Chapter 50 Storyline U.S. (Part 1)

Passing through Berlin, I traveled to the USA, the great land of opportunity. Or how do you say it? It doesn't matter. I spent a week in Berlin. I visited the Magic Quarter, which did not interest me at all, except for a room in a special hotel where I was allowed to perform a simple ritual.

 I melted down gold again and made myself a small pocket medallion. You open the lid, put your finger on it, the magic determines the owner and you use it. A standard set of charms is included: can't be seen, can't be stolen, can't be hacked.

I put the most valuable and dangerous books from Russia and a few other things in the medallion, freeing up space in my rings to buy beer and local food. I know it's strange, but I couldn't help but shop here, leaving a lot of "Japanese" money behind, even though I still had plenty of supplies.

When I asked the innkeeper who might be interested in seals/talismans/ammulets from Omyoji, I was immediately put in touch with a weasel and spent two days exorcising a dozen poltergeists in and around Berlin. I spent my mornings and afternoons reading the local press, and my evenings reading a book on the laws of magic and nature.

It turned out to be funny: for many years I studied something, and in the end it turned out that not only I didn't know how to do much, but also I didn't know much about magical customs. Many things turn out to be a revelation — as if I had not lived in the world of magic and sorcery all these years, and had not even guessed about many things.

Miyazaki has twisted everything in such a way, in such a twisted way, that you have to ask yourself: what did they want to achieve? The Book of Laws surprises me with every page: everything is very logical and sensible, understandable, but only from a certain point of view, otherwise a lot of things seem like nonsense and useless prejudices. Well, everything in the world of magic is strange, and you just have to accept it — it becomes easier that way.

Just before the flight, Ba-san found a book on the theory of magic concentrators in a shop, and a three-volume book "The Elegance of the Magic Wand" by Kurtz Holke VII. I was itching to read the laws and meditate on them, but I decided to do the rest first.

The airport of New York was filled with chaos and Brownian motion of sane people. Noise, noise, shocks, special and not, little curses of magicians and mate of simpletons. With the right paperwork, all the searches and checks passed the mind. I was driven to the hotel by a genie. You can imagine the Syrian genie, wish-fulfilling, immortal evil creature working as a taxi driver.

Fortunately, it didn't last long, because the car is enchanted, and this gnome literally oozed, crawled, or even jumped over uncomfortable parts of the road. I think the average city dweller would give a lot to ride in such a cab. So I decided to keep the map. Since I arrived in the evening, I ordered dinner in the room and went to bed.

***

The next day I was visited by a couple of local mages from the control service of something unpronounceable, and was escorted to their office where I had to check in myself and put the local control charms on my concentrator. When I asked, — What the hell? — they said it was the law here — everyone had control charms on their wands, rods, staffs, and rings, and newcomers were required to put them on. I wanted to make a joke about the staff and the wand, but looking into the pig's eyes of the official, who had a magic neck, not a neck — a jelly shivering in the wind and sweating all the time... in short, I made no joke. He said that he had no personal knowledge of the concentrator, that he had just begun to study, but that he had to leave his homeland.

There was trouble in my homeland, a war. I had to flee, not accepting violence in general, because I couldn't spoil my karma. I said I was in Russia, it was bad there, they were at war, so I went to look for a better life in a better country.

The official did not like the fact that he said "better" with a small letter, without breathing, but he nodded significantly: You are an unwise barbarian, you have not realized the greatness of the United States. But nothing, we will teach you to love OUR country!... and enrolled me in some strange courses.

Since I really considered the USA as one of my life options, I decided to familiarize myself thoroughly. For this reason, I did not immediately break into the magical neighborhoods, but first walked the streets of the city, visited shopping centers, cafes, recreational areas.

Here's what I noticed — the cult of the dollar. Here, everything can become a joke: looks, religion, even race, but if it's not about money. They don't like to joke about money here. When it comes to money, settlements, or anything else, many people have a kind of feverish look, as if they are about to have a seizure. We talk about bargaining only where there are signs, shields, stickers. In a jewelry store, I decided to inquire about the retail price of a medium-sized treated blue sapphire.

