Chapter 4

Brennon gazed wearily at the oily, muddy waters of the canal and wondered how much Valentina was offended. He left with Longsdale in the morning and disappeared until late in the evening. What should she think about if not that even on a honeymoon her husband is unable to concentrate only on his wife?

Nathan repented, but could not do anything: interrogations of the staff and pupils of the orphanage dragged on for long hours. Fortunately, the cardinal quickly grasped what the essence was, and actively, even happily, got down to work. Longsdale then joined them as he finished scanning the rooms. The Commissar promised himself that in the morning he would take Valentina to the south - as soon as he discussed all the results with the consultant.

The bell on the large, beautiful cathedral has struck eleven times. Brannon breathed in the damp air. While they were at the orphanage, the weather in the city improved, the rain stopped, and the evening was pleasantly cool. Stars twinkled in the clear dark blue sky, and a narrow crescent moon floated. It was hard to believe that the undead were splashing in the quiet channels.

"Where do you bury the dead?" Nathan asked the Cardinal as their boats drew level.

"There are several cemeteries on the bank of Ilara. The land on the Farenza Islands is too expensive and not much to spend on burials."

"That's why," Longsdale sighed, "our sorcerer is forced to make undead from the inhabitants of the city. This makes my task very difficult. There are no traces on the flowing water."

Brannon only chuckled at this naivety:

"This magician eats something, lives somewhere and somehow moves around the city. Person always leaves traces. In the morning, with a fresh head, I will work with the interrogation records. Something will certainly come up."

Lights burned on the prows of the gondolas, and golden circles floated in the water in front of them. In some places, glare from lanterns and glowing windows fell on the waves, but in the darkness Farenza still seemed like a ghostly picture from a dream, and not a real city.

"Do you think Signor Urquiola is alive?" Savarelli asked. Longsdale nodded.

"I saw myself that you can't kill a consultant," Brennon replied. "But a high-quality blow with a brick on the crown of the head affects him in the same way as an ordinary person."

The hound snorted derisively, and Longsdale hastily added:

"However, even if you entangle Urquiola with charms or drug him with potions, he will quickly come to his senses. The kidnapper will either have to keep him unconscious all the time, or constantly use quite powerful magic that leaves traces."

"I think in a couple of days Urquiola will safely escape and appear on the threshold of his house," the commissar said. "But the more efforts we put in now, the easier it will be for us..."

Both boats disappeared under a massive bridge, and at the same moment something crashed into them with such force that the wood crackled, and the cardinal's rower almost fell into the water. The gondolas danced convulsively on the waves. Brannon clutched the sides with his hands, desperately regretting the lack of a revolver. A whitish humanoid creature burst out of the canal in a cloud of spray. Fang jumped from the spot onto the creature, turning into a flaming comet on the fly. They collapsed into the water, and thick steam rose into the air, in which Nathan could barely make out two more beasts.

"Ensis in ignis!" Savarelli roared. A flaming blade swept to the left of his gondola, slashed at the nearest undead and swirled around it, slicing off chunks of flesh. Marabbekka, screeching, darted under the pillars of the bridge. The cardinal's rower, showing an amazing presence of mind, struck the third creature with an oar and shouted a prayer to the Virgin Mary. The former pupil of the orphanage dived into the canal and a second later she forcefully slammed into the bottom of the boat. Water gushed into the gondola under the cracking of the boards.

"Volare nobis!" the cardinal croaked, grabbed the oarsman into an armful, ascended above the wreckage of the boat and white hands, which eagerly reaching out of the water.

Longsdale riskily leaned over the side, grabbed the undead by the arm and hissed something in Elladian. The creature's hand twitched; the consultant pulled her out of the water. When the head appeared on the surface, he pressed his hand to her forehead and exhaled another spell. The marabbekka's face quivered like jelly, turned into the face of a 12-14 year old girl, and Longsdale released her hand. The body swayed on the waves, rapidly decaying, until finally the waves washed away the dust.

Savarelli soared onto the bridge and landed there with the rower. The hound emerged from the depths of the canal, waved its wet tail at Brennon, and swam resolutely towards the bridge. The Commissar looked for the last undead, but found neither her nor the flaming blade.

