Late December 1993. South Helens.
Black, greasy smoke hung over the city. Not fog, not haze, not even the fumes of an extensive and rather neglected sewer system - smoke. Carcasses of cars, tires and other street pyrotechnics were burning: such were the realities of gang warfare. Of course, this commotion did not reach the level of a real war, with artillery attacks and heavy weapons. But the fact that bandits had been openly shooting in the streets for so many months, looters were robbing shops, and the police were forced to switch to a practically siege state - that said something.
And all this against the backdrop of an almost demonstrative ignoring of the situation in London! - Damn it, what are they even thinking about? - Superindent Woody Tallwood exclaimed in his heart, banging his fist on the windowsill in frustration. He stood by the window and looked at the smoke, listening to the sounds of gunfire and the wail of sirens. South Helens was sinking deeper into anarchy with each passing day. This shit had been going on and on for almost six months now - and no one at the top cared!
Sirius fucking Black, - the superintendent almost growled the hated name. - What kind of arch-terrorist is this that all the security forces are thrown into catching him, completely ignoring the real problems?! Hell is breaking loose on Earth, and it seems like the fat scumbags in London have all gone blind and deaf! What the hell?!
As expected, there was no answer. However, Woody was grateful to God at least for having shaken down a special police squad from his superiors back in the summer. Because if he hadn't had these guys on hand, the situation would have been completely dire. True, it was becoming more and more difficult to plug the holes that were appearing like mushrooms after the rain with these guys. Especially considering that Lord's gangsters and the smaller thugs who joined him had automatic weapons and damn mortars!
Barracks Destroyers... Someone could say that these homemade guns were complete crap compared to real mortars. But Superintendent Tollwood had served in Northern Ireland at the time when the Irish Republican Army was actively "having fun" there. And so he knew that in urban combat, and on conditionally their own territory, where heavy equipment, artillery and other military delights are not particularly applicable, such toys sometimes decided the outcome of the confrontation.
If there was a real war in Ireland with an enemy who is 200% alien and whom you don't feel sorry for, it would be easier. A couple of airstrikes, tanks, guns, etc. - and all this riff-raff would run away to their holes, afraid to show their noses! But that's the thing, both there and especially here, it was THEIR territory! Populated by subjects of Her Majesty the Queen. And they were opposed, at least officially, by ordinary gangsters, and not some terrorists or, even more so, a regular army! Only the presence of Kalashnikovs, Barracks Destroyers and other weapons among these "gangsters" raised doubts about their "ordinariness".
But even with all this, such riots and gangland showdowns could be solved by a simple police operation. If the bureaucrats in the capital would take their heads out of their asses and give the South Helens police men and money... Woody angrily banged his fist on the windowsill again. Because no one would give him a single man or a single penny. What's more, whenever he even touched on the subject in a telephone conversation with his London superiors, they immediately avoided the conversation. Significant. Demonstrative!
Sirius Black... All the problems of Tollwood and South Helens revolved around this man. And what's more, South Helens! Woody suspected that law enforcement officers all over Britain were faced with the same problems as he was - and they all cursed this unknown Black, who had drawn all the attention of the competent services to himself and forced them to ignore the current needs of maintaining order.
The superintendent took out his ever-present pipe and, after a few simple manipulations, lit up. However, contrary to his usual practice, this did not calm him down in the least. As if the problems he had already faced were not enough! And then there was this... this insufferable woman! Woody's gaze darted to his desk. On it, side by side, lay a medium-thick folder and a resignation sheet. In the folder was a fully completed report on the closure of the Steel Reaver case, written by Megan Cornhill. The resignation was also from her. A resignation letter.
Tollwood sucked on the mouthpiece of his pipe irritably and blew a ring of smoke. Then, wincing, he stubbed out the pipe and put it down. For some reason, the thought that South Helens had been unnecessarily smoky lately even without him made him put aside his old habit. At least this time.
In fact, both things, the folder and the resignation, irritated the superintendent beyond belief! Both simultaneously pressed on the callus of the problems growing around him and were like a slap in the face of all his previous convictions and thoughts. As a damn conservative person, he did not like all these modern trends, total emancipation and other "hippie influences", as his own father used to say. A female police officer for a man of his character was nonsense, stupidity, idiocy! Well, okay, some traffic controller, but a detective? No way!
And nevertheless, the example of a female detective had been constantly looming before him for the past few years. Megan Cornhill. However, he did not try to somehow drive Cornhill out of the department, having relatively come to terms with her existence and irrepressible energy. In the end, it had been somewhat difficult to perceive her as a representative of the fair sex before: Megan was not particularly beautiful. And she dressed like a classic "bluestocking", not to mention ignoring makeup and the manners of a straightforward "bulldozer". Now, of course, everything has changed, but…
Of course, Woody tried to keep Cornhill out of any important or dangerous cases. It didn't always work out that way, after all, South Helens had never been a model of a law-abiding town, let alone nowadays. That very Steel Destroyer case was, by the way, quite interesting and significant - but, again, only by the old standards. When the showdown between Lord and the Pakistanis began in their town, the Destroyer moved into the category of second-rate concerns. Just right for Megan, as Tollwood thought.
And now, when things were going really badly, and he was ready to accommodate the unbearable woman by sending her on a real case, she... quits. And how she quits! Literally throwing the solved Steel Destroyer case in the boss's face as a parting shot. The results of which meant nothing to them now anyway. Because all the facts and evidence he had gathered pointed to one of the biker gangs that were now under Lord's command. And they were, for obvious reasons, hard to get hold of in the current circumstances.