I don't want to tell you how much nerve it took me to put an end to the matter, I will only mention that this bastard kept trying to divorce me for something and then started threatening me with the police. It's good that we talked in a special office: I erased his memories of a big stone that should have a name (confused with the size of the stone, because I have and bigger) and made a correction.

I ended up exchanging small sapphires for not very large emeralds. There was a thought of taking them with me, but my intuition kicked in, and when I left the store, I saw a bunch of random mages on the corner pretending they weren't interested in me at all.

I went to the class with mixed feelings. There was not much interesting there, something similar to what I saw in one of the movies: You, barbarians, need to know that in the U.S., this is the only way, and no other. They explained the state of affairs in the magical part of the country, what citizens here have the right to and what they will never have.

Ideally, the magical world has the same system of government as the regular world. There's a president, his cabinet, a parliament, various services and bodies, adjusted to the size of the population. The systems of elections, taxes and so on are like two drops of water.

After explaining all this and making them learn it, they gave each of them a guide and sent them to the magical part of New York. I can partly understand them, because there were about twenty people in the class with me, and all of them were newcomers, with no hubs.

 Why they came here is unclear, because I think they had more authority in their villages and tribes than here. But I don't judge, because I am here myself. And I don't understand why I was assigned a man who was used to working with some "Lumumbas" who had never seen a television in their lives. It offended me. And then it made me laugh because he looks like a black sheep in a place like this.

And the place, the magical city behind the troll's barrier, surprised me. A break in the pattern: a world of magical creatures of all kinds, oddball "mutants" and mutants, skewed-curved-twisted buildings, mechanical devices of mechanized goblins and trolls, and some other nastiness. And against the backdrop of leather robes, bulky clogs, and the massive hammer of a troll blacksmith, a few mages stroll by. And so it is at every turn: magic, loud and bulky mechanics, steampunk! In the face of a purely American lifestyle.

All in all, after my first visit to the Magic City, I returned to the hotel with a square, empty head. The next few days I read the laws, understood them, visited the gym, and received letters from local authorities urging me to buy a concentrator. By nightfall on the third day, I realized what was scratching at my brain, and there was no way I could figure out what it was. Indians.

Hadn't met a single one the whole time. It's weird and interesting. And it's also time to start sorting out the possibility of posting here. So I started to sketch out a plan, but quickly realized that I needed someone local to help me get things done faster. With that in mind, I made my way to the magical city.

For about an hour, I just wandered around, looking at the eerie, chaotic mix of architecture. It's home to a huge variety of different magical creatures, most of which I know nothing about. In a way, they are all amazing, as each species has its own "twist", but the ones that surprised me the most were the Smyshlas.

 If you happen to be in a magical city and see a tall, multifaceted tower of light wood with many tiny windows, then be sure — you have found a Smyshlov. About the size of a grown man's palm, the color of dark amber, the shape of an arachnid. That is, the body of a spider, and on top of it a humanoid body of a mixture of lizard and beetle, with large intelligent eyes.

A facial resemblance adapted to anatomy. Six legs and four arms. Distinguished by this species' amazing gift for fine mechanics and jewelry making. I was attracted by the fact that on one of the tiers of their four-meter tower, in a kind of showcase, hung pocket chronometers.

Even in that life I dreamed of such a status thing, and I don't care that I wear an expensive Patek for a quarter of a million dollars on my arm! At the display case, a Smehle was working, melting some details with his white breath.

I liked the complicated helmet with a bunch of eyepieces that Smysh changed from time to time. But when he "spoke", I fell into a stupor. Simple merchant questions like "What do you want?" or "How can I help you?" sounded like a series of clicks and whistles to Smysh, but I understood them. I was brought out of my stupor by a troll under the bridge who had his workshop nearby.

Ghxortl was sitting on the porch, mastering some sort of gear block with a large steam-powered mechanical claw and thin tools in both hands, wearing a larger version of a helmet with switchable eyepieces.

 Here he explained to me that there are many magical creatures who speak in a similar way: they make special sounds, non-human, but thanks to magic they are understood by the rest of the gifted, for ordinary people this clicking remains just clicking.

 When I came to my senses, I bought a beautiful silver clock with music from Smyshl. And the troll told me where to find the right person. Fifteen minutes later, I walked through the doors of a small private company called Skillful Hands.