"Three more are finished," the consultant said. "There are three left. If their victims didn't turn either. However, marabbekki need to eat something, so..."

The commissar silently took up the oar and rowed a boat to the pier by the bridge. He did not want to linger in the water for a single extra minute - especially on this fragile vessel that passes water. Savarelli was already waiting for them and gave Nathan his hand, helping him to get out onto the stone embankment of the canal.

"So, look, but do not use?" Brennon chuckled. His Eminence stared back at him innocently and asked insinuatingly:

"And why didn't you use anything?"

"Because I don't know spells."

Savarelli's eyes went out to his forehead.

"Are you a suicide or what?!"

"Well, more precisely, I know two," the commissar muttered. "Lumiya and scutum. They wouldn't help here. Damn it! The suspects have tried to kill me before, but not so quickly! Nimble guys, huh?"

The cardinal pushed his jaw forward and began to look less like a clergyman than a criminal.

"So we hit the right track! I'm sure the warlock has an accomplice in the orphanage... Mother Agnes!" Savarelli growled. The damp Eminence lost in greatness, but gained in formidable severity. "I will call her to us and interrogate!"

"Wait with sudden movements," the commissar cooled his ardor. "I'm sure… what did you call him?.. the warlock already knows that the assassination attempt failed. Therefore, we first need to quickly get to a safe place, and not by water. Longsdale, do you have any trick?

The hound stood with its paws on the parapet of the bridge and looked at the boat. Then to a consultant. Longsdale stretched out his hand to the boat, whispered something melodiously, and the battered little boat rose into the air. Fang scrabbled enthusiastically with its paws on the parapet - it seems that the hound liked flying as much as Nathan did.

"That's the talk!" the commissar thought with satisfaction, getting over from the bridge into the boat. "Much better than splashing around in the water like dumplings in a pot!"

11th October

Nathan, lying in bed, watched Valentina try on hats, and was tormented by remorse. Yesterday, his wife did not reproach him with a single word, although he returned God knows what time and pretty soaked after a skirmish with the undead. Of course, Vivene felt that he was in danger, but still... he had promised her that they would go on vacation!

"Sorry," Brannon said finally. "We're leaving tonight.

"Oh, you don't have to worry," Valentina said and took out a hat from a white straw. "I don't mind staying here for a few more days. I haven't been to Farenza for a very long time and I even missed it. The city has changed so much in the last… last…" She frowned slightly, clearly trying to remember how many centuries had passed.

"But we're on our honeymoon," the Commissar muttered unhappily. "I must not disappear for a day, but pay all my attention to you!"

"But you pay. Last night and this morning, twice," Vivene said serenely and tied blue ribbons under her chin. Nathan coughed: apparently, she somehow beneficially influenced him... in every sense.

"Besides, we need to buy souvenirs and gifts, and you don't like shops. Anyway," she turned to Brannon; her eyes sparkled with curiosity, "I was always interested in how you do it."

"Do what?"

"Investigate. I can take part too! Do you want me to ask the townspeople about something? Maybe someone saw or noticed something?"

"Eh... well..." actually, the idea was not bad, Nathan himself would not have coped with it - he had a whole stack of testimonies on his table, which still needed to be taken apart and read. "If it's not difficult for you, of course."

"Okay. I'll be back in time for lunch. Breakfast is downstairs, I left it to warm up."

Valentina kissed him and flew away, surprisingly cheerful for a woman, whose husband, instead of a honeymoon, took her to the city, where either the undead are rampant, or another warlock.

At breakfast, Longsdale gave Brennon what Savarelli had promised to get them - a police report and documents about the monastery orphanage. Nathan was amazed at how quickly the cardinal got everything they needed. After breakfast, the Commissar and the consultant went to their rooms - Lonsgdale and the witch intended to study the samples collected at the orphanage, and Brennon sat down to documents and interrogation records.

