The entrance curtain shimmered with an insistent, warning ripple. Kyle had no choice but to grant entry permission.
A red head popped into the doorway — Ingefara.
She cast a quick glance around the office, pausing for a moment on the beautiful view from the window and the organized chaos reigning on the desk.
"Ready to leave your crystal palace, aristocrat?" The operative's probing, mocking gaze finally settled on Kyle.
The agent's face lit up with a wide, carefree smile.
"Like never before!"
The Prime native confidently snatched his bag from the desk with a playful gesture and strode towards his partner with a brisk, assured step that betrayed joyful impatience. He threw one last glance at the panorama of his native city.
He wasn't saying goodbye. It was more like he was saying, "I'll be back soon."
The VST agents stepped out into the building's corridor and began their descent along the steep side chute.
"Tibby's already on the lower level," Inga reported briefly.
"Of the Towers? Or the Mainland?" Kyle clarified.
"He's not *that* diligent a go-getter. The Towers, for now. Preparing for a grounded existence, apparently… Or just afraid we'll make an emotional scene."
She let out something between a sigh and a snort.
Unlike Kyle, Inga had considerable travel experience.
And she loved it! So what was the problem?
"And we won't... We're just going off to work. What's the matter, Inga? Don't want to leave?"
"Why… no. I don't mind. An assignment is an assignment. According to which, I was originally supposed to go to Kantine, if you recall. *That* 'tasked' me, and not in a small way. Still reeling from it... Good thing the Chiefs swapped us later. Sorry, of course…"
"Hey, I don't mind! Not for nothing did I study Kantine for so long. Gotta see it for myself sometime. Theory must be backed by practice. Besides, no one… in our class. And neither of you knows the language better than I do. It's all good."
"Good, but not entirely... An operative should take on any difficult work. And I just deflated at the mention of that part of the Lowlands. And I'm not exactly thrilled for you either. It's a crime of our world and its separate parts to shatter the little good will that still exists towards it. Well... such is our profession. To run headlong into the truth, whatever it may be. To seek it and be shattered by it if necessary."
"Ugh... Come on. A second Niall in the office. I'm more curious than gloomy. Call me naive, but I'm sure it's not that bad. Otherwise… well... they'd have all run away from there by now."
Ingenfara's freckled face showed doubt.
"...Or?" Kyle prompted inquisitively.
"They can't. Or, what's worse, they don't want to. And they're perfectly content."
"Right. Enough fatalism. Professional impartiality, readiness to work with any material, and research neutrality — that's our creed."
"I maintained neutrality in the Library, studying the subject. However, on my first visit to Kantine back in my youth with my family, it became clear that neutrality was nowhere to be found. Here, my professional impartiality… cracks. And starts to resemble... you know what. Long story short. I'm glad I'm not going. And not glad that you have to. But since it's come to this..."
"...then it's time to head out on the mission. Enough doom and gloom. The floor won't take the weight, and we'll fall through."
"Well… we'll get down faster. Sometimes you run around the city so much... that, climbing back up with a report, you regret the city's dense high-rise development and the associated… acrobatics."
"Well… but it's the most beautiful city on the Mainland. And I'm insanely happy with the opportunity to work here."
Inga nodded, and a spark of the same unquenchable research fervor flared in her eyes.
"I… am too. And there's our valiant Tobias, ready for anything. Possibly even for promotions."
The agents shared a joyful hug.
A flicker of something very much like a smile crossed the usually glum Tobias's face.
The quiet fellow wasn't a boisterous, rowdy joker, but, despite his short tenure, he'd proven himself a decent field agent.
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he commented quietly.
Chuckling, the trio headed towards the waiting fast VST self-propelled vehicle, which was to take Kyle to the turn-off for Kantine, Ingefara to Omill, and Tobias to Zet. Fortunately, the Main Trade Route conveniently ran between the major cities.
Soon, their transport was hurtling downhill at a speed bordering on reasonable for a mountain road, leaving the sun-drenched Prime heights behind and carrying the somewhat subdued agent trio, anticipating their first serious assignment, as they watched the whimsical rooftops of their native city and the Lowland landscape, which Kyle was about to experience up close for the first time, drift upwards.
"How's the mood, Tibby?" He gave his quiet colleague an encouraging smile.
"Working. Mood is a mood." The VST agent shrugged. "It's not me going to Kantine."