Woody had even found out through his own channels what had prompted Megan to leave the service. Marriage! Another very ironic fact that Tollwood would have laughed at if they hadn't been making fun of him this time. How many times had he reasoned that a woman's purpose was to get married and run a family, not to serve in the police? And now, when he was ready to step over his principles and send a woman "to the barricades," this very woman decided, as if in mockery, to follow these very principles!
The smell of smoke and burning rubber was irritating. If things continued as they were, and they weren't given reinforcements, South Helens risked finally sliding into chaos. Or Chaos, but these were the thoughts of completely different people, but not Woody Tollwood, the local police detective superintendent.
At one point, looking out the window, it seemed to him that the winged silhouette of some white bird flashed in the sky. - A snowy owl? Here? - Tollwood blinked his eyes in dismay. And then he shook his head angrily. - What a fantasy! I really need to get more sleep, - after which he turned away from the window and returned to business.
The snowy owl named Fulgrim - and it was Fulgrim - was flying over the smoky city towards a target known only to it. The bird's keen gaze penetrated even through the smoke screen, picking out individual details of what was happening in South Helens and the surrounding area.
A group of men and women with weapons had gathered near one of the shops, clearly preparing to defend the establishment from unbridled looters. The guns they were holding were mostly hunting rifles, but against small gangs of robbers this was more than enough.
There was a shootout on the other side of town: an armored van of the police special forces ran into a car that had come out of nowhere, and almost immediately several shaved gangster-looking young men with Molotov cocktails in their hands jumped out of the neighboring alleys. However, special forces are special forces for a reason, that he managed to react quickly to the threat: the van driver quickly backed up, breaking the distance, and fighters with weapons at the ready poured out of its guts. They quickly dealt with some of the gangsters, after which the rest lay down in cover. It was not interesting to watch further: the police also took cover behind nearby cars, mailboxes and other obstacles, after which a positional shootout began.
However, most of the city was already in a more or less calm state: the central streets, far from the Stocks, the warehouse and biker pub district, could even be mistaken for living an ordinary life. The lights of the shops, a large Christmas tree in the central square - it seemed like an ordinary English town in the midst of the winter holidays. Only the smoke from the outskirts reached here, as did the periodic sounds of gunfire. And therefore there were far more bobby patrols on the streets than ordinary passers-by. And nevertheless, they were there. And some of them, it seemed, should not be here at all, even on Christmas!
For example, a girl of about fifteen, in woolen stockings, fur earmuffs and a warm coat, who was carefreely walking along one of the streets of South Helens on the very edge of the disadvantaged area. A typical uniform skirt and high boots completed this image of an ordinary English schoolgirl on vacation. And only a bright braid-fenechka in thick chestnut hair stood out from the pastel image.
Look what a chick has come to visit us, - a hoarse voice was heard very close to the walking girl. - Hey, baby, lost? Want a ride with the wind - it's not far!
Hey, then I'll come with you, - the second voice chuckled in response, just as smoked and hoarse as the first.
The speakers, two tattooed bikers, were standing by the wall of a brick building, next to their motorcycles. One of them, a muscular, mustachioed hunk with thick black sideburns and a colorful bandana, had just stepped out to meet the girl walking along the sidewalk, blocking her path. If the schoolgirl with the bauble had been an ordinary girl, she would probably have been scared. And to tell the truth: as luck would have it, there was not a single police patrol in sight, although recently, as already mentioned, they had been frequenting the streets of South Helens. However, they did not appear in this area very often: the Stocks were located very close by, the home of the sinister Trash Cult, which did not particularly like it when bobbies climbed onto its territory. So patrolling here was purely formal, if there was any at all. So there was no one to protect the stupid schoolgirl from two bandits who decided to have some fun.
But she didn't need protection anyway. "Oh, I was just looking for someone to ask for directions," said Hermione Granger, who was indeed her, without the slightest embarrassment. "They told me to look for Line Street and that someone would meet me there..."
Well, baby, you're lucky, - the owner of black sideburns grinned nastily. - This really is Line Street, and here we are.
His friend laughed cheerfully at these words.
To be honest, there was a reason why they had put the two of them out to freeze on this corner: they controlled several spots where Lord's dealers were selling dope. Recently, such "volunteer patrols" from small gangs, like a parody of police patrols, often cruised around South Helens, watching the underground business of the city's criminal kingpin and protecting it. This was especially relevant now: the war with Firuz's Pakistanis and the police sometimes died down, sometimes flared up again, but neither side wanted to retreat. Moreover, the "blacks" had allies, the same ethnic groups that were not averse to expanding their territory at the expense of the suburbs of London - especially against the backdrop of the outright negligence of security structures in the last six months.
In general, it became quite difficult for Lord to conduct business: attacks on points and warehouses became more frequent, not to mention constant skirmishes. So even in such relatively "rear" areas, there were always stashes of bikers or skinheads, of which there were always plenty in South Helens - they were guarding the pushers and the property of their master. And standing on the snowy streets, wrapped in sheepskin coats, is not only cold, but also boring. So the guys decided to "warm up" a little.
However, they did not have time to move on to any active actions. Luckily for them, because Hermione, of course, would not have let an attempt to rape her go. But they never found out about their happiness. A black SUV with tinted windows drove out from around the corner. And the bikers suddenly became bored. Because they recognized the car: one of Lord's gang cars.
"Damn it, just to spite me!" the owner of black sideburns muttered. — They're watching, the bastards, to make sure you don't leave your post... Okay, baby, I'll give you a ride another time, — he grinned at the girl one last time, as if he hadn't just been about to literally kidnap her.
— It's okay, — Granger smiled sweetly, as if nothing had happened.
