Читать книгу Not fairy tales - Nadyn Bagout - Страница 4

The brew in the cauldron bubbled and gurgled. Strangely dark steam rose upward and puffed across the ceiling, forming little manmade clouds. But these walls have seen more than that.

The old house, built of gray rough-hewn stone, with oak beams in the ceilings and a dirty plank floor, did not give the impression of a permanent dwelling at all. It was more like a cave, a burrow into which one had to crawl out of necessity.

The tiny mica windows let almost no light through, and now, in the twilight, they looked like cracks in the walls. Weapons hung here and there – bows, axes, clubs, short spears, a couple of crappy swords – drew crooked shadows under the dancing candle lights. In the fuzzy glare the gray, shaggy coat by the door looked like a beast, clawing at the stonework for some reason.

Wolfe stirred the stew with a wooden spoon on a long carved handle, added herbs, stirred again, and sniffed. Yes, he thought, it’s ready.

He pulled a deep clay bowl out of a pile of dishes piled beside the stove – a black one with a red rune pattern, looked closely, spat on it, and wiped the cracked glaze with his shirt sleeve. Then he filled the plate to the brim with chunks of stew.

After extinguishing the overhead fire in the crooked stove, Wolfe set the bowl on the unexpectedly good-for-life striped wood table, sat down on a three-legged stool, and began to eat, occasionally burning and snorting.

A knock on the door made him raise his head.

«Go ahead, come in,» his voice sounded hoarser than usual. He craned his neck and coughed.

Two men entered the house: sheriff Hunter and his eldest son. The heir and his shift are dragging him everywhere. Wolfe smirked, baring strong white teeth.

«Greetings, Mage-Commissar,» the visitors bowed, not too flatteringly, though.

Wolfe only gave a brief nod in response.

«There’s a rumor going around,» the sheriff hesitated, «you know. We’d like to know if it’s true.»

«I don’t know what people are talking about,» the man muttered between spoonfuls of food. «Ask me straight out, Hunter, don’t be a pussy. I don’t like it.»

«Ahem. Ahem. Mage-Commissar Wolfe, is it true that you destroyed two witches who were plaguing the surrounding villages?» he swallowed and stared expectantly at his inhospitable host.

«Ha!» Wolfe smirked again, his face creased so that it looked like crumpled paper – his deep wrinkles had long been his companions, only his yellow eyes still looked young. «See for yourself,» he nodded to the far corner of the room, hidden by the shadows.

The sheriff went to the table, picked up the dirty candlestick with the lit candle, and stepped toward the place. Immediately he recoiled, unable to contain his trembling. His son suddenly turned strangely green, covered his mouth with his hands and, unsuccessfully struggling with gagging, jumped out into the street. A disgusting uterine sound was heard.

«Ugh, he ruined my bushes, the devil takes it,» magician cursed. «You’re taking him with you too soon for duty.»

«It’s all right,» Hunter said, «let him get used to it. We don’t live in the capital.»

He shined the light in the corner again, examining more carefully the two female corpses lying there, an old one and a very young one, brutally chopped up and mangled.

The sheriff shuddered with disgust, but to give him credit, he managed to hold himself together.

«So that’s all?!» there was more fear in the question than in reaction to what he saw. There was also hope.

«Everything is over. Everything.»

«And they won’t… well, they won’t… rise again?»

«No,» Wolfe squinted and lifted a bowl of leftover brew. «Here. Just the way it should be. Hearts and livers. I’ll eat it all and be done with it. Well, maybe I’ll have a tummy ache. Would you like a piece?»

Hunter almost twisted.

«No. Thank you,» he managed to squeeze out and spat the thick saliva that had accumulated: it smelled surprisingly good.

«Anyway, all you have to do is clean up. Burn the trash and bury it somewhere far away,» the magician waved his hand at the remnants of the bodies. «They won’t come up again, I give you my word.»

«Thank you, Mage-Commissar, from our whole village and district. You have saved many lives with this.»

«Yeah, yeah…» Wolfe ruminated again, taking a sip of gravy over the stew, he was no longer interested in the sheriff.

Hunter staggered for a while, then made up his mind.

«Uh… Wolfe, but how did you get them?»

The man reluctantly pulled himself away from his food and sighed.

«How? As it should be. Look,» he looked toward the door where a long-handled axe stood propped against the wall, under the cape, its ragged surface darkened against the sharp, glistening blade. «Locks? They messed up there, of course, notably. Like real spiders. But if you pull the right string…»

«I see. And the evidence?»

«And who needs them? Those mothers whose sons and daughters have been kidnapped by these monsters? They already know. And they got their retribution. However,» the mage gritted his teeth, «there is something. The Protector should have enough…»

The sheriff followed Wolfe’s gaze with his eyes.

On an antique dresser was a basket full of pies. Some of the cakes were broken, and he could make out the gruesome stuffing – the baby’s severed fingers. Nearby lay a tattered cotton cap, scarlet as the dawn.