stop needing air.

Why doesn't anyone ask if I'm okay? – capriciously said the leprechaun, about whom everyone had forgotten.

- Shut up better! - advised Elizabeth-Mary, wiping the saber blade with the hem of her nightgown, which was already pretty stained with blood.

- Fuck! the little man swore and, full of self-respect, went out the door.

And he did the right thing. The succubus was already holding back to the last of her strength.

“I should have asked where he hid the treasure,” Theodore suggested belatedly, lighting the gas burner, but I just waved my hand:

- There are plenty of other problems.

Putting the pistols down on the coffee table, I touched, not without disgust, the head blown off by the saber and looked at the cut, smooth and even, as if a guillotine had worked. The blow inflicted by Elizabeth-Mary was incredibly strong.

– What is there? – interested girl.

“Cold,” I replied, wiping my fingers on the carpet.

The dead man's skin was cold and clammy, like a reptile's. And yes, the malefic was noticeably colder than a freshly dead man should have been.

Elizabeth Mary moved away from the window and turned her shaved head over to the other side with her foot.

“Moor,” she grimaced in disgust, looking at the black face with a wide nose and fleshy lips. “Leo, you just have a talent for making friends!”

– What can you say about him? I calmly asked.

The girl put her sword back in place over the fireplace and shook her head.

“You were interested in vampires for a reason, dear?

"Don't tell me it's a vampire." Malefic from a vampire, I somehow distinguish.

"It's not a malefic," the girl protested. - His servant. Leo, your grandfather's saber came in very handy.

He took the first blow.

“That’s amazing,” Elizabeth-Mary grunted, kneeling down. She took the hand of the deceased with a wide cut across the palm and called me: - Leo, look!

I sat down and asked:

- For what exactly?

- On the palm.

I asked Theodore, pale as chalk, to bring a kerosene lamp, and only then did I see what it was that alerted the girl. The Moor's palm was covered with gray dashes of old tattoos. Intricate badges sprawled both on the back and on the inside; they began at the fingers and went under the cuff of a spacious sleeve.

“Egyptian writing,” I determined. – It looks ancient, they don’t write like that now.

- He is not so old, - objected Elizabeth-Mary and asked: - Theodore, a knife.

When the butler brought a sharp chef's blade from the kitchen, the girl ripped her sleeve from top to bottom with a confident movement and smiled smugly:

- I told you!

Strange tattoos adorned the arm and even crawled over to the collarbone, but there they were fresh and clearly distinguished by swollen and inflamed skin.

“Interesting,” I muttered, puzzled.

Leo, dear! Did you think you were unique? - the girl laughed, looking expressively at my own tattoos, and in several steps she cut off all the clothes from the decapitated Moor.

In addition to both hands, tattoos covered the area of ​​\u200b\u200bthe heart; then Elizabeth-Mary pulled herself up and turned the dead body from its stomach to its back. The spine was also marked with tattoos, they ended at the level of the chest and on the upper vertebrae seemed to have been applied not very long ago.

"Lucky the guard didn't come up to the neck," I shuddered.

“There are many ways to kill someone who considers himself invulnerable,” Elizabeth-Mary shrugged her shoulders, rose from her knees and suggested: “Leo, go to sleep.” We will put things in order ourselves.

“The last tattoos,” I didn’t budge. “How long ago do you think they were stuffed?”

“Yesterday or the day before,” the girl announced without the slightest hesitation. “On such creatures, everything heals in a matter of days.

I did not dispute this opinion, only nodded.

“I will need a piece of skin with new tattoos,” he warned the girl. “The old ones don’t hurt either.

Elizabeth-Mary looked expressively in response, but did not become interested in such a strange interest in the dead man's tattoos.

“I will,” she promised, covering her mouth with her hand and yawning. “And kindly imagine that I have insomnia. Mortals spend surprisingly much time sleeping. This is… irrational.

“But it’s nice,” I chuckled, took pistols from the coffee table and went to the carriage house.

Prickly goosebumps ran down my back, but not at all because of the cold, although I walked along the corridor in nothing but my underpants. I just always considered my house an impregnable fortress, but for two nights outsiders had been walking around the mansion.

It was frightening. Scared and angry.

I considered such an invasion a personal insult, a spit in the soul, an act much more humiliating than even kidnapping and electric shock torture.

I wanted revenge and was not going to wait for the dish to cool. The last tattoos of the Moor had already been done in New Babylon, so right in the morning I intended to go in search of the master who had rendered this service to the strangler.

But first I decided to prepare for new surprises. No, he didn’t screw fuses into hand grenades, instead he cleaned Madsen’s machine gun of grease and was not too lazy to fill ten horns for thirty rounds each. Then he equipped a few more magazines for self-loading rifles and loaded a couple of Mausers, but he did not take them with him and left them in a box on top of the rest of the pistols.

Weapons are not a panacea, but in the absence of other arguments, they will do. In the end, nothing will stop a vampire from sending ordinary thugs to my soul. In addition, one of the gang of illustrious people may turn up. It wasn't worth relaxing.

