Читать книгу The Cup of Galfar. Alderosa's Daughter - Alexander Pererva - Страница 5

Dawn was already breaking when the friends were finally done discussing all potential courses of action and settled on the one that seemed the most safe and doable. They agreed on the following facts:

Number one: Mean Jean had put a spell on Allie’s parents so that she could get hold of the magic cylinder, which had been meant for her use in the first place.

Number two: According to Mean Jean’s calculations, Allie would be under a spell too; Mean Jean had no idea that Allie wasn’t, and that was good.

Number three: Mean Jean also had no idea about Lu and the fact that one of the magic cylinder’s properties had been discovered. That was also good.

And, finally, number four: Mean Jean had no idea about the secret plot against her; that was wonderful as it gave the friends certain advantages.

The plan was to keep secret the fact that Allie was not under the spell like her parents. For that reason she was not allowed to leave the house, answer the door or the phone. Moreover, it was decided that Mean Jean should be followed in order to gather more information about her magic activities.

“She might have some kind of magic books,” Lu was saying, “where you can find out how to break the spell. Or maybe we can learn how to use the cylinder for that purpose. You never know what you can find… Anyhow, we need to send a spy into the enemy’s lair. I will go.”

Allie and Lemonade protested unanimously. Their reasons were simple and persuasive: how can a stuffed monkey climb into somebody’s window in the middle of the day unnoticed? On the other hand, Lemonade was an ideal candidate for a spy. After some brief arguing with Lu, he was finally appointed for that role.

When the plan’s details had been all worked out, it was already morning. A sunbeam sneaked into the room in between the closed curtains and fell on the shelf that held the cylinder. The blue light was dimmed, but the cylider sparkled with a whole rainbow of colors.

Allie got out of bed and reached for the cylinder. And then something happened that showed that this magic object was not only the source of good, but also of danger when handled by clumsy or careless hands.

When Allie picked up the cylinder, she accidentally pressed on top of the blue disc, and it joined the cylinder with a soft click, becoming part of it like before. Allie heard a dull thump behind her; she turned around and saw that Lu was on the floor, with her arms and legs bent awkwardly. Lemonade was sitting nearby with his head tilted, looking at Allie with reproach.

“Oh no, what have I done!” exclaimed the startled girl and began to pull on the blue disc to unclick it from the cylinder again.

Her hands were sticky with sweat, her fingers felt awkward and clumsy, and it happened so that instead of one disk two clicked off the cylinder – the blue one and the yellow one.

A bright green beam shot out of the cylinder, stretched across the room like a taut thin line and hit the armchair in the corner by the floorlamp. One second later, the chair… vanished. That is, Allie thought so at first. Only later, when, panic-stricken, she placed the disks back and the beam disappeared, she saw next to the floorlamp a tiny little toy chair – an exact copy of the big one that had just been there. Now it was only fit for the smallest of Allie’s dolls. Allie just shook her head and cautiously turned the cylinder in her hands, checking it around. Then, very slowly and carefully, she managed to pull off just the blue disk. Lu stirred and sat up. Then she turned her head from side to side, moved her arms and legs and finally looked at Allie and said in a stern voice:

“You might want to be careful next time. Try not to do that again, OK?”

Allie assured her that she would never-ever do that again. More than that, she suggested that Lu should keep the cylinder. The little zipped pocket on Lu’s overalls would be perfect for that. It was just the right size. The suggestion was accepted, and the cylinder was moved to Lu’s pocket.

“Well,” mused the cat as he touched the little chair with his paw, “it would be nice to have a manual for this toy. I mean the cylinder.”

“Well, then why don’t you go find it, Lemonade?” said Lu. It’s time for you to go scouting.”

“I believe it is,” agreed the cat. “I’m going then.”

“Be careful out there,” Allie petted his head and scratched behind his ear.

“Listen, Lemonade,” the monkey said suddenly, “you never told us your story. How come you can talk now?”

“What is there to tell? Always been a cat, just a smart one. I’ve always been able to talk, it’s just no one could hear me.”

With a shot of his green eyes, Lemonade made his way to the door.