Kyle shot a quick glance at his companion. Tobias's face, as always, betrayed no emotion.
But the tone of the remark and a sly squint told observant professionals that the Prime native was clearly teasing a friend.
The VST agents burst into hearty laughter.
Tobias's manner of doing this with a perfectly straight face always amused the trio greatly.
"Alright. Envy away." Kyle grinned good-naturedly. "I… will enjoy hearty food and fresh fruit. While you two sniff around the back alleys of Omill and trip over stones in Zet."
"Sometimes you can trip over a crystal cluster there," Tibby reminded thoughtfully. "And that, besides being incredibly beautiful, is also no more, no less than three salaries…"
"Weeell… that takes a lot of luck. And the luck has to strike in a cave... What would you be doing in caves? Our wrongdoers aren't Dwarves, I don't think."
"Sort of. And sort of not…" Tobias parried with the same apparent indifference, sparks of laughter glinting in his eyes again. "...but they could very well be hiding there."
The other two laughed again.
Those who didn't know him well would never guess that this gloomy, detached young man was currently in an excellent mood.
Laughter aside, Tobias was right. About the wrongdoers… practically nothing was known. Except that they carried out their deeds with incredible, almost inhuman deftness.
The higher-ups… with some uncertainty, were trying to link these cases, happening all over the northern part of the Mainland, simply on the principle of the perpetrators' elusiveness.
And these could all be different wrongdoers. Or even different groups.
Anyone. Although the thought that it could be Dwarves was, frankly, frightening. Because if an ancient, powerful race had set its mind on something… it would get it. No matter what. No one and nothing, except other ancients, could stop them. And whatever their motives, everyone else would just have to throw up their hands and step aside.
…Which, in fact, could also be the outcome of their investigation.
What if it really is the work of… the stone offshoots of the Dwarves? Or… the wooden limbs of the Elves? Well then… we can only hope to prove otherwise.
Kyle hurried to shake off the grim thoughts.
…The higher-ups weren't considering the ancient races as the cause of the current "troubles." And these seasoned extractors of information from any conceivable source could be trusted.
"And I'll drink my fill of fresh coffee…" Inga exhaled dreamily. "Finally. What reaches Prime is already stale. And without the local water… it's just not the same. Doesn't hit the spot like it should."
"I envy you!" Kyle sighed. "You've managed to travel so much… While I, well, only just got out of Prime."
"All it gave me was the knowledge that one shouldn't leave Prime at all!" Ingenfara smirked. "Only on special occasions."
Tobias nodded in agreement.
Kyle himself knew that Prime was the best city on the Mainland. But wasn't it wonderful, having such a base, to see everything else?
He was doing just that, eagerly devouring the whimsically changing landscape with his eyes. No longer cliffs with bridges and high-rises with the Ocean in the distance. But endless hills with lush greenery. And a forest in the distance.
He'd always dreamed of traveling. But his well-traveled family didn't share this desire.
…And now they were down! Dreams do come true!
The perspective was so unusual that for a moment it seemed as if the world had turned upside down. Everything looked so… amazing. The flat map had turned into an unseen landscape.
They rode in silence for a while.
Kyle was ecstatic, unable to get enough of the wonderfully altered reality. Tibby was peacefully dozing. Which was no wonder after such an early start. Inga observed the surroundings with the lazy interest of a mistress of the world.
…Just imagine. Life had led the Prime native to this interesting job. And even before it began, gave him the chance to see this! Amazing…
"We'll be there soon," Inga whispered, trying not to wake Tibby.
"Very glad," the smiling Kyle replied briefly.
"Write to me… Through Sandra. She's the Head of the Omillian Temples. I sent her a query just before the mission… They say she's a smart, sensible woman… My impression is the same."
"Nice?.."
"Yes. Well, time will tell… She's aware of most details of our mission, as she expressed a desire to… cooperate... These strange affairs seem to be irritating the Omillian folks quite a bit, too."
Ingenfara frowned thoughtfully.
"I see… Understood," Kyle nodded.
The VST operative shifted her gaze to her colleague, and her expression softened.
"Omill… is a wonderful place. And the people there are more pleasant…" Her face was serene, but her gaze was sharp and probing. "...finish up in Kantine quickly. And join us in Omill and Zet. Don't dawdle there too much… They… probably won't let you, anyway. Most likely."
Kyle waved a hand dismissively.