But thoughts about weapons and plans for revenge immediately flew out of my head, as soon as I went up to the bedroom. The leprechaun stood in front of a pencil portrait of Elisabeth-Maria von Naltz with a smoking cigarette in one hand and an open bottle of wine in the other, and clicked his tongue in puzzlement.

I froze on the threshold, then shook off my stupor and, laying out the pistols on the bedside table, said meaningfully:

- I wonder if a silver bullet will get through you?

The short man looked back unkindly, but moved away from the drawing. He climbed into a chair with his legs and blocked himself from me with a book. He didn't want to leave the bedroom.

I swore soundlessly, put out the gas jets lit by the leprechaun, and lay down on the bed.

Do not put your own imagination out the door? Rave…

Woke up at dawn. The room smelled unbearably of tobacco and fumes, an empty bottle lay on the floor, drips of wax stained the arm of the chair. The leprechaun disappeared: judging by the wide open front door, he went to spoil the nerves of Elizabeth Mary.

The incident at night seemed like a bad dream, but no, nothing happened; when he came down to the first floor, Theodore, with his sleeves rolled up, was still washing the parquet floor of the living room from the black blood. There was no more carpet in the room.

“A body on a glacier? I asked.

“On the glacier, viscount,” the butler confirmed, whose face had never returned color after the incident. From under the high, stand-up collar of his shirt, purple-black prints of the strangler's palms were visible.

- Damn it! I cursed. - We will soon have a whole cemetery in the basement!

“Two bodies are not so many,” Elizabeth Mary looked into the noise.

The leprechaun, who had slipped into the room after her, could not help laughing and even wiped the tears from his eyes with a dirty handkerchief.

- I see you found a common language? I chuckled.

The little man gently touched his swollen nose and muttered:

- Fuck...

“He grabbed my legs from under the bed,” the girl answered the unspoken question.

- I also fifa! - snorted the leprechaun, deftly jumped onto the windowsill and stared out the window. Apparently, my imaginary childhood friend no longer intended to hide from the rest.

Damn, well, the company has crept up!

Elizabeth Mary gave the little man an angry look, but did not cling to the words and asked:

“Will you have breakfast, Leo?”

“I’ll drink tea,” I decided, and reminded me: “What’s with the skin?”

“Do you doubt if I can skin people?” - the girl broke into a sweet smile, under which something extremely unpleasant was hidden. "Don't hesitate, Leo. I can.

I went into the kitchen, and there on the table were drying long strips of black human skin; with the skinning of prey, the succubus really did not have any difficulties. Appetite vanished.

“Choose, dear,” Elizabeth Mary allowed. - You have the best piece.

“Very funny,” I frowned, nervously took a sip of tea and asked to wrap the first rag that came across in a rag.

The girl complied with my request, then selected the two longest strips from the remaining strips and began to weave them together with such a calm look, as if she were engaged in ordinary macrame.

- What are you doing? I hurried.

“Your grandfather’s saber is good,” the girl smiled unkindly, “but I wouldn’t refuse a more reliable weapon either.” Some are easier to strangle than cut into pieces.

Does this skin have any special properties?

- Oh yeah! My advice to you - when your piece of the Moor is no longer needed, do not be too lazy to burn it.

I nodded, took a couple of honey cakes from the vase, and hurried out the door.

The image of a pretty girl created in my head turned out to be so convincing that watching how the graceful hands of this young creature braid strips of human skin into bundles turned out to be beyond my strength.

Shaking my head, I went up to the bedroom, but it was not possible to calmly drink tea. Elizabeth Mary followed me with a rag in one hand and a garrote in the other.

“Drinking alone is bad manners,” she remarked, looking around the leprechaun's mess. - You could have called me.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I replied, tying on my neckerchief.

- Have a drink with me?

“To separate you and the leprechaun.

The girl smiled and asked:

“You have no control over him at all?”

I didn't answer. He simply put the Roth-Steyr in a holster on his belt, put the Cerberus in his pocket and went to the exit.

Elizabeth Mary handed me a rag bundle and advised:

- You should shave.

“Definitely,” I said, and rubbed my stubble on my chin with my fingers, but I didn’t waste time putting myself in order.

He went down to the first floor, went out onto the porch, looked at the sky. Overhead, wisps of clouds were rapidly rushing, in the very near future they threatened to completely cover the sky, but so far there was no rain, only sharp gusts of a piercing wind swayed the tops of the trees.

It was fresh; too fresh for this time of year. The approaching bad weather was already felt without any storm warnings, but when the storm would break out - this evening, tomorrow or at the end of the week - it was completely incomprehensible. And therefore it was impossible to decide in any way what kind of clothes to go to the city.

Deciding not to plunge myself into new expenses, I returned to the house and changed into an old suit, pulled boots on my feet, and threw a canvas jacket on top. And only in part of the headdress remained true to himself and took a bowler hat from the shelf.

Elizabeth-Mary meticulously looked at me from all sides, but did not comment on my appearance in any way, she only asked:

“Will you be waiting for dinner, dear?”

"No, I'll be back in time for dinner," I replied, and went out the door, not without difficulty keeping the word "hope" out.