***

A large tiger-striped cat slowly walked into the sunlit courtyard. Squeamishly making his way around the puddles, he headed toward the playground where some young moms were watching their kids. After he picked a good spot, Lemonade (it was, of course, him) made himself comfortable on the bench, drawing all his paws under his belly. He looked as content as could be, and an unsuspecting observer could have easily have thought that the cat had fallen asleep in the warm sun. But that person would be far from the truth. Lemonade’s eyes were indeed almost closed, but he had an excellent view of everything that was going on around him. So, when Jean emerged from the building and left for her usual morning rounds, the cat got up, stretched, jumped off the bench and slowly ran off in the opposite direction, as if on his own feline business.

Jean lived on the first floor. Both of her windows faced the courtyard, so Lemonade had no trouble picking the right moment to jump through the open one into her house.

The interior of the apartment puzzled the cat. To tell the truth, he had expected to see a dark dingy room overrun with cobwebs, perhaps a hearth and a boiling cauldron with some magic potion in it. Nothing of the sort. The studio apartment was unexpectedly spacious on the inside and very tastefully, and even elegantly, furnished. He saw massive polished dark-wood furniture that was clearly not from a regular furniture store. Lemonade was especially surprised to see the high-tech electronic gadgets around the room. He was even doubtful whether it was the right apartment, but, thinking about it, decided there could be no mistake. He was also surprised to see the heavy dark-green velvet drapes on the windows that made the room dim, almost dark. Lemonade could have sworn that from the outside it looked like the windows were covered with light tulle curtains. However, the darkness didn’t bother the cat, quite the opposite.

Lemonade began with exploring the whole apartment, but didn’t find anything suspicious or interesting. There were no magic books, but even if he’d found some, it was hard to say what he could’ve gotten from them.

Half an hour passed. The mistress of the apartment was supposed to come back soon, and Lemonade decided to look for a good hiding place. He decided to crawl under the couch, which would allow him not only to hear but also see all the happenings. He got under there just in time. It wasn’t two minutes later when the key turned in the front door. Mean Jean was back. She spent a few minutes in the hallway, then there was the noise of running water in the bathroom. In a few more minutes the door opened, and someone entered the room.

Lemonade peeked out cautiously and almost froze to the spot. It wasn’t Mean Jean, or, at least, not the Mean Jean everybody knew. The woman who entered the room was stately, clothed in a long black-and-red dress made from some kind of heavy opalescent fabric. Her long black hair, parted in the middle and braced with a silver diadem, fell on her half-bare shoulders. Silver jewelry shone on her neck and arms.

Lemonade, forgetting caution, peeked out even more in order to get a good look at the woman’s face. It was definitely Jean, although it was hard to recognize her now. She always looked elderly, if not old. No one would dare to call this woman old. There was not a single wrinkle on the strong haughty face. It was even beautiful; no one would call Jean’s face beautiful. But, it was the same person none the less.

The woman sat down in the chair by the coffee table and lit a long brown cigarette. She was smoking with her head thrown back and her eyes half-closed. Sometimes her face twisted into a crooked grin; she even laughed quietly a few times. The laugh sent a shiver down Lemonade’s spine and made his hair stand on end.

A couple of minutes passed. Cigarette smoke filled the dim room, curling into fancy patterns in the air and slowly falling to the floor. A stream of smoke reached Lemonade’s sensitive nose and made it itch intensely. Lemonade covered his nose with his paw and carefully scratched it.

Finally Mean Jean looked at the clock, put out the cigarette and turned on the TV. The newsperson on the screen was reading a long announcement. The woman was sitting upright on the edge of the chair, looking straight at the TV. She was drumming her fingers nervously on the polished surface of the coffee table and threw an impatient glance at the clock from time to time.

Lemonade missed the moment when everything changed; he just felt suddenly that the person on the screen was saying something weird. The cat pricked his ears, trying to catch every word.

“This is the end of our morning program,” the person continued to mumble monotonously. “Please do not forget to turn off your TV set. I repeat: everyone except Corgy, turn off your TVs, or else… I’m going to count to three and then burn everyone’s TVs, except Corgy’s of course. Corgy, Corgy, wake up! I’m here. You need to focus. You seem distracted today.”

