Юлия Авилкина – The Bodiless Shadow (страница 4)

A Handler of the Inquisition. The embodiment of the law. A man whose golden aura suppressed anyone within a ten-meter radius. Magnus Trey was connected to a fence and the murdered Councilor Vael by a shared, carefully concealed financial secret. And this secret traced its roots back to the year of the "Great Rift"—a time when Avrin nearly choked on its own magic due to massive riots in the lower districts.

The journey to the Upper City took about an hour. Kaira had to use the funicular: rising through the layers of fog, she watched the dirty drizzle of Nutra gradually give way to the clean, almost crystalline rain of the aristocratic quarters. Here, climate shields were active, diverting excess moisture and soot.

In the Main Archive, it was just as dry, quiet, and smelling of eternity. Kaira's footsteps sank into the thick carpet runners. The guards at the entrance gave her disdainful looks—dirty water was dripping from the hem of her coat onto the flawlessly polished parquet—but the sealed mandate forced them to keep their mouths shut.

Soaren Darr was found not in the reading room, but in the restoration workshop on the first subterranean level. The light was softer here, and the air was warmer. The archivist sat at a wide oak table beneath a low-hanging lamp. Armed with fine surgical tweezers and a massive magnifying glass on a brass stand, he was painstakingly, millimeter by millimeter, gluing together a torn page of some ancient folio.

The smell of bone glue, beeswax, and old leather was so thick here it felt tangible. On the edge of his table, among jars of solvents and brushes, Kaira noticed a simple ceramic cup. A barely visible trail of steam curled above it, and the familiar, tart aroma of thyme and dried ginger hung in the air. That exact same blend. He was drinking the same thing he had sent her.

"You returned surprisingly quickly," Soaren said quietly, not even lifting his gaze from the magnifying glass. His hand holding the tweezers didn't waver. "I hope you made it home before the fog turned into this monstrous downpour?"

"As you can see, no," Kaira stepped closer, stopping a few paces from the table so as not to drip water onto the papers. "I need a case file from ten years ago. A joint project between the Inquisition and the Ministry of Communications. The reconstruction of the magical nodes in the 'Rusty Belt.'"

Soaren slowly set down the tweezers, carefully removed the magnifying glass from the stand, and only then looked up at her. The yellow light of the lamp reflected in his glasses, making his eyes invisible for a moment.

"Reconstruction of the nodes? That is a very deep clearance level, Kaira. Category 'A' documents. Even with your civilian consultant mandate, I will have to file an official request through the chancellery. And that means—across Handler Trey's desk."

"No need to go through Magnus," she reached inside her coat, pulled out the folded note, and placed it on the table, covering it with her hand. "Look at this off the record."

Soaren frowned slightly. He leaned forward, and Kaira removed her hand. The archivist carefully studied the yellowed document. His face, as always, remained impassive, but Kaira, accustomed to reading people by their involuntary reactions, noticed how his fingers, stained with dry glue, twitched barely perceptibly before clenching into a fist.

"Handler Trey's mark," he stated in a level voice. "The sum is... extraordinary. You found this at Larsen's on the barge?"

"Yes. Under the desk where he was killed. And before he died, he was scared to death of something he was looking for in the old sewers. Listen, Darr... If Magnus was taking bribes or paying for Larsen and Vael's silence ten years ago, and now they are both dead within twenty-four hours..."

"Then Handler Magnus Trey is the most logical candidate for the role of someone urgently covering his tracks," Soaren finished for her quietly.

He sighed heavily, took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Without the lenses, he suddenly looked like a very tired man to Kaira.

"Wait here," he stood up, walked around the table, and headed toward a massive filing cabinet built right into the wall. "I will try to find the necessary records bypassing the main registry. The storage system during the year of the Rift was... chaotic. Perhaps something remains in the draft archives."