The last thing I wanted to do was burden myself with being overprotected by a succubus. In recent days, the infernal creature has been behaving completely wrong, and little by little the suspicion even began to creep in that the native of the underworld is influenced by the image of a close-minded red-haired beauty I created, but it was not worth deceiving yourself - only the agreement we concluded prevented the creature lurking inside Elizabeth Mary from tearing me to pieces.

First of all, I went to visit Ramon Miro.

Cautiously looking around, he went down from Kalvaria, caught a cab at Dürer Platz and ordered him to go to the coal depots.

Ramon's shift had not yet ended by this time, and he showed up in the gatehouse. The burly man leaned back in his chair and held a bundle of ice to his face, but at my appearance he threw it on the table and grimaced in annoyance. Or winced in pain?

I appreciated the large bruise under my friend's eye and his swollen nose, leaned against the door frame and shook my head:

- Stormy night?

The fort was silent.

- Who is it you so? I reformulated my question.

- Doesn't matter.

I hope this has nothing to do with our business? It wasn't our former colleagues who worked on you, were they?

“Not them,” Ramon said, and raising his right hand, showed me the shrunk knuckles.

This argument looked convincing enough, and I only clarified:

“They asked you where we went after Chinatown?”

- Yes, some red-haired bastard came. Detective Sergeant, I think.

- Did you come here?

- No, home. About the new place of work, you know, I did not spread.

- And what did you say to him?

- All as agreed.

“And you didn’t fight with him?”

Stop it, Leo! Ramon exploded. - Stop doing that! - He again took the wet sack, put it to his cheekbone and asked: - What about the reward?

I just chuckled in response.

- Everything is in order with the award, tell me better, what's wrong with your face?

Ramon sighed resignedly and confessed:

“I got two hundred for a fistfight.” The question is closed?

So you need money? I was surprised.

The burly man got up from the table, walked from corner to corner, drank water from a mug.

“My cousin, who has a workshop on Locksmith,” he sighed, “is going to buy the neighboring building. If I find six thousand before the end of the month, he will take me to share.

- Six thousand? I chuckled. - Oh well.

“I have a thousand already set aside,” Ramon said. “I’ll scrape together another five hundred somehow.” Three thousand from you, right? Nothing changed?

I opened my purse and pulled out my partner's previously set aside share. Defiantly counted the bills and handed the burly man.

- Great! Ramon brightened his face at once, raking up the money. - The Jews were not stingy?

“They are business people,” I shrugged my shoulders and remarked meaningfully: “So, it means that you have to find fifteen hundred?

“I’ll manage,” the burly man muttered.

- Until the end of the month? I doubted.

Ramon cursed in his hearts and asked:

Leo, what do you want from me?

- There is work for one or two days. I pay five hundred.

The friend clearly did not want to get involved in another adventure, and he asked without any interest:

- What is the work?

“As always, cover for me.

“Did you track down the Count?”

“No, I'm going to track down the strangler.

- Forget! Ramon exploded. - This freak will eat us with bones and not choke!

I unclipped the joint, brushed the dust from the cracked stool, sat down and uttered one word:

- Flamethrower.

- What? - the big man was taken aback.

“A flamethrower,” I repeated. - I have a flamethrower.

"And you're going to use it in the city?" Ramon twisted his finger at his temple. - Completely crazy?

“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. I killed one of these at home tonight without any flamethrower.

– At home? Ramon was taken aback.

“At home,” I said calmly. And I don't think he was the last. So it's in your best interest to help me burn down their nest. Few things come to mind.

- Devilishness! – the burly man swore and was silent for a long time. Then he clarified: “You pay five hundred and you have a flamethrower?”

Once upon a time, the fallen ones ruled this world, but people threw off their tyranny and created a mighty empire with colonies scattered all over the world. The power of the metropolis is stronger than ever, but its past is dark and its future is vague. Old secrets are capable of destroying everything that has been created over the years in an instant, because neither the armada of battleships nor airships loaded with bombs will save from betrayal.

The key to one of these secrets by inheritance and chance goes to Leopold Orso, a former detective police officer, and now a private detective. His radiant talent is able to revive fears, but he will not help to get out of the web of other people's intrigues. Loss threatens to turn into inevitable death, victory beckons with a ghostly chance to survive, painstakingly forgotten memories corrode the soul. But Leopold simply wanted to receive the inheritance due by birthright.

Where to buy the book "Heartless"

Reissues of the book "The Radiant":

"Siyatelny" was released in audio format by IDDC.

Read by Damir Mudarisov. The total playing time is more than 12 hours.

Additional materials for the book "Heartless":

"Heartless" is the second part of a two-volume book dedicated to the adventures of Leopold Orso, the illustrious one. Leopold is endowed with the gift of embodying the fears of other people, but this does not help him in the least to fight his own phobias, most of which originate in his childhood. The first book is called "Shining"

As an addition, you can read the interlude "Smoke, Lenses and Maxim's Patent Silencer". The action of the story takes place in the world of All-Good Electricity. There are no special spoilers in it, but it is better to read it after reading the Radiant / Heartless dilogy. A couple of old characters and one new one will light up. Just the story of one murder and something else.

Read! Electricity is stronger than magic!

Illustrations of the book "The Radiant":