The person was saying all of that, looking through the TV screen straight at Jean. She, in her turn, was looking at the screen mesmerized and unblinking; then she shook herself awake and bowed her head.

“Oh master, you are unpredictable as always. You manage to trick me every time,” Mean Jean’s words were clearly flattering.

“Never mind, let’s get down to business,” interrupted the person on the screen.

The picture twisted and blurrred, and then the screen vanished. In its place there was a black hole in the middle of the TV, and behind it there was icy emptiness. Lemonade felt its cold breath on his skin. Then a dark figure emerged from the emptiness surrounded by a fiery red glow. The long robe, the hooded head and the eyes burning with a yellow fire – all of that reminded Lemonade of something. But he had no time to dwell on that. He heard a low harsh voice, very different from the newsperson’s.

“Corgy, today you will talk to Hannagh, the Second Guard of the Cup. The Guards are concerned about your case, the Supreme One has heard of it and ordered a thorough investigation.”

“But, Teacher, I have explained everything,” Corgy’s voice trembled, betraying her fear.

“If you are not to blame, you’ve got nothing to fear. Talk to Hannagh,” the voice of the one Corgy was calling “Teacher’ sounded insinuating.

The robed figure disappeared and was replaced by a three-dimensional picture of a man seated on a tall carved chair. The angle was thus that it looked as if Jean and all of her room were at his feet. He was wearing a dark red velvet waistcoat with golden embroidery and matching trousers tucked into tall leather cuffed boots. The white lace cuffs and collar contrasted with the tan face and hands. The face itself, framed by long blond curls, was quite handsome, but the dark, burning and piercing eyes inspired a fear that amounted almost to panic.

Corgy hastily averted her eyes and bowed low. Hannagh – that was apparently him – leaned forward and looked at her for some time. Then he leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs and said in a voice quite pleasant and not scary at all:

“Corgy, you were honored with supreme trust: you were granted a higher position and presented with a personal viamulator. How did you, a Second-Degree Adept, manage to lose it?”

“My lord, I followed the instructions exactly. Evidently, there was some mistake in your – our – estimators’ calculations. And, may I add, I have the whole situation under control, and will soon have the viamulator.”

“There could have been no mistake. If you are telling the truth, then the whole story seems rather strange, I’d say, suspiciously strange. I will need to conduct a thorough investigation.”

“My lord, do you suspect somebody’s interference?”

“Quite right. Who got the grumba? What happened to him?”

“Dead. Cooked and eaten. He was taken by a woman who lives in our building. I know her well. An ordinary woman. A children’s books illustrator. Nothing outstanding, except perhaps her looks.”

“Family?” asked Hannagh.

“Has a husband, who is a pilot, and a daughter, Allie, who’s ten,” Corgy fell silent for a few seconds, thinking. “No, an ordinary family, nothing interesting for us. I’d have noticed if there was anything.”

“OK, let’s leave them for now. Think about everything that happened that morning. There must have been something unusual, some little thing that you overlooked.”

Hannagh bored his burning eyes into Corgy. She looked away again, unable to bear it. Then she was struck by a memory: the flash of sunlight. How could she have forgotten? Just like she did now, she had to look away, blinded momentarily by the flash of light and balance with her arms spread out not to end up in an icy ditch. Then it took a few moments to yell at the boy who was running away with a little mirror in his hand. As a result, she was late getting to the market, and the grumba with the viamulator went to the wrong person.

Corgy told Hannagh about all of the circumstances of her trip to the market.

“What did the boy look like? Describe him,” Hannagh was instantly alert.

But she could tell him nothing specific, just that the boy looked ten or twelve.

Hannagh was quiet for some time, deep in thought and his burning eyes dimmed. Then he continued calmly:

“All right. Tell me more.”

“Well, the grumba got in Irene the artist’s hands. And they decided to keep it in the bathtub and feed it. They thought it was a regular fish.”

Hannagh raised his eyebrows:

“Keep the grumba in the bathtub? How long did they keep him there?”

“Not long. There was no time for a real transformation, but he did manage to cause some trouble. Anyway, two days ago he was cooked.”

“What about the viamulator? They found it?” Hannagh’s question sounded like a statement.

