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21

True, for me this potion would be useful. In the light of the circumstances, only it, perhaps, is able to help restore the favor of Nais. No, why am I kidding myself? Not capable. So, you have to try yourself. If only I could find the strength to do so...

“It’s a shame to know that your old acquaintance, one might say, a fellow student and almost a friend, doesn’t value your mental abilities,” I drawled with deliberate chagrin, driving away annoying thoughts.

“Ah, already “almost a friend”? Alden asked caustically. “A couple more minutes and what will I become?”

“Don't hope,” I shook my head, and we laughed.

A joke understood by a few, including me, Ollie, Vig, Callas and a few other important people, no one is included.

With my lifestyle and my options, I could have an endless number of girls for entertainment, since the spouse refuses intimacy. Could. However…

Just imagine how unpleasant it is at the very peak of pleasure to fall into the pool of other people's "memorable sketches" ... I remember when this happened to me for the first time, for a very long time I could not go back and figure out which of the sensations belong to me, and which should be faster get out of my head once and for all. Not to mention the unnecessary degree of detail and brilliance of these very sensations! Suffice it to say one thing: who would be pleased to touch a woman, feeling with every hair on her body how she moaned under another, no, even under others? And how she lied to each of them that his caresses were the hottest and most delicious. And how then, slipping off the sheets damp with sweat, she tiredly poured water from a jug to wash away the memory of the sticky embrace of a hated lover ... That short time, while I was trying to find a way to cope with this problem, I was tormented by an everlasting fear: to meet the same woman again and see myself through her eyes. He still torments me. Therefore, I have only one mistress. Of those who are simply not accepted to refuse. But, since our relationship exists only for me and her, most people around me think that I am not interested in women. Which certainly causes jokes of a certain kind in persons who are not burdened with the mind. You might think that intimacy with a man in this sense would be something significantly different for me from intimacy with a woman! Kaasra are hornless. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it. But, since our relationship exists only for me and her, most people around me think that I am not interested in women. Which certainly causes jokes of a certain kind in persons who are not burdened with the mind. You might think that intimacy with a man in this sense would be something significantly different for me from intimacy with a woman! Kaasra are hornless. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it. But, since our relationship exists only for me and her, most people around me think that I am not interested in women. Which certainly causes jokes of a certain kind in persons who are not burdened with the mind. You might think that intimacy with a man in this sense would be something significantly different for me from intimacy with a woman! Kaasra are hornless. Ugh, I don't even want to think about it.

In addition, I did not appreciate all the charm of the current situation in time and did not play along with those who were especially stubborn in delusions, and the result of my oversight became truly deplorable: the ladies of the court decided that my lost soul could still be saved, and vying rushed to save. At first it gave me perverse pleasure, but after a few years, nothing but tired indulgence caused me. However, the ladies did not lose hope to return me "to the path of righteousness" ...

“Anyway, regarding the report,” I reminded him, laughing.

- And what happened to him? Alden widened his eyes.

- He is not.

- What are you talking about!

- I have a question. Serious. Are you able to listen to me?

Short submissive exhalation:

- Speak.

“Can you establish the fact of casting spells?”

- In general, yes.

- And in private?

"Well…" Ollie considered. - This is not my path. I never intended to be a "hound", and I have no talent for this.

“So you can’t tell me if magic was performed within the walls of this house?”

Why, I can. Maybe.

I need an exact answer.

The mage's brown eyes were frozen like puddles caught in frost, as they always are when he is alarmed.

- What happened?

— Fire.

“That I know. What else?

“That's enough, don't you think?

Alden straightened up, lifting his back from the chair.

- Raiden, tell me straight: what do you need?

- You did the "exhaust", remember?

- Well, yes.

“Can you feel her residual traces now?”

A quarter of a minute of stupor ends with an affirmative nod.

- Do you feel good?

- Completely. You know, unspent moisture hangs in the air for some time and...

- I know. Then remind me something else: if before you someone else made the "hood", the moisture that he did not use up would take part in your experiments?

Alden twitched his chin, considering his options.

- Not.

- Sure?

- I swear.

“So it would have been preserved in a bound state?”

— Of course.

“Now tell me, my friend Ollie: after all, all magicians have a different handwriting, right?

- What do you mean?

“I tearfully ask you: strain your convolutions or whatever else you have, and tell me, do you feel moisture in the air currents that is not bound by you? ”

This time, the redhead took a little longer, because it was necessary to weed out the scraps of his own spells from those of others, but when the process was completed, Alden turned pale in fear.