The bikers only grinned at this: they thought that the stupid little girl herself didn't understand what they were hinting at. But after another phrase, their faces stretched in amazement: — Especially since these are exactly the people meeting me.
And she pointed to an SUV that had slowed down next to their group, from which a gloomy, clean-shaven guy in a jacket and a colorful shirt got out — one of Lord's officers.
— Are you Granger? — he asked the girl with the same gloomy look, ignoring the stunned bikers.
— I am, — the girl smiled again. — And you are from Lord?
"The boss is waiting," the bandit shook his head and stepped aside, giving Hermione the opportunity to climb into the SUV. He glanced at the completely stunned bikers one last time, climbed in after them, and the car moved off.
For a while, the two "volunteers" who remained on the same corner stood and stared after the car. And then one of them asked:
Max, did you understand something?
Your mother! - Max swore, turning pale. - Is this a relative of the Lord? What, did we just not... that some niece of his?
Shit! - his interlocutor also turned as pale as a sheet. - And if she tells "uncle" about us?
Yes, she didn't understand anything, - Max mumbled not very confidently. - Okay, let's tell the Wolf that this happened - he will be able to get us off if anything happens.
Of course, the two members of the Wolf's gang, "volunteering" at the Lord's point that day, did not know that Hermione had no intention of setting them up. For now. Although she understood perfectly well what those two wanted from her. After all, they hadn't succeeded, and without the appearance of the car there would not have been any greeters. But she got another small lever of influence on the next small people. And little by little, such levers are collected into large levers. The followers of the Architect of Fates are very fond of such games - and therefore the girl's mood was excellent!
Meanwhile, while the SUV was winding through the streets of South Helens, skirting the areas occupied by the police, a kind of meeting was taking place at Lord's base. All the officers present, Donnie Six Pieces and ... Megan Cornhill gathered in the office of the crime boss.
I certainly did not expect, did not guess that I would ever do business with Bobby, - Lord said relaxed and even somehow lazily. Those present, however, were not at all deceived by this relaxedness. Lord's people knew almost all of his intonations, and Megan had simply studied this type of people enough to understand that even if a lion lies quietly and yawns lazily, this does not mean that he will not jump up the next moment and bite your head off in a swift jump. However, she even waited with some kind of unhealthy, painful anticipation for the Lord to flare up, to vent his irritation and rage! ... But then she pulled herself together. With considerable annoyance at the need to talk, cooperate and maneuver in every possible way, instead of plunging headlong into danger and passion.
But she, like the Lord himself, understood perfectly well the need for cooperation and common sense. At most for the sake of the survival of their relatively common faith. At least - to avoid problems from the Angel. Angel ... A boy with a strange scar on his forehead, looking fifteen or sixteen years old with an actual age of thirteen. And, it felt like, with the experience and knowledge of a hundred-year-old demigod. "Old man" in this context was somehow strange to say.
And yet, despite his intelligence and youthful appearance, it was fraught with danger to anger this boy. What they had all witnessed, what they had received as a reward, and even the rumors that were just going around - everything said that the Angel was not to be trifled with.
I quit, - Megan shrugged at Lord's words, demonstratively crossing her legs. Tight leather leggings of a black color with a shine, tightly hugged her wide hips in such a way that even the imperturbable crime boss involuntarily lingered his gaze on them. However, not for long, switching his attention to the other participants of the meeting.
With Donnie Six Pieces sat two "bulls" from among the "enlightened" - that's what the gang began to call the scumbags who got carried away by the sermons of Reverend Andy and were preparing to fully join the Trash Sect. True, the Lord did not drive them out of the gang either: according to the information received from the Angel and his own observations, with a certain amount of caution and some... manipulations, they were not in danger of getting infected by them. True, the two newly-minted followers of Nurgle were precisely among those who especially zealously immersed themselves in the above-mentioned "manipulations". That is, rituals.
Oh, yes. The Lord had been receiving, albeit not frequent, but quite detailed instructions from the Angel over the past four months. Which were first brought by Andy's cultists - and therefore the Lord did not immediately begin to follow them. He took all this mysticism quite seriously - just look at the artifacts. Magic, natural magic! Magic that made life much easier. But magic is magic, and Andy's cultists and their creepy rituals were still damn creepy! And therefore the Lord decided to take on something more serious than using small amulets only after a reassuring letter from the Angel. Brought by a short, long-eared man with a blissful look, dressed in a pillowcase - just like the "garbage" cultists! It's good that there were no ulcers or gangrene on him - otherwise the gangster boss would have been afraid to take the letter in his hands. The appearance of a house elf named Ronki - and that's how the long-eared postman introduced himself - did not surprise the Lord much. After seeing real demons, this brownie* did not cause any special emotions. And after so many of his visits, he was perceived as an old acquaintance and almost an object of furniture.
So, the rituals ... The first of which he and several especially trusted officers, accompanied by Donnie Six Pieces, carried out in November, in the morgue of the city hospital of South Helens. According to Angel, he had been planning this ritual for a couple of years, but never got around to it. And it was intended to protect those who were seeing him off from illness - by appeasing the deity Nurgle, the same one that Andy and his cultists worshipped. In South Helens, monstrous corruption had long been in full bloom and stink, especially intensified by the beginning of the gang war, the indifference of the police and all the accompanying destruction. And therefore the hospital management, or to be more precise, the specific night shift of doctors was not at all against opening the morgue doors for the "respected people". And also to get to the upper floors and stay out of sight for at least a few hours. What wouldn't you do for a "small bribe"? Especially since it was an offer that was impossible to refuse. Few in this city would dare to refuse the Lord.