Hours passed in intense, fruitful work. Finally, the Commissar realized that the mirror in his and Valentina's bedroom had been making strange sounds for the past half hour. Warily looking into the room, Brannon saw in the mirror of the dressing table an angry and gloomy, like a cloud, Redfern, who immediately gave vent to a bad temper:

"Why the hell are you sticking out there like a cuckoo in a clock?! Are you deaf and dumb? I call, call - and I can't shout for you for half an hour! Do you at least..."

"Shush," the commissar sternly cut him off. "I was busy. Worked."

"And the rest?" the pyromaniac muttered, having cooled down a little.

"Also, you know, they are busy with business. I can call them."

"I'll switch to the mirror in Urquiola's office. I tried to contact through it at first, but your damn Longsdale disappeared into the laboratory with the hound and the witch."

Or he is just sensibly ignoring you, Brannon thought as he walked down to the office. It was equipped next to the laboratory, and therefore they soon gathered at a table in front of a mirror, in which Redfern's office could be seen, the pyromaniac himself and, of course, Margaret. The hound, however, remained outside the door. Nathan wrinkled his forehead - something connected with his niece was spinning in his memory, but what?..

"Did you find out anything?" Angel asked impatiently.

"Well, after a series of interrogations and a search in the orphanage, we found important evidence..." the Commissar began.

"Already?!" Redfern exclaimed, there was such a look of surprise on his face that Brannon felt flattered.

"Yeah. But our main evidence boils down to the fact that since we were attacked, as soon as we left this divine abode, it means that we are digging in the right direction."

"Who attacked? Uncle, are you safe?" Margaret asked sharply. Brannon briefly described the incident yesterday. Redfern listened, pursing his lips in displeasure, and then declared:

"And why, one wonders, did I give you a whole suitcase with everything you need for self-defense? Do you think that it is beneath your dignity to defend yourself?"

"Actually, I went on vacation with my wife..."

"Margaret will pick up your suitcase tomorrow when she visits her family, and we will forward it to you."

"But what did you find in the orphanage if they immediately tried to kill you?" Margaret asked. Longsdale nodded to the Commissar, who rustled his interrogation notes.

"To begin with, Mother Agnes, the headmaster of the orphanage and monastery, behaved rather suspiciously during interrogation. She managed to train all the nuns and pupils to certain answers, which the local police heard from them. The locals did not want to delve into the problem."

"As usual," Angel hissed venomously. "Moreover, we are talking about some orphans from the street, which no one will miss."

"Exactly. The victims are perfectly chosen. However, fifty-three nuns and forty-eight girls live in the monastery. It is impossible to make them all learn everything in detail in a couple of days, so the abbess did not have time to prepare them for a more detailed interrogation. So, for starters, Sister Benedica on the night of the murder heard the sounds of dripping water in the girls' rooms. By the way, she is a little feeble-minded, and I think that Sister Anna asked her to change duty with her for a reason. During interrogation, she referred to an attack of rheumatism, but she looked confused."

"Of course," the witch chuckled. "Who would listen to a feeble-minded nun? Although, in general, feeble-minded and crazy people sense and see such things much better than others. Only usually no one believes them."

"I'm sure that Mother Agnes had a hand in the change of the nun on duty. She claims that she spent the whole night before the incident in her room, but several nuns admitted that they knocked on her cell, but no one answered them. The women were awakened by a strange, very intense feeling of anxiety. One of them even said that she would have run away from the monastery if it had not been for the locked gate."

Angel frowned. Apparently, something didn't work out for him either, but he was silent for now, only exchanged a glance with Margaret. The girl rustled some papers behind the back of his chair.

"The cook discovered the next morning that all the water in the kitchen was covered with duckweed, the food had rotted, and the pupils in the rooms above and below were complaining about the unbearable smell of mold and the scalding cold that came around eleven o'clock at night. And finally, none of the nuns saw corpses that should have floated around the orphanage in the amount of nine pieces. The current in the Grand Canal is too weak to carry the bodies away in less than an hour. The last thing I want to draw your attention to is that the story they presented to the local police is verified almost minute by minute. This cannot happen when more than a hundred women are rushing around in a closed space in hysterics. And it also cannot be that one hundred and one witnesses describe all the events in exactly the same way."