"You know… I believe you can find a common language with anyone. If you want to... Or if you have to."
"Of course, you can… But… is it worth seeking? If everything just returns to its stable positions in the end…"
"But our job is to work, right?.. Get a result. Document it. For the higher-ups. Get impressions. For ourselves. Draw conclusions."
"True... But don't waste your energy needlessly. Well, you get it…"
The Prime native gave a warm smile.
"Got it. Still sure it's not that scary. Though, your warnings are a bit frightening. Thanks for the concern. And even a bit of… guardianship."
"Yeah… You're welcome."
The agent nodded absently, ignoring the light, friendly sarcasm.
She was clearly immersed in contemplating her part of the mission.
The agents fell silent again, not wanting to disturb the peacefully sleeping Tibby.
The landscapes continued to change, the air grew thicker, richer. It already carried earthy notes with flowering herbs… and something else, barely perceptible and slightly sweet.
It was the approaching smell of Kantine!
And after a while, having said goodbye to Kyle, the pensive Inga and sleepy Tibby continued on their way.
The agent, however, left the self-propelled vehicle to set foot on the ground which, he believed, had prepared for him much more than just difficulties.
It had prepared the Truth.
…How beautiful this city was even from a distance!
So much yellowness of crops and greenery of gardens, diluted with a multitude of patchwork field shades, and how beautifully they were set off by the reddish-brown spots of dwellings... Just beautiful.
And the houses themselves! Getting closer, he would recognize them.
Exactly like on the witchographs and illustrations. But in real life! Holy shit… Yeeeah… Prime Oms are complex and witchingly whimsical, but these…
Images couldn't convey the full beauty of these solid, squat, sturdy buildings... With gardens not just around, but even on the roofs!
…Breathtaking…
Wasn't this the highest witchcraft to create such a thing without any witchcraft at all?
And these smells… The freshness of grass, flowers, and fruit... And something else… Something hinting that a delightful acquaintance with the local cuisine still lay ahead!
His innocently reminding appetite suggested that the time for language practice was just right.
Kyle squinted with delight.
The delight of an inquisitive mind contemplating something new and previously unseen.
And… the anticipation of something tasty.
His inner gourmet also squinted contentedly in anticipation. Truly, there was something to strive for and rejoice about. Finally, he would see in practice that exotic Kantine he had devoted so many theoretical hours to studying!
The garden city. The bastion of stability and labor. A city with a culture so different from Prime's. An excellent start for exploring… the entire Mainland.
…No more, no less!
Finally, he had left Prime and was traveling. And not just traveling. He was investigating a very serious case. As he had always dreamed, since his youth.
Exhaling, the Prime native resolutely entered the city.
And it did not disappoint his expectations.
Up close, it was just as beautiful as from afar. Even more amazing than he could have imagined.
Every bit of the street was drowning in beautiful, carefully selected, well-kept vegetation. Flowering bushes entwined the fences. Fruit trees bent their branches over the paths. On the roofs, numerous unseen varieties of flowers and decorative shrubs peacefully swayed their colorful petals and leaves.
Incredible! Simply stunning.
The people who created this must be just as beautiful in soul.
The primitive laborers he'd heard about wouldn't even bother creating such luxuries. And certainly, a simple mind wouldn't be capable of creating such complex compositions.
The arrogant Prime folk were clearly at least mistaken… At most, they were deliberately misinforming, promoting themselves.
People who achieved this without witchcraft, those who don't weave intrigues but actually feed the Mainland, should rather inspire envy. And perhaps even a certain sense of inferiority in those above… How it must irk them that the "all-surpassing Prime" is critically dependent on Kantine in some ways.
And how can one not feel even a modicum of gratitude and respect for the people who work all day in the fields, feeding the entire Mainland. And in the evening, tired but content, gather around large tables, eating hearty food.
And sleep soundly. Instead of planning the next attacks and gossip against unfriendly Oms. Which they themselves made that way.
Ugh… It was time for Kyle himself to remember his work. And, inspired by the example of the locals, to do it thoroughly and conscientiously too.
Taking one last admiring look at the surroundings, which he would have plenty of time to admire during his assignment, Kyle took out the clay tablet with the plan that was conveniently lying to the side of his bag and tried to get his bearings.
Of course, maps were rarely updated… And he had a VST version, but still an outdated plan of Kantine. Had to keep that in mind.