Then, a month ago, the Lord sincerely believed that he had already seen enough to not be surprised and not turn away from the disgusting act. Well, now such confidence caused only a condescending smile in him. He involuntarily shrugged his shoulders, remembering with what mad reverence Donnie accepted from his hands a jar with a strange greenish-brown liquid, previously delivered by Angel's house elf. How the former Aesculapius drew horrible signs with this liquid, which made Lord's hair stand on end and his consciousness rammed with indistinct voices. How Six Pieces gutted corpses, sacrificing them to the creatures that crowded in anticipation behind the thin edge of reality, which became even thinner that night... Lord still did not understand and did not realize much. But what he saw and felt was already enough to be imbued with what was shown to him. Chaos.
However, he did not allow Donnie and his henchmen, who accepted the teachings of the Trash Sect, to get too brazen and climb to the top. Moreover, most of the gangsters in his gang were terrified even by the appearance of these freaks - not to mention their essence, known only to Lord himself and a couple of his officers. But if it goes on like this, this filth will go haywire and swallow them all up - and the Lord didn't plan on becoming a rotting, stinking wreck like Andy and his piss-stained flock! Oh, no. All this magic, the Gods of Chaos and other mystical crap opened up much more interesting prospects!
Although there were some tangible advantages from the followers of Grandfather, as these lunatics also called their God. For example, those "bulls" who followed Donnie in worshiping Nurgle became much stronger and more fearless than before. Some of the guys said that bullets didn't take them at all - and the Lord was inclined to listen to such rumors. Especially considering that Six Pieces operated on one of these "pumped-up" fighters right in the presence of the boss: and he saw that the fighter was literally riddled with bullets, but he not only survived, but, it seemed, did not even feel any discomfort from cutting lead out of flesh alive.
But giving followers of one single direction an overwhelming advantage was frankly stupid. Lord had long ago learned the accuracy of the proverb about eggs in one basket - this was one of the principles of his life, thanks to which he at one time rose from ordinary bandits to the head of a gang. Considering the increased risks of criminal business and the survival rate of people like him on the path to success, one could safely talk about the extreme usefulness of this principle.
Now the risks were multiplied many times over. Not just crime, but open flirting with terrible, dark forces that are beyond the understanding of an ordinary person - this is not undermining the gang's superior officers or fighting for supremacy! Here the stakes were much higher. And Lord understood this perfectly well.
That was why he had called the current "meeting" with the participation of representatives of, so to speak, "other baskets." Megan Cornhill, a former police officer. As Lord understood, she had actually become "former" back in the summer, when, together with her girlfriend, the slut Helen, she had fallen into the arms of one of those Gods that the Angel had presented to him. Formally, she had only finally left the ranks of the bobbies today: on her way to the "meeting," she had dropped by the police station and left a resignation letter with her former boss.
Three weeks ago, in early December, they had visited her "base" - a house on the outskirts of the gray town of Little Whinging. If it hadn't been for the proximity to the highway, which also went through South Helens to London, Lord wouldn't have even remembered such a town. And what a town! Compared to Teddingale or South Helens, it was just a cottage village with a small church as a landmark. So, in that cottage that became the "base" for Megan and her own cult, there was a downright sense of… something. Almost exactly the same as in the temple of the Reverend Andy: something big and strong seemed to be constantly watching that place, invisibly present and whispering different words and thoughts to its inhabitants. But if in the case of the Trash Temple it was perceived as a damp stench, bringing at the same time anxiety, melancholy and some kind of unhealthy fatalism, then in Megan's cottage everything was different. There was a smell of musk there, not in the physical plane, but somewhere on the edge of consciousness. A strange languor, calling for an immediate occupation with something pleasant and forbidden.! It doesn't matter what, as long as this "something" is new, bright and exciting! Also quite a creepy feeling, on par with the Nurgle miasma. But still closer to the Lord.
And there were two more Gods from the so-called Great Four. Nurgle and Slaanesh had already received their cults and continued to expand, including under the patronage of the Lord. Khorne and Tzeentch were on the way. Today, one of the Angel's henchmen, a certain Hermione Granger, was supposed to arrive to tell about the remaining Gods and other nuances of the new mystical reality surrounding South Helens lately. Well, and, of course, to establish interaction with the Angel directly - the situation with the protracted war on the streets of the town was becoming threatening and something had to be decided. At the very least, it was impossible to leave everything as it was. Because, as the same Angel hinted in his letters, all this hysteria around Sirius Black will end very soon, most likely closer to spring. That is, all the freebies with the negligence of the competent authorities will very quickly come to naught and the wild liberties in South Helens will be closed down. They will organize if not a counter-terrorist operation, then certainly a large-scale police raid! And against the militants of local gangs, not a single MPSB squad and toothless bobbies, who now officially had no right to carry weapons**, but a real army! Even if dressed in police uniform.
Okay, - Lord said with a grin, showing that he believed in the "former" bobbies just as much as in Santa Claus. But both he and Megan Cornhill understood that this was just a performance for the assembled officers and a demonstration of leadership. "Give me one of your main guys," he snapped flatly, causing Megan to snort indignantly. "That idiot Richard or your doormat Helen… although they're both your doormats. It doesn't matter! The main thing is that they can carry out the necessary… actions for my guys." He was afraid to pronounce the word "ritual." But it was implied.
And yes, he was looking to the future and, in strict accordance with the principle of "divide and conquer," and of course the previously mentioned principle of baskets of eggs, he was going to create several rival cults in his town. Virtually indestructible carcasses, carrying an arsenal of bio-weapons in their bellies, into which Donnie's chosen fighters turned — that's not bad. But others were needed. Useful both in battle and in business. And the Lord sold two things: sex and drugs! And the only one of the four Gods described by the Angel who indulged these two directions was Slaanesh. Megan Cornhill's deity.