"I examined the site and took samples," Longsdale said when the Commissar had finished. "Now we are working with them, but something is already clear. Firstly, there are no traces of the summoning of evil spirits or undead inside the rooms. Whatever penetrated into the girls' rooms, it came from outside."

"But secondly," Jen intervened, "there is a church in the monastery, so I can't even go to the gate. In theory, the undead couldn't go inside. But the evil spirits could. They may well crawl to the victims, especially if they are called and shown the way."

"All traces of decay that I found in the orphanage," the consultant continued gloomily, "of an unnatural nature. They spread around a specific area." He showed Redfern the plan for the orphanage, where all the rooms above and below the rooms of the dead girls were circled in red, including the kitchen and attic.

"There's a kitchen in the basement where the cook found rotten food," Jen said. "The nuns, who were tormented by anxiety, slept in the rooms above the rooms of the dead girls. They take turns sleeping there."

"This indicates a targeted impact," Longsdale said. "If the evil spirits had entered the orphanage on their own initiative, they would have mowed down every single woman, and there would have been decay throughout the entire territory."

"So someone controlled the evil spirits," Brannon remarked with some surprise. "But is it possible? I mean, the ifrit I saw didn't seem like a submissive lamb to me."

"In addition to ifrit, there are other evil spirits, smaller in caliber," Angel replied. Margaret brought him books with many bookmarks. "We also tried to at least roughly estimate what kind of ritual with nine victims our warlock performed. But, as you can see, there were too many options."

"But now we can at least discard the most inappropriate ones," the girl added. "But I am still confused by the panic that Signor Urquiola raised because of this. He's a consultant. For him, there should be nothing unusual in all this."

"Judging by the fact that he disappeared," the commissar remarked sourly, "he was not panicking in vain. But for what reason - we still do not know."

"We searched the entire house as soon as we arrived," Longsdale said. "We used several spells to find out where Urquiola disappeared. So far, all in vain."

"Nonetheless, the work done is quite impressive," Redfern said contentedly. "Continue in the same spirit and you will cope with the case in a week."

"There's nothing impressive about this work," the commissar grumbled, who didn't share the pyromaniac's optimism. "You would get exactly the same result if the local police conducted a normal interrogation."

"The Ilarian police will not be interested in the deaths of beggar orphans," Angel snorted. "This is not Riada, where after the murder of the maid the whole police search high and low all the city."

"That's not the point," Brannon grimaced. "Why did Urquiola panic so much that he called other consultants to Farenza? Killing a marabbekki is pretty easy, I've seen it myself. Finding out which of the townspeople indulges in black magic is also not a problem for a consultant. Then what scared him so?"

No one could find the answer. Redfern fiddled with books in annoyance - this guy was used to being the smartest in the room, or at least the most knowledgeable. Longsdale drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the table. There was a soft knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Angel asked sharply. The door opened and Valentina entered the office.

"I hope I'm not in the way?" She asked. "Can I join?.."

"Sure!" the pyromaniac responded with ardor, and the Commissar did not like at all how he stared at Valentina. As if he was sure that she was the best way to solve the problem.

"In general, I think we should split up," Brennon summed up. "While Longsdale and Jen are working on all sorts of witchcraft stuff, I'll go looking for people. Even a warlock leaves traces. He's not a disembodied spirit, damn him! Someone must have noticed something."

"There are rumors in town about what happened," Vivene said, taking the chair farthest from Longsdale. "However, nothing magical. The townspeople are sure that the reasons are the most ordinary – for example, the hunger with which the girls are starved in the orphanage."

"They have a lot of strange rules here," Nathan muttered and suddenly remembered: "By the way, have you tried the same spell that you used to find out if Father Grace is alive?"

"We tried," the consultant sighed, "but it works very badly for us. We got three different results - that Urquiola is alive, dead and in a borderline state."

"This is not surprising," Valentina said. "This enchantment is for humans, not for twofold essence."

"For which?" Margaret exclaimed in surprise. Angel bit his lip, and Nathan immediately realized that he had not told the girl about this feature.

"Twofold, child. Essence divided in two."