“Yes,” Corgy lowered her eyes. “I saw Alex, the pilot, yesterday. So I questioned him carefully. He said yes, he hadn’t seen it himself, but his wife and daughter had found a trinket in the fish’s belly. So, for them it’s just a trinket.”

“Are you sure that they won’t guess what it is or turn it on accidentally?”

“They won’t have the time,” Corgy’s voice sounded subtly triumphant. “I got all of them. I was able to put a spell on the grumba, and now, having eaten him, they are all under the spell now.”

“What kind of spell did you use?”

Corgy was apparently expecting this question. She straightened up, and her lips spread in a triumphant smile.

“Oh, this is an entirely new and very exquisite kind of magic,” she said proudly.

Lemonade pricked his ears and leaned forward.

“I affected the speed of electical impulses spreading along the nerve fibres. It is a known fact that human brain controls every function of the body with these impulses. So, I made the speed of these impulses gradually and inevitably slow down, and in nine days it will go down to zero.”

“And they’ll die?”

Lemonade started at Hannagh’s words.

“Oh no. Not at all. What do we, I mean, you need dead bodies for? And these are, I assure you, high-quality bodies, young and beautiful. In nine days they’ll turn into dolls, motionless live dolls. If now it takes them three hours to take one step, in nine days they will freeze completely. And then we can easily take them to Galfar and separate the ‘aenous’ from the shell. And I will get the viamulator. We kill two birds with one stone this way.”

Corgy finished speaking and looked at Hannagh triumphantly. He was staring vacantly into space, leaning his chin on his crossed fingers. His mouth was twisted in a slight grin. He seemed to have missed everything that had been said. Corgy was waiting, her triumphant look slowly replaced by a grimace of disappointment.

“Very well!” Hannagh’s unexpectedly loud exclamation startled Corgy. “I like it. But, is there any guarantee that no one would break the spell? I have heard that there are people even on Earth who are able to manipulate subtle energies.”

“You are talking about so-called mediums. You don’t need to worry about them, they are not powerful enough for that kind of magic. I assure you, my lord, that no one here on Earth can break the spell, and in nine days it will be impossible, I beg your pardon, even for a Guard of the Cup to do.” Corgy bowed her head again.

“Well, in that case check the old ‘window’ today. We will do the transfer through it.”

“But it has long been closed. After several accidents the whole complex was closed down. It is sealed now.”

“I said, use the old one,” Hannagh interrupted her harshly. “It never had any glitches.”

“I hear you, my lord,” Corgy bowed low again.

At that moment Lemonade felt an intense itch in his nose. It was unclear what caused it, whether the cigarette smoke or the dust under the couch. It didn’t really matter; what mattered was that Lemonade, hard as he tried, couldn’t help but sneeze into his paws. At that moment there was a pause in the conversation, and, although the sneeze was muffled, it was clearly heard in the quiet room.

The woman and the person she was talking to turned their heads simultaneously in the direction of the couch. Hannagh’s face looked angry and almost furious, Corgy looked surprised and startled.

Lemonade pressed himself farther under the couch, rolled into a tight ball and prepared for the worst. Most of all now he wanted to fall through the floor, but the floor was sturdy, and there was nowhere to go.

Corgy got up quickly, approached the couch, kneeled down and looked under. Lemonade saw her wary face up close, her startled eyes were darting in all directions. He bared his claws, ready to swat the hand that would reach out for him. But something strange happened. Corgy searched all under the couch with her eyes, and they never stopped on the cat frozen in tense expectation. Then she got off her knees, shrugged and said with disappointment but also obvious relief:

“There’s no one. Might have been a couch spring, it happens sometimes.”

Hannagh, who was still staring at the couch suspiciously, snapped:

“I don’t like any of it. Please deal with your couch springs. Just remember, there’s no room for mistakes now.”

And then he vanished.

The room went back to its regular look. The TV screen was off, and it looked like any other TV now. Corgy sighed with relief and left the room, fixing her hair as she walked. Lemonade decided not to test his luck anymore, he’d found out enough information, and he darted out the window. In a few minutes he was home, where Allie and Lu had been waiting with hopeful impatience.