Megan bared her teeth at the impudence of this... this!... But she was still forced to shove her pride deeper: after all, the forces were still unequal. The Cult of She-Who-Thirsts was still small in number and vulnerable, the Gifts from their God were not so numerous at the moment and they did not give any decisive advantage - and therefore, oh, how not worth it to get into trouble! Compared even to the mortals under the Lord, their circle of perverted interests looked frankly pathetic. What can we say about the Nurglite sect.
At that moment of awkward silence and exchanging glances, a "bull" in a colorful shirt and jacket entered the room. "Miss Granger, I suppose," the Lord drawled a little lazily a couple of minutes later, after the "bull" had reported to him in his ear about the guest's arrival, and she had entered the room. "To be honest, I would say that I am surprised at such a young creature engaged in such a dirty business, but… perhaps I won't say."
"Oh, come on, Mister Lord!" the girl smiled broadly… well, she was practically a girl with a thick shock of chestnut hair. "Personally,"My business is not that dirty yet. Don't you know?" She sang slightly mockingly, looking with undisguised disgust at the Nurglites who had settled down there. Who, by the way, were throwing very unkind glances at Granger in response!
"We'll leave the discussions about the degree of 'dirtyness' of business for later," the Lord cut her off dryly. The Nurglites irritated him, and the Granger girl, on the contrary, amused him - but that was now. What would happen later? And does it even matter? It doesn't matter now. But he started to divide and rule right off the bat. Let the followers of Grandfather feel a little support, and this upstart - an equally small slap in the face.
"But to the point! When will you be able to conduct... the Great Ritual?
The Great Ritual. Dedication of a certain territory to Chaos Indivisible - that's how the Lord was described the totality of the influence of all Four Gods in that parallel spiritual and religious dimension. And they had to choose a place from several offered by the Angel.
He chose several different territories. The first one was somewhere in Scotland, in a place called the Forbidden Forest. But it was marked as "the most extreme option". Why so — who the hell knows! The Lord didn't even know what kind of place it was. Just as he didn't really understand the geography of Scotland. The second territory was Stonehenge. According to the same Angel's confused explanations, it was a completely abandoned object by his relatives (whoever they were) and occupied by some "muggles". Damn that Angel, with his allegorical explanations, but the Lord was willing to take a risk here! Because it already sounded like the truth.
The Lord sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, ignoring the snide look of the snotty Granger. "The truth", yeah… He, a local crime boss, was ready to storm Stonehenge to conduct some stupid pagan ritual… in the name of WHAT?!... Oh, right. In the name of his own Power and Might! He can't vegetate as a shadow king of a provincial town in the suburbs of London? It's time to take advantage of the opportunities that have presented themselves! This fucking Angel… let's see what kind of creature he is, pretending to be a sixteen-year-old youth! And what he can offer in a truly serious business. And given the hints of Megan Cornhill and — especially — Andy Tetchfield, one could conclude that these fucking cults of demonic "Gods" have climbed to a very high level! It's too early to talk about Buckingham Palace, but something close to it flashed in the words of the damned saint. If we add the rest of the cults to this power gap, the Lord will be able to achieve incredible results! And the price… What price? Who ever cared about the price when THAT kind of money and THAT kind of power are at stake?!
The other places were located in the outskirts of London, were much safer in terms of secrecy, but, according to the same Angel, not so suitable in practical terms. Hermione Granger, who in the meantime was sipping Earl Grey brewed by Lord's "bulls", couldn't help but grin. No, the tea was surprisingly good - after all, the Lord lived up to his nickname, even if he wasn't really a lord. Although, who knows? At least, he built his gang surprisingly clearly, and trained his officers well. What is the tea worth alone. But chaos reigned in the Lord's thoughts. Not the noble Chaos to which Granger had sworn allegiance some time ago, no. Just disorder. However, it was also a nice and convenient disorder for her. Because Chaos is for puppeteers. Disorder is for dolls. That's how the Changer of Ways teaches his followers! Without specifying, however, that there are different degrees of Chaos and Disorder, Puppeteers and Dolls. And that Hermione Granger became just one of those Dolls who imagine themselves to be Puppeteers. Well, not quite. Still, Tzeentch, like the rest of Chaos, was far from this remote world. For now.
Do you really understand all the consequences of the Great Ritual? - Hermione thoughtfully drawled in response to the Lord's question.— This is not just dancing with a tambourine in the hope of getting some kind of reward — everything is much more serious! The place and time must be carefully calculated, with an eye on staying there for a long time.
How long? - the Lord narrowed his eyes.
And how long have you settled here? - Granger answered the question with a question, waving her hands around the room, hinting at the Lord's base. - If the Indivisible sanctifies a certain place, it will become your fortress, home and center of power. "Or not quite yours," the girl thought to herself, but outwardly remained absolutely calm.
Good, - the Lord said just as evenly. - We will discuss this a little later. Now I would like to listen to… what should I call it? An in-depth lecture on mysticism. Well, and the further plans of our, ahem… spiritual leader.
Hermione smiled and began her story. With cuts, of course, all the same, the discussions about magical mechanics, their research with Harry in warp sorcery and other details were hardly interesting to the Lord. Only the purely practical side of the issue. As for the plans...
So, do I understand correctly, - the Lord singled out the main thing for himself. - We will be able to even reach the international level?
There are all the prerequisites for this, - Granger smiled sweetly in response. - The Time of Troubles, all that. The collapse of the Soviet Union, a bunch of local wars, confusion and anarchy. An excellent reason to fish in troubled waters!