- As I understand it, the result confirmed my fears?

- How did you know? Really...

No, I couldn't sniff it out. But sometimes a simple addition of facts is enough to find out the truth. Arson was committed.

- But why?

I would also be interested in knowing the reason. Moreover, the place was chosen strange: there was nothing of value in the Old Wing. Except…

The magician noticed my doubt and clarified:

- Except?

- Traces of fire indicate that the arson was carried out solely to destroy the painting.

- Paintings?

- Yes. Portrait in an alcove. Do you remember him?

From his confused look, one could understand that Ollie paid little attention to paintings.

“It’s a pity… In any case, it’s not possible to restore it.

— Is there a description of it in the archive? the magician inquired cautiously, which aroused my sincere admiration.

- Clever! Let's see.

The contents of one of the shelves of the closet turned out on the table did not immediately show our eyes the necessary notebook, but it did not particularly persist: in less than five minutes, we bent over the desired page and read in unison:

- “Portrait of a woman by an unknown painter. Dimensions: three by two feet. The frame is made from…

Alden and I looked at each other and sank back into our chairs dejectedly.

Female portrait. Amazing information! No name for you, no other hint of a person who has been honored to be captured on the canvas. And from what end now take on the investigation? I already wanted to say from what, but at that moment Seppin leaked sideways through the office door, dragging something that looked like a box under his arm.

That is what it turned out to be. Or rather, a box. Antique, judging by the cracked in all places and peeling varnish. Unpretentious: no decorative carvings, no inlays.

- Where did you take it?

- Yes, right there, dan Caretaker, I removed the panels behind the portrait, I look: the door. Also burnt. I pulled on it and it opened.

"The hiding place," Alden nodded.

“Something like that,” agreed the woodworker. - And there was a box. Wholesome. The fire didn't reach her.

Thanks, Seppin. Can you open?

- Yes, in no time, dan Overseer!

The dexterous fingers of the master instantly picked up the knife with which the lock was opened. True, before that, Ollie assured me that there was no magic either outside or inside, and our actions would not damage the contents.

And when the lid of the box leaned back, I saw what one would expect. Several thick-yellow sheets of parchment, lovingly straightened by someone and, for reliability, pressed diagonally in the corners by two massive earrings. Black agates in silver, darkened by time. Beautiful, but sinister, even though the design of the frame uses floral motifs. Women's earrings. But whose hand belongs to the lines of letters with bizarre curls?

I pushed the jewelry aside and picked up a letter from the past.

"Raiden, my dear friend!"

Is it addressed to me? Impossible. It must have meant my ancestor, also Raiden, the first of ... But then this letter is about four hundred years old. And the mascara hardly faded. The ancestors knew how to do ...

“How sad it is to realize that state concerns are taking up more and more of your time! I set out to ask you for a meeting, but, having learned how many things require your participation, I was ashamed of my own insolence and therefore I trust the pen with what I wanted and had to inform you personally ... I am in love, my friend. Not for the first time in love, but this feeling has only now become immeasurably dear to me. She is a miracle! The first of the wonders of the sublunar world. And she deigned to answer my proposal with consent ... I am happy, my friend, and I want to share my happiness with the second closest person to me - with you. My beloved ... No, I will not waste time and ink in vain: better see for yourself how good my love is. Even if my fingers are not as dexterous as in my youth, I assure you: the resemblance is undeniable! And remember, without your presence, the wedding,

Without a signature. However, that Raiden probably knew from whom he received the message. What's next? Oh, the inhabitant of the past, unknown to me, scolded his fingers in vain: it was drawn with talent. Very talented, as far as I can tell from my knowledge of painting. Stingy, but accurate sketches. Indeed, she was good.

Long neck. A slightly elongated shape of the skull, but without unpleasant distortions of facial features. The nose is small, short and perfectly straight. The chin is triangular and limply gone back, but for some reason giving a childishly innocent face a strange, mysteriously frightening look. The clavicle bones are gracefully curved. On the lower back, a scattering of moles, similar to a fragment of a thin belt ... Hey, wow! How close were you to this artist, dear great-grandfather, if you received such piquant images? Hmm… The figurine is nice, but too dry. Boyish. However, Nais also cannot boast of feminine forms, but this does not prevent me from loving her, so why condemn the tastes of another? Moreover, this “other” has long since passed away in the world.