However, despite that, there shouldn't be any problems. He'd always been good at navigating by schematics. He was a big-city dweller, after all…
…So… Let's start from the beginning… Administration, Headman… Hm. Seems… somewhere over there…
Smiling at the small gathered crowd of locals gawking at him, he purposefully strode off in the direction where his target was presumably located.
However… The theoretically calculated path shattered against the practical reality of endless dead ends, cluttered alleys, and those very beautiful but completely impassable fences entwined with wonderfully fragrant flowers. What a delightful… misunderstanding.
Probably… There were some reasonable reasons for its existence. And ways to navigate all this splendor.
A great chance to practice the language and interact with the locals.
Looking around a bit helplessly, he returned to the group of people who had been noisily working in the field before, but had now fallen silent and abandoned that activity, staring at him with… frankly, somewhat disconcerting curiosity.
…They don't trust strangers. That's normal. Should demonstrate a lack of hostility to them.
Smiling an open, broad Prime smile and engaging all his natural charm, the agent approached the locals and addressed them in Kantinian.
"Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to the Administration?"
This had an unexpected effect on the group.
The people, who had been staring with heavy, studying gazes, now turned away embarrassed, examining the tools in their hands, without a hint of reciprocal friendliness. Muffled chuckles ran through them.
Everyone froze awkwardly and uncertainly.
The boldest of the group, with a half-sneer, blurted out something slippery and half-understandable. Everyone laughed. Kyle didn't understand.
He asked again.
The joker, having lost some of his verve and enthusiasm, simply waved his hand in a direction.
All the others, turning away, pretended to have returned to work.
However, as he went off to try his luck with other respondents, the Prime native sensed professionally that the first group was drilling holes in his back with their stares. Interesting.
…What had he done wrong? What was the mistake?.. Okay.
He addressed them politely. Said everything correctly, as far as he could… Could have made a mistake. But they understood, right? And?
They still looked at him strangely. As if even… with dislike. Why?
Something must have been said wrong. Textbooks can't cover everything. Or maybe… it's just his appearance.
His modest by Prime standards, but still stylish, comfortable clothing looked alien and contrasted with their dirt-stained, baggy field uniforms. So what. Everyone has their own job and living conditions. And none are better than others.
Even if the Prime native could bring himself to don the local baggy nightmare, charmingly colorful, by the way… His accent would still give him away.
Otherness was embedded in his very essence. Nothing to be done about that. Can't hide it. Nor was it the goal of the mission.
Alright. Mistakes happen. Doesn't cancel out successful options. Let's try again.
The explanations from the next group were more condescending, but no more understandable.
However, they were so rushed and mumbled that Kyle again understood absolutely nothing.
Nothing but "straight on till the big urluk, then left, past the Trapps' fence, and it'll be there."
What the hell… Okay. An assignment is an assignment. Let's go where they sent us… And ask again there.
…Right. So, straight on…
It turned out that "straight on" meant a huge detour around numerous tightly enclosed private properties.
…What… savagery.
Wandering between the fences, Kyle decided to discard the annoyance over wasted energy and time and treat it as a tour.
After all, the city itself was still beautiful. Even if he'd encountered a couple of extremely impolite people.
You can find that anywhere. In Prime too. Lack of awareness, unfortunately, was still part of life on the Mainland.
Further, and undesirably, confirming this thesis, a new ordeal awaited him at the Administration.
A queue.
It was huge, noisy, and, it seemed to Kyle, absolutely chaotic.
People were noisy, shouting things to each other, constantly trying to cut in line. And the Headman's Secretariat seemed to only amplify the already whiningly negative atmosphere, serving primarily… certain specific people. Causing either silent or grumbling, but equally ineffective, sullen discontent among the rest.
…How could they create such a mess in an official, mind you, governing body?!
And… How could they tolerate it?! In Prime, such treatment of people would cause a series of unpleasant complaints to the Chamber of Services at the Palace. But here…
The Kantine Administration was the highest authority in the city. And there was no one to appeal to.
Awful. Pity the locals. They were treated here only slightly better than outsiders. But not by much.
…In vain had the VST agent considered his own city a swamp of triumphant bureaucracy. Here, they were definitely outdone…
He spent what felt like several lifetimes here. During which he mentally calculated how quickly he could bring order to this bureaucratic pustule. As an intellectual exercise. To distract himself.
After all, he was here on a mission, and it didn't include a kill order.