"What?" Longsdale squeezed out in confusion; Jen stood up and backed away from him as if it were contagious. "What are you talking about?.. I... I never..." he suddenly lowered his head and touched his chest, as if he felt the presence of the other. Brannon looked away, and then Vivene unperturbably inquired:

"By the way, how did such a number of twofold essences, that is, consultants, come into being at all?"

Angel gripped the armrests of the chair tightly and said through set teeth:

"Do you absolutely need to find out now?"

"It's about time," Brannon remarked. "Urquiola disappeared and, most likely, another warlock is behind the murders of the girls. It is possible that he decided to follow Roismann's path and kidnap the consultant in order to find out how it functions. And the death of the girls was just a bait."

"And what, it is quite logical!" the witch roused herself. "Not only Roismann is so smart. Urquiola could have figured out what was going on, called his people to catch the bastard, but he was too late and got caught."

"So I wonder what this warlock can find in a consultant," the Commissar added dryly. Longsdale was still bewilderedly silent. Margaret with difficulty looked away from him and looked at Redfern.

"Did you know?" She asked. He nodded without looking at the girl. "Knew - and all this time were silent?"

"But nobody asked," Angel said quietly. "However, you could understand - what is the point in a hunter who can die?"

Longsdale shuddered and finally looked up at him.

"Why?" he asked. "Why can't I die?"

Redfern was silent, not looking at the consultant.

"A twofold essence," Valentina said, "is an essence divided between two incarnations. The hound and his consultant are essentially one. One whole."

"Yes," Angel said through clenched teeth. "This is the essence of The Process."

"Which did Roismann want to squeeze out of you?" the Commissar clarified.

"Anyway, he was too dumb to understand the answer."

"The hound and his consultant..." Margaret whispered. "Not the consultant and his hound... What did you mean?" She exclaimed wrathfully, turning to Valentina. "You intentionally said so, so you already know!"

"I guessed long ago," Vivene said calmly. "This is not a hound, but a familiar — an immortal spirit that has become a receptacle for the human soul."

"So he…" Margaret hesitated; Nathan's heart sank again. He was never able to come to terms with this knowledge. "So, it turns out, he spent sixty years in the hound? Angel!"

The pyromaniac turned away from her and muttered:

"The soul and body of a living creature are tightly connected. When death occurs, the soul leaves the body. However, if the soul is extracted, leaving the connection with the body not severed, then death will not occur."

It took even the Commissar a minute or two to fully comprehend WHAT Redfern had just said.

"So the consultant can't die," Angel continued abruptly. "During The Process, the soul is extracted, retaining its connection to the body, and placed in an immortal vessel, the familiar. The body goes through transformations. They allow him to regenerate, that is, heal himself after any injury, and does not age."

"Oh my God," Brannon whispered. He would never, even in the most terrible delirium, be able to even vaguely imagine how consultants are actually created.

"Nothing can be changed," Angel concluded. "The Process is irreversible."

"All these sixty years, that person, alive, understanding everything, realizing, spent inside the hound?" Margaret gasped. "And he will be in it forever, because... because..."

Longsdale got up and hurried out of the room. The girl leaned forward, as if she wanted to run out of the mirror after him.

"Simultaneously inanimate and undead," Valentina said coldly. "An almost dead body and a soul trapped in a vessel. This is why they cannot be far apart for too long. The bond is very fragile, and if the consultant is separated from the familiar, death will ensue."

Redfern licked his lips.

"Not really. The consultant will fall into a prolonged coma. Like a vampire in peasant tales. So... if Urquiola's familiar is far from him, then the consultant himself is practically a sleeping corpse."

"Why were you silent?!" Margaret cried reproachfully. "How could you hide it from them for so long?"

"Well, now I don't hide," Angel replied wearily. "So what? To whom did this make it easier? Longsdale? Even consultants, even though they are almost non-human, have human feelings. I didn't want... for them to remember. After all, they will never become the same as they were. They won't become human again."