I folded the sheets of parchment and put them back in the box. Alden pursed his lip in displeasure: did you expect, bastard, that I would let him get acquainted with the personal correspondence of my ancestor? No.

If my conclusions are correct, then the burnt painting most likely depicted the lady in question. Nameless. Hhag take it! How the ancestors adored mystery! True, if they already knew each other by heart, why once again vainly mention names dear to the heart?

After getting Ollie to help Seppin lay out on paper the requirements for the materials needed to restore the interior of the Old Wing, I went down into the alcove to the place where the portrait had previously hung, and now the sooty door of the hiding place was visible.

Why was it set up? Why exactly here? What was the purpose of the painting? Should she remember? But about what? Perhaps that Raiden simply wanted to remember the happiness and love of his close friend from time to time, and only because of that he admired the pretty woman's face. Yes, it's quite possible. But who needed to destroy this evidence of old passions? I wouldn't be surprised if the arson was the work of my fools, but they're not involved in the crime. If only because they couldn't get flasks of hichi oil or dry the oak panels in the hallway. Who is...

“She still got her way,” mumbled an old woman’s voice next to me.

Ghost, be it wrong! She always manages to sneak up in her felt slippers right under her ear, and then she says something meaningful, but completely incomprehensible, and it is not known what is worse: to jump in surprise, just hearing her words, or to freeze like a pillar, trying to understand what exactly she wanted to say.

Short, withered from time to time, she was once considered one of the first beauties of Antreya, but I judge this from the stories of her father, who, however, himself found her already in the period of withering. No one except herself knew how many years daneke Ritis had lived in the world, but it was just as impossible to get a clear answer from the old woman as to force her to follow the rules adopted in the shelter.

I probably should have been stricter with a lady who loves to hide in all the dark nooks and crannies, cough at night in the corridor and start lengthy conversations at the very moment when I urgently need to go to work. Maybe. But I didn't have the heart. Yes, it wasn't enough! With all the quarrelsomeness and importunity, the Ghost was inexplicably touching with every line of her behavior. Like a child. And offending the old woman for me was like hurting, say, Lelia. Therefore, I gritted my teeth, but listened to complaints about non-existent inconveniences and solemnly promised to "fix everything." After such promises daneke Ritis calmed down and departed for her bedchamber. Best case scenario. At worst, she trotted after me to the very gates of the shelter, flooding with requests to convey the warmest wishes and inquire about the health of her acquaintances, who, as far as I knew, died safely before I was born. She did not go out of the gate, like other fools. I just couldn't. And not at all because of spells or guards: neither one nor the other was, and was not required. The victims of the "water madness" were kept in the shelter by their own fear. Fear of going completely insane.

This piece of land was assigned to the use of the Ra-Gro family for a reason. The spring, which regularly replenished the stone bowl in the park, made its way out of a water lens in which particles of a rock were dissolved, similar to that which gave the dangerous properties of Lavuola, but which had one significant difference. If the water from the Rinnever spurs made people go crazy, then the jets of this source forced the madness to stop. Do not leave at all, but stay waiting at the threshold. The question is why this source could not be used by all the other inhabitants of the city, if it allowed them to remain sane? Yes, because everything in the world has a limit.

This water really could stop the course of the disease, but if and only if, when it is taken inside, the patient will be charmed. By whom? Me, of course. The action is long and demanding, but bearing fruit. True, after it, the charmed must remain within the influence of the water lens, otherwise everything will go down the drain. And so it turned out that only fools used the miraculous properties of the source, who, once plunged into the pool of madness and emerged from there with my (and my ancestors') help, would not agree to leave the shelter for any benefits ...

- Who is she?

The old woman looked up at me with a transparent look.

— Enchantress.

Nice, but vague.

Did you know her, grandma?

Having already asked, I understand that the question is posed stupidly: how can a Ghost know a lady who lived several centuries ago?

But daneke Ritis did not notice my oversight, singing:

Beautiful and dangerous...

— Dangerous? With what?

- What he owns.

It's clear. The usual game of “I don’t know what and where” begins.

“Grandma, can you tell me her name?”

- Ask her yourself.

“I would love to, but… Where can I find it?”

- She will come. Herself. As she came the other day. And the black fire will devour everyone.

Having bestowed upon me this prophecy, the Ghost turned and, hunched over exhaustedly, wandered away, leaving me feeling upset, like a lute in the hands of an inept musician.

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