However, as irritation and hunger grew, a nervous breakdown of said mission seemed increasingly real. All his feelings of social justice and civic responsibility rebelled against what was happening.
After standing in a queue a hundred times longer and unbearable due to the disorder, he finally got in… Not to the Headman himself, with whom he needed to discuss many things, but who, by a strange quagmire of circumstances, was currently absent. And Kyle only got to see his substitutes.
…The VST agent's frustration knew no bounds. What was he even doing here?!
Oh, right. To obtain temporary city registration and a permit to operate.
Exhaling and trying to shed the accumulated powerful, murderous tension, as professionally, politely, and restrainedly as possible, the Prime native tried to convey this information to the locals.
In return, he received only additional reasons to boil over and unleash anger, comparable in power and even surpassing not only the resentment of the buzzing queue he'd just been part of, but seemingly capable of blowing up and turning to dust this completely beautiful but equally unbearable town…
The bureaucrats, whether they truly hadn't received instructions from the higher-ups or were pretending they hadn't, obviously hiding their incompetence and lack of information, instead of helping, asked unnecessary questions in a haughty tone and gave unsolicited advice.
And they did so without particular need or any pretext, so arrogantly and dismissively, as if he had come here only to take away their last resources for survival.
It was unclear how Kyle even managed this… rather tough initiation for a VST rookie. However, he did eventually get the work permit and temporary registration with a place to stay in the city. Where he didn't want to spend another moment.
In the short time he'd been here, he had strained his nerves as he hadn't during all the long cycles of Academy training and the vicissitudes of employment.
No joy was added from completing this stage.
On the contrary. The next one, no less difficult, lay ahead: obtaining assistance in the investigation. And if there was no more assistance there than in the City Administration… Then it would be better if they just didn't interfere.
To the irritation was added a nagging anxiety. And… hunger.
Major stress in a young, healthy body demanded proportionate compensation. Perhaps hearty local food would smooth over and reduce the damage incurred. However… recreational activities would have to be postponed.
So, after an Eon of unpleasant moments and practically a whole day, pointlessly spent in the completely acoustically aggressive chaos-filled abode of the absent City Head… now he had to rush at full speed to the Order Department. Otherwise, it would close.
…Perfect. Just… perfect.
We continue our mission, encountering all new and unexpected obstacles literally out of nowhere.
The VST agent burst out of the Administration building and hurried to the Temples, only to… run into the labyrinth of fences again.
…How fitting!
Even though he'd somewhat familiarized himself with the map, he still didn't understand if there was any way to shorten the path... Optimize it… Oblige the plot owners to provide a through passage between the city streets, at least by not placing fences right up against each other… His analytical mind, obsessed with a logical approach to everything, searched for any clue. Anything at all.
Anything to reduce the desire to immediately unleash a VST assault witch-technique, obliterating the obstacles. It would hardly be effective against the thick clay walls, but knocking off the top would be enough to grab onto the densely growing foliage and vault over the fence.
Or several fences, thus cutting straight through to the coveted destination. Thereby strengthening the already bad reputation of out-of-towners.
So be it...
Kantine had already earned a reputation in Kyle's eyes as a city of infuriatingly irrationally placed, but beautiful, solid fences. They'd be even.
…Why all this? Couldn't they have organized the settlement differently?
Or… reorganized it? Why tolerate this from generation to generation?
As a familiar evil? Or as another torment for visitors? To spite whom they themselves had to detour half the city instead of getting somewhere quickly?
Perhaps it was once a means of defense… In its time.
But why preserve what's irrelevant now, when cities haven't fought each other for hundreds and thousands of great cycles? Why not make adjustments?
What kind of masochistic form of local entertainment is this?!
Do they revere all their traditions so much that they're willing to observe them in such a perverted form?
And what about the local Administrators? Do they… not move around Kantine at all? Don't see the multitude of problems? And not just with the fences…
Malicious thoughts, unexpectedly confronted with a heap of outrageously incomprehensible things, emerged from the depths of his mind like the locals, freed from the fields by evening, abundantly appearing on the streets that had become too noisy and crowded.
And while someone might find it amusing. The Kantinians watched his chaotic movements not without interest.
The frustrated Prime native rushing past, returning at the same speed after a while from another dead end, was indeed probably a very entertaining sight.
Indeed, one might assume that the locals erected these torturous pseudo-defensive structures precisely for this purpose.