Hm, - the Lord chuckled incredulously. - Considering what you told us... If it weren't for what he witnessed in recent months, the crime king of South Helens would have laughed at all this religious nonsense. And even more so - at the frankly spotlight discussions about the "international level". But that's the thing, after everything they'd seen, these conversations weren't exactly a floodlight.
"The Great Ritual must be conducted in the presence of all four conductors of the Divine Will," the girl sitting opposite him said in the meantime. "We'll gather the cults of all four Gods, summon their... messengers," she tactfully omitted the word "demons." "We'll gather enough strength and influence - and then..." She didn't say "then" out loud either: the Lord and those present had made it up for themselves. It wasn't a fact that everyone's thoughts coincided, but at least no one bothered to clarify what they meant. Harry would be pleased with his girlfriend. Soon the metastases of the Chaos cults would penetrate far beyond South Helens and even beyond the British Isles! And he, the Angel, would be at the top of that pyramid.
By the way, - the Lord suddenly said, pouring himself some whiskey from a bottle standing right there, next to the Earl Grey teapot. - Regarding our imminent… move. Are the proposed locations for the Grand Ritual the only and unrepeatable ones, or can I offer something of my own?
Hermione glanced at the gangster boss with an unreadable expression on her face. No, she did have a modicum of respect for him: just look at the absolutely magical silence of these rotten Nurglites! They certainly wouldn't remain silent if a follower of the hated Schemer stepped onto their territory. But — no! They sit there as if they had their tongues stuck up their asses. Let them throw furious glances. After all, the Lord, although still almost an ordinary mortal, keeps those present in check. As for his question…
The Angel, of course, compiled his list of desired locations more in a recommendatory vein, - the girl said neutrally. - It's just that if we hold them in a different place… we might need another Grand Ritual.
I don't think that will be a problem, - Lord waved his hand, lighting a cigar. - Especially since soon our shop… and all of South Helens, for that matter, - the bandit winced. - They'll shut it all down. And we'll have to, one way or another… redeploy.
The "bulls" around Lord made complicated faces, but it was clear that they understood little. Only his officers and the lesser gang leaders present winced, but quickly pulled themselves together. The word "retreat" was not uttered. But his spirit simply rustled in the air, and even the dumbest skinheads and bikers, as well as the cockneys from Lord's own gang, felt it. But Lord wouldn't be Lord if he didn't turn the bad situation to his advantage:
We've been sitting in South Helens too long. Here everything is destroyed, ruined and burnt down in front of the bobby, - here he glanced sideways at Megan, to which she only smiled with white teeth through her scarlet lipstick. - We need a new market, new opportunities... And we will seize these opportunities!
A second's pause and again: - It is almost impossible to do business in our city. And that means - we will lie low here and move the base to another place.
But the boss! - one of the officers of his gang finally decided, seeing a smile on the face of the boss and clearly sensing his good-natured mood. - We have an established business here! Warehouses, laboratories, points! Brothels and a lot of girls! ...
A temporary loss, - Hermione smiled understandingly, interrupting the "bull", which made him glance sideways with hostility. But he remained silent.
But the Lord did not remain silent. - Exactly, young miss, - he smiled. - We need to wait for the moment and simply... give Firouz South Helens.
At this point, everyone present froze. But not for long - the young guest of the city's shadow master burst out laughing and explained:
A ruined city with disrupted business, an agitated and embittered police, as well as some... formations, - she glanced sideways at the representatives of the Garbage Sect with some degree of sympathy.— And a short time later, a mass raid from London will fall on the Pakistanis, who are resting on their laurels! You are very clever, Mr. Lord, — she respectfully saluted her interlocutor with her teacup.
That's where we stand, - Lord smiled with only her lips. - That's where we stand!
And where will you be at that time? - Granger raised an eyebrow.
Teddingale, I think, - Lord said casually. - After all, Miss Cornhill, - here he glanced sideways at the former policewoman, - needs help taking charge of the mess that Mr. Shalom left behind.
"Left"? - Hermione grinned again.
"Left" or "Left" — does it really matter? - Lord returned the grin. - On my…He hasn't been on our hook for long, but he's already managed to screw up. All that's left is for him to come and take what's due to us. And in this, young miss, you can help us.
Christmas Eve 1993. Hogwarts.
"The Dementors will be recalled," Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge said categorically, towering over his interlocutors, Department of Mysteries agent Al Pym and Head of Auror Rufus Scrimgeour. Not standing, but towering ! His figure simply radiated a kind of pompous grandeur, which is why Director Dumbledore, modestly sitting at his desk, even allowed himself to chuckle mockingly into his beard. "You yourself confirmed the information that Black left the borders of Great Britain!"
It happened in the Director's office. The meeting took place a couple of hours before the Christmas feast… or rather just dinner, given the small number of participants. The Director did not want to leave the school on such a day, and that is why they gathered here. Especially since the conversation also concerned Hogwarts.
"That's not a fact," Pym made a weak attempt to object. "Our devices only recorded his disappearance from our jurisdiction." It could mean…
"That he's dead, for example," Fudge snorted at this. "To be honest, I'd like that option even better! In any case, it's necessary to gradually lift the restrictive measures – the people are worried, and the Muggle Prime Minister is expressing… concern."