While he vanished into the labyrinth of the adjacent vault, Kaira remained alone in the workshop. The ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the corner seemed deafening. She warmed her chilled hands in her pockets and examined the tools on Soaren's table: scalpels, wooden spatulas, jars of pigments—everything was arranged by size, by degree of wear, with a manic yet cozy neatness.

"Have you always been like this?" his voice rang out right beside her.

Kaira flinched and turned around. Soaren stood in the doorway, holding a thin folder with a gray, unmarked cover. His footsteps on the carpet had been absolutely soundless.

"Like what?"

"Wary," he approached the table and set the folder down, but was in no rush to open it. "You stand as if you're expecting a stab in the back even in an empty room. As if the whole world is an ambush that's about to snap shut. How did you even decide to become a seeker, Kaira? A girl with... your gift. Usually, the 'mutes' become acolytes to the priests. Or they work at customs as living detectors, sorting contraband."

Kaira felt the familiar, prickly sting of irritation. People loved to remind her of what she was deprived of. But there was no condescension or pity in Soaren's voice. Only genuine interest.

"The priests sing too much about the greater good, and customs stinks of rotten fish," she replied sharply, looking him in the eye. "I prefer the kind of dirt that can be washed off with hot water, not the kind covered in gold and holy texts."

She expected him to get flustered or apologize for his tactlessness, as many did. But Soaren didn't take offense. He simply nodded slowly, accepting her sharpness as a matter of course.

"I understand," he said softly. "Justice is generally a job for those who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. It's a rare quality, Kaira. Most of my colleagues in this building prefer to think the world consists only of clean ink and white paper."

He opened the gray folder and turned it toward Kaira. Inside were blueprints, very similar to the ones she had seen on Larsen's blood-soaked table, but much older and more detailed. Yellowed reports were pinned to them.

"Here, take a look," Soaren pointed a long finger at a line of text. "Exactly ten years ago, Magnus Trey, then still a young captain, led a purge of the port's lower levels against so-called 'ethereal parasites.' Einar Larsen was listed in the reports as his civilian guide. Councilor Vael acted as the financial controller of the operation. It states here that during the work deep underground, an 'unauthorized altar' was discovered and destroyed. But there are no technical details or descriptions of what happened there."

Kaira traced the jagged line of the sewer on the map with her finger.

"An altar of the 'Carvers'? The order was just gaining power in the slums back then."

"Quite possibly," Soaren turned the page. "But look at the final expense report. The Inquisition paid Larsen a simply astronomical bonus. And the phrasing: 'for silence in the interest of public safety and the preservation of state secrets.'"

"Silence about what? About what they found there? Or about what they did there?"

"That isn't in the archive," Soaren closed the folder and looked straight into her eyes. A quiet, serious alarm read in the gaze of his gray eyes. "Kaira... be very careful with Magnus. He is a man of action. A man of power. If you come at him head-on with this promissory note, he won't play riddles with you."

"I know how to talk to him," Kaira took the folder and pressed it tightly to her chest. "Thank you, Soaren. For everything."

"Take care of yourself," he called after her as she was already stepping out into the corridor. "The city needs those who see the structure, even if they cannot hear the music."

The Inquisition headquarters, located in the adjacent wing of the complex, greeted Kaira with a ringing, oppressive tension. Guards gathered in small groups in the corridors, whispering quietly; the magical lamps beneath the vaulted ceilings hummed louder than usual, flickering from power surges. Larsen's death had already become public knowledge, and the atmosphere in the building was steeped in caustic paranoia.

Magnus was found in his office on the third floor. He stood by the massive window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the rain-drenched, twilight-drowning Avrin. His golden aura was currently blazing so fiercely that Kaira had to instinctively squint. The threads of power around the handler weren't smooth as usual, but ragged. They twitched and writhed, flaring with sharp bursts that looked like sparks from a welding torch.

"You're three hours late, Vellen," he rumbled, not even turning at the sound of the opening door. The reflection of his stern face trembled in the wet glass. "I already sent a patrol to your office. Where the hell have you been?"