But that conclusion would require a very inflated Prime ego.
After short, hopeless inquiries and long, nervous searches, the out-of-breath, disheveled Prime native finally, almost by accident, burst onto the street where the Order Department was located.
Of which there was no order in sight. As in this entire city, one could almost get used to it by now.
…Could Niall have been right after all?.. Unthinkable.
Nevertheless… Irritated, clamoring crowds were milling about here too.
And this unsystematic gathering didn't resemble a queue at all.
It felt like people came here just to chat… In raised voices.
Even just figuring out the location of the secretary's desk and fighting through to it would be another feat. For which he undoubtedly deserved a reward. At least in the form of dinner.
…Which he still had to survive until. Ooooh!..
A terrible death by starvation in the food capital. Important and needs preventing. But… Mission first. Everything else later.
…Alright.
The Prime native closed his eyes and exhaled in resignation, almost powerlessly listening to the din and resigning himself to reality, accepting the inevitability of the chaos surrounding him….
…In the near future, the agent wouldn't be able to escape either the city or the situation. He'd have to eat this, from start to finish. By the full spoonful.
Stopping his angry and helpless flailing against events, exhaling once more and sharply opening his eyes after another uncouth shove in the side, he looked around. Without anger or despair now.
…And they… live like this every day?
One could pity them, but… it seemed only he was suffering.
The others, perhaps, even enjoyed it. They didn't look surprised or depressed. Rather, indignant…
…Aha! And that's interesting now…
No longer concentrating on the idea that the mission's success depended on him quickly getting to the office of the Order Department's leadership, the VST agent began to understand that it wasn't so. Nothing was quick here. If only because of the local fences. And other entertaining obstacles. And, more pleasantly, the time in this gnat-infested swamp wasn't wasted after all!
A wonderful opportunity to obtain valuable field information was coming to him of its own accord this time. Into his ears, rather.
The rumors, which the VST had sent him here to verify, were being wonderfully confirmed. Here and now. In the lobby of the Order Department, the local community was actively discussing missing tools, trampled fields, vanished ishma supplies… And even more!
Disappearances of people. Or… their memories? Had he understood that right?
Oh, how curious… The Chiefs would definitely be interested in these clarifying and supplementary details. There was no point in getting into the Order Department Head's office right now. All that remained was to dodge the locals, who seemed unaware of personal boundaries, and curiously listen in on the multitude of conversations.
A blissful Kyle, out of surprise and joy, had genuinely lost the desire to kill that hadn't left him all this time. Good. Even if temporarily. What psyche could withstand this.
…So, the mission was no longer an outright failure. Excellent!
A pity the analytical abilities of those discussing weren't as high as their loquaciousness. With an abundance of details, their conclusions didn't go beyond "machinations of neighboring cities" and other primitive nonsense irrelevant for the next couple of hundred cycles…
Oh well. At least, even while shooting disapproving glances, they spoke freely in his presence. Probably assuming he didn't understand.
…Finally, his luck had turned. In this madness, some use and meaning had emerged.
All that was left was to find out about the strange "discrepancies" in the caravan reports and get access to the cargo records here and directly in the Caravans.
One snag... Meaning, another one. Having turned all ears, Kyle forgot to monitor his own place in the queue to the Leadership.
And getting to him would be good before the returning desire to kill was complemented by the desire to devour everything suitable for that purpose.
With the receded fury, hunger intensified. It seemed this outsider really would devour all that ishma himself… Raw.
Thereby once again confirming the locals' fears. Well… it's their own fault.
The VST agent does not justify unlawful and violent actions by the behavior of the locals and their somewhat absurd way of life and traditions. But he seems to be getting very close to it. This is how monsters are born on the Mainland.
He had already stopped considering the locals cute or even peculiar. Respecting foreign culture and seeking a reasonable explanation for everything.
The credit of trust was practically exhausted, and the presumption of innocence and reasonableness had ceased to function.
And the Head of the Order Department, whom Kyle somehow managed to end up with in the end, successfully utilized the remains of this credit.
The unsuspecting beneficiary looked at him with open mockery. Even with some cunningly veiled derision.
In response to the question about certain "discrepancies," as Kyle diplomatically put it, avoiding the word "machinations" in the Caravans, the Head diligently pretended not to understand what he was talking about.