Scrimgeour only pursed his lips in displeasure at this phrase. Unlike the modest, but at least some successes of the same Department of Mysteries, the Aurors had none at all. So he was in no hurry to speak up. Although he wanted to speak out, oh how he wanted to…
But he was forced to stand quietly and helplessly watch this triumph of politicking and brazen self-promotion! After all, it was Fudge who had hysterically insisted then, six months ago, on the most severe control measures, including dementors at Hogwarts! And now he had turned the situation in the eyes of the public as if it had been an initiative of the security forces - that is, the Aurors and him, Scrimgeour, personally. And now, having "pushed" them out of the Sirius Black case, the Minister would appear before the British wizards as a kind of savior from the tyrant Aurors, who had almost personally expelled the psychotic Black from the country and ended the idiotic High Alert regime. Mordred's politician!
And nothing - literally nothing! - could be done. The main newspapers, especially the Daily Prophet, were behind Fudge, so any attempt at informational butting was doomed to failure. But even if there had been some serious alternative, Rufus would not have climbed into this snake pit. He was an Auror. Not a politician. Not the right mindset, skills and priorities. And the current Minister also had a close-knit team of the same sharks - just look at that slippery Dolores Umbridge! Not to mention numerous connections and friendships with such political mastodons as Dumbledore or Barty Crouch Sr. So all he could do was stand there, grind his teeth and endure yet another injustice from his superiors. And seriously consider the option of early retirement. Once again.
Scrimgeour glanced sideways at Al Pym, an employee of the Department of Mysteries, who was standing impassively next to him. What the title of "employee" meant and at what level of the Department's hierarchy it was located, one could only guess - this division of the Ministry was the most closed, and Rufus's authority was only enough to know that they did not like the current situation either. But that was all. Al Pym and the entire Department of Mysteries, of course, did not show their displeasure in any way. And it must be said: they will not be publicly flogged by the Minister and rinsed by the press! What kind of operations were disrupted by the lifting of High Alert - Mordred knows, but outwardly they only halfheartedly tried to object to Fudge. Purely for the sake of form, so as not to lose face.
"I think that the students of Hogwarts will be pleased to return to school from the holidays with the knowledge that the Dementors will no longer hang over their heads," Dumbledore said softly. Of course! Who would have doubted it! The old man was not too pleased with all this dancing around High Alert. If anyone loved shady schemes, it was Headmaster Dumbledore. His Order of the Phoenix ... with former Death Eaters in its ranks. The Headmaster is happy, oh, happy about the lifting of control! And outwardly - well, a real saintly old man, looking after the children. He sits there, beaming with good humor, weaving a verbal balancing act with Fudge. And why is he, Scrimgeour, here? In this stuffy political atmosphere, Rufus was sinking deeper and deeper into melancholy. Why was he doing all this?...
Fudge, Pym and Scrimgeour did not stay for Christmas dinner, politely saying goodbye to the headmaster and leaving through the fireplace. Albus was not offended, rather he sighed with relief. They had resolved the issue with the dementors – and that was enough. The school was his territory, and he did not really want to tolerate the presence of Cornelius and the Ministry for long.
"And now we can take care of more… delicate matters," the old headmaster rubbed the bridge of his nose and rose from his chair. In just five minutes he was in the dungeons of the castle, having moved there with the help of a personal steward from the house-elves. And in front of him was a heavy oak table with… … Remains laid out on it.
"What can you tell me, Severus?" the headmaster asked seriously, without his usual "my boy."
"The Dark Arts, of course," Snape, who was standing right there, on the other side of the table, responded dryly. - No familiar emanations or reactions to the analyzing charms, but the conclusions are obvious... Albus, it seems that this does not bother you at all! - he suddenly flared up. - You are mysteriously silent about... almost everything! - he spat. - And yet, despite your silence, shit is there and it is starting to pour down our collars!
Dumbledore frowned at his former student and... spoke. More precisely, he slightly closed his eyes and said wearily:
Severus, this is a dangerous topic. Considering our previous... agreements, - here the old headmaster winced, remembering Snape's oath of revenge in the name of Lily Potter. - I do not want and will not demand anything from you. Moreover, I will release you from the oath!
Really? - Severus said caustically, trying to hide the extreme degree of surprise behind indifference. Of course: the always secretive Professor Dumbledore suddenly showed a willingness to... share secrets?! Free his pawn from his oaths?!
"I understand your skepticism," Albus sighed heavily at this. "But I'm afraid the situation is... unusual." He was silent for a couple of minutes, gloomily examining the moving eyes of the pickled heads, arranged in jars on the shelves along the wall of Snape's laboratory. And then, albeit with difficulty, he spoke again: "Severus... Lily Potter... performed a Dark Arts ritual on little Harry.
Silence. Only Snape's black eyes sparkled in the semi-darkness of the dungeon.
So, - the Potions Master finally said weightily. - So, you want to say that all this time the boy was under the influence of the Dark ritual, AND YOU WERE SILENT?!" he broke into a shout in the last sentence.
Severus, - the Headmaster glanced slightly reproachfully at his former student over his half-moon glasses. - You understand perfectly well that this is not the kind of information that is shared so easily. Especially without knowing the exact facts.
And now you, therefore, possess them, - Snape hissed much more quietly, but still with irritation. - And is this connected - a glance towards the table - with this?
As far as I could understand - yes, - Dumbledore nodded sullenly. - His protection... what protects Harry from the Dark Lord and other threats... it was bought at a price so monstrous that it is impossible to imagine.
God, Lily ... - Severus sighed in a completely Muggle way, wearily lowering himself onto a stool. However, he immediately came to his senses: - What is the danger for the boy?
Who knows how the wearer can be affected by protection mixed with the Dark Arts? - the old headmaster shrugged his shoulders just as tiredly. - And Voldemort marked the boy - and also no one knows how. I need - here he turned his intent gaze to the potion maker, - for you and your... team to find out everything about this.
Team? — Snape's eyebrows shot up. — What are you...?
