Irina Syromyatnikova - My Path to Magic

I entered Mihandrov’s office of NZAMIPS at half past nine as a civilized looking person. To be honest, I wanted to speak to the lieutenant, but the tiny room was already occupied by dark mages.

Gorchik sported a bruised face. If he had found such trouble in such a quiet town as Mihandrov in one day, he was a real combat mage! From Mrs. Parker (with whom we got along very well now), I knew that the incident occurred in the same local pub closing after the sunset. The visiting dark (with an exceptionally subtle body) quarreled with the owner, who had a surprisingly melancholic personality, and the former was thrown out to cool down outside. Gorchik was about to employ combat magic on the full-body brewer, but he was stopped by the other “cleaners” in time. I think the fear that they would have to stay sober until the end of the trip if the brewer was hurt stimulated them much more than the prospect of the shackles of deliverance on their mate. Now, a bitter wrinkle lay above the brow of the unfortunate magician; he was figuring out a way of getting into the pub again without losing his dignity.

There were not enough chairs, so Lieutenant Clarence was standing—not a very advantageous position psychologically. I carefully removed the flower pots from the windowsill and motioned him to sit beside me.

“Okay,” the sergeant fidgeted, trying to settle comfortably on a hard office chair, “let’s introduce each other.”

I secretly poked the lieutenant with a finger and waited for a continuation. The “cleaner” did not notice the purposeful pause and introduced himself first: “Master Sergeant Otto Claymore, my assistants—Philip Gorchik, Keane Rispin, of the Rapid Response Team, Polisant Regional Office.”

“Aren’t you from Artrom?” I clarified. It was important.

“Civilian mages are in Artrom, but we’re from Polisant,” Gorchik grinned contentedly.

Obviously, it was some local twist, but their regional coordinator was still Axel.

“Thomas Tangor,” I humbly introduced myself, “an out-of-staff employee.”

“What’s that?” the sergeant did not understand.

“It means I work two days a month.”

The “cleaners” stayed silent for a while, trying to comprehend such blatant injustice.

“Clever,” the master sergeant commented, “I hope what we saw was not an example of your work?”

I shrugged and didn’t stoop to meaningless excuses: he grasped the situation without my help, and I let him leave his gibes to himself. Sergeant Claymore finally started feeling tension and sat down a bit straighter. “I understand the case could be closed now.”

It was very typical: they had just arrived and already intended to leave. And they would leave, if we gave them at least half a chance to throw their work on the other people’s shoulders.

“Have you already found all the missing people?”

“Finding the corpses is just a matter of time. The combat group isn’t needed for that.”

“Excuse me, how has your assignment been formulated?”

“Never mind. We have expelled the otherworldly.”

“What does the supernatural have to do with it? I don’t care about the supernatural. You will be accountable for the artisans, not for the supernatural.”

“Are you being rude?”

“Yes!”

Sergeant Claymore got behind Clarence’s desk quite voluntarily; now, the same desk restricted him from coming and taking me by the shirt. Also, I was sitting in such a way that all three “cleaners” were before me, and the door was right beside me. It wasn’t very conducive to the development of a conflict; however, the sergeant tried. He got up, and I did too. He defiantly stared at me; in return he got exactly the same challenging look from me. We were of the same height, and that greatly simplified the matter.

What happened further concerned only the dark; we disputed the question of whose will was primary—whose was poised to cause the enemy more problems and to make it through to the end. Strictly speaking, the majority of the dark are interested in just that, not in the nonsense about the law and the order. The sergeant saw the white lieutenant and, obviously, thought that the latter wouldn’t be able to reprove him. He decided that they had done enough. But now Mihandrov was my town, and for my own territory I would tear anyone to pieces. Gorchik restlessly fidgeted in his chair, but I was confident that I could awaken my Source more quickly than he his. Do not tell me about arrogance! That kid did not see anything worse than the witch’s baldness , but I had overcome three mature ghoul s! I would even set my zombie-dog on them. There were eight corpses—and there would be eleven.

And Claymore faltered. He did not want to challenge his scope of duty, but to retreat in front of his subordinates meant to lose his indisputable authority. It would be bad for the discipline. Evidently, the sergeant was looking for a way out of the conflict. His posture and body language—one shoulder slightly forward, as if taking a bow, head low, gaze on the enemy, but askance. Okay, sergeant! I closed my eyelids, breaking resistance, and Claymore immediately took advantage of me. “Hey, kid, relax! We will find that scum, clean up the neighborhood, and then will do what our superiors will order. We are soldiers.”

I nodded, accepting the new terms. The sergeant was absolutely right; they didn’t have a reason to go against the order. Hence, we would continue working together; I had a lot of interesting ideas in this regard.

The “cleaners” dragged themselves in single file to the door, looking at me warily. I poked Clarence with a finger again. I hoped he would not apologize! That would spoil the whole disposition—as long as they considered themselves on foreign soil, they would not be tempted to do a shitty job.

“Keep quiet, take your seat,” I whispered to the lieutenant as soon as the door closed behind Rispin.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, while I pondered whether Gorchik had eavesdropped on us. Maybe I should check it out? My conflicts with the other darks had never reached that stage before, and the encounter with Mr. Satal was lost from the start.

The lieutenant broke the silence first: “That was outrageous!”

“What was outrageous?” I did not understand.

“All of that!”

“That they wanted you to sign the claims rejection?” I guessed.

“Exactly!”

The poor fellow felt abused.

“Hey Rudy, have you had any dark among your acquaintances?”

He shrugged uncertainly.

“I see. Remember (better write it down): the first thing a dark magician does when he receives an assignment is an attempt to get rid of it. To frighten him or appeal to his sense of duty would be useless, but to indicate the possible consequences of underperformance with an emphasis on personal responsibility is a must.”

The lieutenant frowned. What a naive kid!

“Do not look at me. I grew up among the white; consider me a cripple. The real dark behaves exactly the way I described. Judge for yourself: why would they want to clear up mess that wasn’t their fault?”

“But… what can we do now?”

“Let’s follow the plan as before; now you know why the plan was like that. Your senior coordinator remains our goal, so look out for journalists. Ask the directrix of the school for help; she seems to be smart. And forget about these guys: as long as they know they are being watched, they will do their job in the best possible way. Do not flirt with them, or they will instantly make you do their job.”

Poor old Clarence rubbed his eyes in confusion, trying to make his brain understand my logic. I think the white are unable to grasp the subtleties of the dark character, though empaths seem to cope with that somehow.