Acting wasn't his talent. But what can you do with him in general. The VST agent had no special authority here. Otherwise, he would… definitely have done something. After a day like this, especially so.
…Alright. Time to wrap this up. And head off for a well-deserved dinner.
As for the control question about amnesias, the orderly man just brushed it off, citing… the locals' immoderate drinking during holidays.
…Funny. Witty. Let's all applaud the VST.
He flatly denied the disappearances of people altogether.
"Went into the Forest." "To a neighboring city." "Anywhere."
Kyle could understand that. He'd been here less than a full day, but he was also ready to leave this place… anywhere. Yeah. So he just nodded wearily in agreement.
…Wait for Inga here then. And while you're waiting, feel free to show off... No one's forbidding it.
Right, and lastly… In response to his request for materials, they just laughed in his face.
Well. Expected. Well… Had to try.
Insisting or getting indignant here was useless. Clear as day. Just as it was clear that they were lying to his face. On all counts.
Because the epicenter of chaos, mistakenly called a queue here, had already given him a substantial part of the necessary information. All that remained was to gather the details and record them.
The Order Department itself had no intention of cooperating. On the contrary. It was deliberately complicating everything. The situation clearly gave them pleasure.
"Off you go, off you go, little witcher," he heard behind his back.
…With pleasure. To the tavern! Finally, all this was over.
He had done all he could. Truly. Even managed before the Temples closed. Despite the fences and queues.
…Of course, he could try to break into their Archive…
Judging by the documents lying on the orderly man's desk, whose text Kyle had discreetly skimmed, the local services were rather negligent in storing even important information that they seemingly wanted to conceal. Or perhaps the Order Department Head simply hadn't considered that the foreigner speaking Kantinian could also read.
But why.
Why all these extra moves? Even without plans for a daring break-in, the mission was practically accomplished because the necessary information had been successfully obtained.
And to find something in the Archives, you need to know what you're looking for there. Kyle didn't have any good ideas yet. Except one, rather obsessive one.
And it was more about finding a decent tavern.
His informational hunger had been sated. The city had been inspected and deemed very beautiful. Illusions had been lost. The people, whose honor he had so fiercely defended before his own, turned out to be exactly as they had been described to him. He got what he asked for. In full. In short, all tasks done.
Now he could put it all out of his mind, transferring it to the report.
Both the refusal of the power structures and local law enforcement to cooperate, and… everything else would find reflection in his report. In which he would not skimp on epithets.
Although… who cares about that. I mean, that practically emotional part. The Chiefs already know who they're dealing with. Although the thought that they sent him here deliberately sent a chill down his spine…
Well… he himself wanted to come here so badly. Perhaps that was the reason for the ultimately unanimously supported appointment… Perhaps. One would like to believe so.
Oh well. People can be anything. Food can be too. But if there are no problems with common sense or the stomach, it lets you down much less often than people.
It can both comfort in a difficult situation and delight with its novelty.
Or its familiar taste. Depending on the situation's demands. In general… It was time to turn to eternal, universal values.
An evening stroll through the beautiful city was also very timely.
With the onset of darkness, it looked even more interesting. Windows glowing with a warm, non-witchy light from the Oms… Ugh. Homes. Beckoned with their coziness.
And he still had to find his own dwelling among these pretty buildings… and fences. A thought both joyful and frightening at the same time.
The human hum and din had finally migrated from the fields into the houses and onto the streets. So many people here. And so much energy they had.
Them, who worked from morning till night in the field with huge, heavy tools.
Even the trained Kyle could only envy.
Perhaps it's the labor and healthy diet. Well. Let's partake in the second part.
Hard as it is to say, the tavern turned out to be another test of the Prime native's patience.
The unfriendly innkeeper diligently pretended not to understand the speech, which had been perfectly understandable to others before, with its slight foreign accent. To the delight of the bored patrons at neighboring tables, he mocked as best he could and was scarcely more courteous than the bureaucrats.
But there was nowhere else to go. He was starving to death by now.
So, usually more discerning but currently not particularly choosy, Kyle simply practically ordered the first thing the owner offered him. Better than nothing.
Under the sidelong glances and whispers from neighboring tables, the VST agent, now completely indifferent to such things, sank his teeth into the brought pastry, awaiting… a huge, as it turned out, portion of vegetable stew with an extra aromatic flatbread. And it eclipsed the entire world for him, canceling out everything else for a while. This was simply food ecstasy.