***

The hound was lying on the landing, curled up in a big ball; his eyes glittering like coals. Brannon stopped in front of him, painfully wondering what to do now. Lord, there is a real living person inside! And he called him now Sturdy, now Snappish, now Red! All this time - all these years, that's what made the commissar's hair move - the man was inside the hound, he looked at Nathan from the hound's eyes with such a reasonable, full of understanding look! The one thanks to whom hundreds, if not more, people survived and were saved - only because of what one person did to himself for the sake of them all - and Brennon did not even know his name. And Nathan knew that he himself would never have been able to.

The hound sat down, his gaze fixed on Brannon.

"I know," the commissar said in a strangled voice, and knelt down in front of the hound. The beast bowed its head slightly. "Redfern told. Now I know that you are there. I know how The Process goes." The hound's eyes flashed. "I didn't want to allow… that is, if something seemed offensive to you, then I apologize."

The hound put his paw on his knee.

"We have to tell everyone. To all consultants, I mean. They have a right to know. But if I tell them, what will happen to them all? How can they live on?"

The hound lowered his muzzle thoughtfully.

"I'll go to Longsdale. It seems to me that he shouldn't be left alone now."

The hound nodded his maned head affirmatively.

"Lord," Nathan whispered, "as soon as you decided on it!"

Fangs flashed in the beast's mouth for a moment, but he said nothing more and trotted into the living room, where the consultant disappeared.

"I could never," Brennon said quietly, and the hound's tail swung rhythmically back and forth.

Longsdale sat by the fireplace with his head in his hands. He looked completely lost, like a child. The Commissar was looking at him - at the body, which he should have been considered a walking dummy - but this is not so! Let his hands be cool, his eyes twinkle with blue lights in the dark, let he cannot die - but he is also a human! Just like the other, inside the hound.

Nathan touched the consultant's shoulder.

"How are you?"

He slowly raised his head, saw the hound, shuddered and whispered:

"And I? What about me? Who am I if he is really me?"

"I think you are you. You are aware of yourself, remember your life, communicate with others. Like any person, just with oddities."

"But no," Longsdale managed, and looked down at his hands as if for the first time. "If his soul is in the familiar, then whose is it in this body?"

"Yours?" The commissar suggested after hesitating, but the hound shook his head.

"I have no soul," the consultant replied. "I would know if I have."

"How can you know?"

"I cannot enter the church alone." Longsdale finally looked Brennon in the face. "Only with the hound. No soulless being can enter any temple. Does this mean that I… I am just an imitation, a living machine, a tool to communicate with victims and witnesses?"

He asked a question, but Nathan didn't know what to answer. The commissar could only listen to himself and say:

"I do not think so. At least I don't see anything machine in you. For me - so you are quite human."

"Without soul…"

"Well, you do not decompose on the go. So I don't see the difference."

The hound snorted softly. Longsdale jerked in his chair and turned sharply to the familiar.

"He hates me," the consultant whispered. "I stole everything that should have been him.

The hound came up, put his front paws on his lap and poked his big black nose in his face. Longsdale mechanically ruffled the thick mane around the hound's muzzle.

"Well, you see, he has nothing against you," Brannon said trying to console. "You didn't maliciously kidnap his body, but, as I understand it, you just woke up in it one day."

The hound lay down at the feet of the consultant and leaned against them sideways. Longsdale leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on the familiar. The picture became almost habitual, and the Commissar hastened to distract the consultant from his gloomy thoughts:

"Now think about this: the warlock has obtained one of the greatest secrets in the world. Roismann couldn't guess what was the matter while studying Regina Oettinger - but maybe this one is not so stupid? The method of turning a human into a consultant is not at all the thing that can be given to everyone."

Longsdale shook himself. The hound grunted in agreement and dropped his muzzle to his paws, looking up at Brennon.

"You're right," the consultant said. "Our main task is to find Paolo Urquiola. But to be honest, I have no idea where to start here yet. Unless his familiar will be able to escape from the captors."

"Do you think there are chances? Who is Urquiola's familiar?"

"Falcon."

"Um, the bird can fly away, unlike..." the Commissar's gaze fell on the hound, who snapped his teeth. Well, yes, this one would simply chew through the chain, the bolt, the guards... "And about the search for Urquiola, I have a couple of thoughts."