— It seemed to me that you and Remus worked well together, — Dumbledore's eyes flashed slyly. — Not to mention Miss Tonks.
— You can't demand that I work with Lupin all the time! — Severus was indignant at this, grimacing as if he had chewed a lemon. — And don't ask!
— I thought that you and he had already outgrown the school feud, — the headmaster shook his head.
— That doesn't mean that I like seeing this... troublesome-fluffy one, — the potion master spat out. — Tonks and I are doing great!
Dumbledore only shook his head at this. It seemed that Severus's old school hostility not only didn't go away, but was aggravated by jealousy. Well, not all at once...
— Nevertheless, I ask you not to neglect the opportunity to at least sometimes use Remus's help, — the headmaster gently rounded off the topic. — As for the boy... I've been keeping an eye on him since the first year and a little earlier. And his relatives. I admit, it was high time to give Petunia a reprimand, but... it happened. There shouldn't be any problems now.
Snape grimaced contemptuously. Of course, "there shouldn't be"! Considering that the Dursleys had their brains thoroughly messed with after the death of Vernon's sister, including in terms of their attitude towards their nephew - that's for sure. Although it would have been possible to get by with a really simple reprimand at the very beginning - and nothing more.
— I was trying to find out who slipped Lily the knowledge of the ritual, — the director changed the subject. — Sirius Black remains my main suspect - he had access to the Potters' house, he could have stupidly or at the instigation of his mother given Lily some dark grimoire from the family library.
— At the instigation of her mother? — Snape asked distantly.
— Yes, — the director shook his head. - Not everything is clear in this whole story with Sirius' betrayal, and he and Walburga had a very loud fight in the seventh year... Well, you remember that scandal.
You'll forget something like that, - Snape winced, massaging his temples.- So you think...
That old lady Black was able to somehow find an approach to her eldest son, - Dumbledore nodded. - Whether she convinced him or deceived him is no longer important. Just as whether Sirius betrayed the Potters of his own free will or out of ignorance. As for the dark grimoire, - here he was silent for a moment. - Now we are unlikely to find out how it happened, who and why gave Lily information about the ritual. And it does not matter. The ritual itself and its consequences are important - but here too I am still at a dead end. I will only say, - the director glanced sideways at Severus, who was listening to him attentively. - I will only say that this ritual doomed Lily Potter to death the moment she performed it. Harry, on the other hand... - another sigh. - Harry acquired protection from such ancient forces that there is no information about them even in the closed archives of the Ministry. Unless the goblins or private collectors have something…
"And neither of them are in a hurry to share their knowledge," Severus commented distantly. A certain emptiness came over him. Lily… was doomed all along. Even without his own participation, she was still doomed. She cursed herself to save the spawn of James Potter! He shook his head, driving away the bad thoughts. Lately, blaming the intolerable Potter boy for all sins seemed… wrong. Whether it was his affair with Tonks that had affected him, or his relatively normal communication with Lupin, or something else, he could no longer transfer his dislike for the Marauders to Lily's son. At least not like before.
"The boy cannot be easily obtained now," the Headmaster said seriously. "The Dark Lord's servants or he himself will not be able to harm him directly or indirectly. That is why they perform these strange rituals – they are testing the protection.
"These are just your guesses, Headmaster," Snape said, but somehow thoughtfully, as if tasting Dumbledore's version.
"I don't see any other versions," the Headmaster shook his gray head. "Voldemort is not completely dead, we realized that a year and a half ago with Quirrell. And it's only a matter of time before he returns. And tries to get to the boy."
"And by that time, it's quite possible that his servants will be able to find a loophole in the defense," Snape narrowed his eyes.
"Yes," Dumbledore said harshly. "And therefore, your team will continue to observe and catch these unknown dark wizards. We cannot allow them to finish what they started!"
This time, Severus only winced again at the mention of "team." There was no sadness – the pixies were drugged! The team… Okay, Tonks, but Lupin? Although… The werewolf was of some use – and considerable. Not only is he a werewolf, with his heightened senses and instincts, but he's also a seasoned operative of the Order of the Phoenix. Loyal to the director, which is important!
"I do have access to some… archives," Dumbledore chuckled incomprehensibly. "As far as I know, even the Department of Mysteries does not have access to them, only a closed circle of people. They describe events of ancient history without any censorship or cuts - including an analysis of old rituals, now forgotten and forbidden. I have only just begun to dig in this direction - I have no time for this. And the owners, ahem... are not very willing to share information. But I hope that you, my boy, will be able to achieve more."
"Those same private collectors, huh?" Snape drawled vaguely.
"Let's say that old Flammel left me a kind of… inheritance," Dumbledore chuckled again. "Nothing material, just the right to use his library - officially written in the will! But his relatives are constantly putting spokes in the wheels, insisting that Nicholas is not currently listed as dead, but missing in action.
I'm not even mentioned in that will, - Severus winced. - They might not let me in at all!
Oh, my boy, don't worry! - the headmaster said sarcastically, his eyes flashing from behind his half-moon glasses. - They definitely won't let me in. But an official representative of Hogwarts, who decided to inspect the book collection available in Britain under the auspices of the Ministry - quite possibly. Especially if Fudge gets involved. More precisely, WHEN he gets involved!
Snape nodded, accepting the headmaster's explanation. He didn't even begin, as usual, to reproach Albus for the political games in which he was so mired that he had no time for anything else. Already when he and Dumbledore were going their separate ways down the corridor - the headmaster to the Great Hall, Snape to his room to change - the Potions Master heard the old man's barely audible sigh:
If only those from the Continent don't interfere! Otherwise...
He no longer heard what "otherwise" meant.
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