…At this moment, Kantine was flawless. Everything was perfect. Like this taste and aroma.
It was a great pity when it all ended, but the well-fed, life-satisfied Prime native returned to this sinful, disappointment-filled world, in which… something had still subtly changed.
The surroundings no longer seemed so unfriendly. The prospects, not so bleak.
Whether the Kantinians, sensing something in common, had approved of the outsider passionately enjoying hearty food in a way they understood, or whether the satiated Kyle was simply indifferent to everything now.
Having settled the bill with the now more peacefully disposed owner of the establishment, the Prime agent set off at a leisurely pace on what promised to be a long search for his temporary lodging.
A walk after such a full belly certainly wouldn't hurt. If they were going to feed him with the same diligence and in the same volume, changing into local clothing would be forced upon him not by work, but by sheer necessity.
Finding his Om in the chaotic city in the dark, even with good witch-vision, wasn't easy. But this was no longer the most unpleasant part of the day's mission. Evening strolls before bed were always a pleasant thing.
And the nastiest part was already behind him. At least, he really wanted to hope so. The phase of petitions and appeals was over. The rest depended almost solely on Kyle now.
What could be done?
Visit the Caravans. Even without permits for searches and investigation. Just look. And talk. Posing as a passenger who would soon need to return to Prime.
After all, that was the case. And this "soon" warmed his soul. Investigations in practice were not so much "intellectual" exercises as he had imagined, but rather a struggle with uncooperative circumstances and a lack of collaboration. Despite seemingly common interests. Or perhaps… the interests weren't so common after all.
Perhaps the locals were interested in concealing the details not just out of stubbornness. And the lack of desire to cooperate could be explained not only by inter-city animosity.
…But also by a certain interest in these shadow operations and dubious dealings. Then… it was even more interesting than just cultural differences.
…Differences in goals. And in means.
This should be reported. And pondered.
He was already sitting on the edge of his hard bed in the chilly temporary lodging, thoughtfully clutching a clay writing tablet in his hands, ignoring the street noise and loud shouting.
Pleasantly, the predominant feeling inside wasn't discomfort from the alien surroundings or the lack of coziness in the unlived-in room, but the long-awaited, satisfied relief from the end of a difficult task with the possibility of hiding and resting somewhere for a while.
Kantine and the encounter with his long-held dream had become a severe trial. One he still had to somehow survive.
But at least the skew in reality towards idealism had been corrected. By Inga, Tibby, Niall, the Chiefs, circumstances… And for all that… thanks, I guess.
Harsh, accessible, and immediately understandable. That's what's called "maturing" of the personality. And, if one doesn't get stuck in the victim position, it must be said, this city greatly contributes to personal growth…
Like a heap of compost for an afpa. The Kantinians would be proud of his plant-based comparisons. If they could see beyond their prejudices.
Frankly, they should have sent Inga or Tibby on this mission. Officially, nothing can be done here. Knowledgeable people understood that from the start. Now he did too. So then… what was all this for?
Perhaps there was hope for the opposite. Or they wanted to try.
Emphasizing his knowledge of Kantine. And that, distracting from the general disappointment, could and should be used. And, without wasting time, conduct a little fieldwork.
Taking some of it away from the less-prepared-for-it Inga and Tibby.
He needed to change into… No. He'd already been in inconspicuous clothes today and had been completely exposed… May his Prime core, accustomed to the good life, forgive him, but he would don the local baggy… camouflage. And… do a bit of eavesdropping.
Uncontrollably chatty in normal situations, the locals abruptly and awkwardly fell silent upon his appearance. Or spoke calmly in his presence if they thought he didn't understand.
That they talk a lot. This is both an inconvenience of a noisy city… and a plus. This irritatingly distracting background could easily be turned to his advantage.
To wander around the city. And work, say, in the taverns... The pleasant with the useful. The tasty with the work-related. Hmm. Just as he originally planned.
He needed to try to rest. Right after writing the report. Before the details of what he'd heard today were forgotten. To sink into sleep, forgetting about this day, would be the optimal way to end it.
Wouldn't hurt to write to Inga either. Tell her about his discoveries. Learn about her successes in the investigation.
She was right. These people aren't proud, they're prideful. And they demonstrate solidarity more readily *against* someone. Cultural differences turned out not to be an interesting point, but an insurmountable obstacle.
Comparable in effectiveness and absurdity to the local fences.