The night that passes, the night that comes... A short New Year story in Daert

The night that passes, the night that comes...

Like all northern cities, Odisyottle was wrapped in bright decorations not for the Prophet's Coming, but a week later, on New Year's Day. The northern people did not particularly appreciate religious festivals. And the New Year was celebrated quietly in the circle of relatives. With family — at home, pulling back the curtains so as not to miss the fireworks. With friends — in a cozy beer house or a small bar. With coworkers — in a cafe or restaurant, where an orchestra plays New Year's Eve tunes. But if you're six hundred years old and you're the only elf in town, you have two choices. Either get drunk in a pub with strangers, or immerse yourself in work. Detective Valria Anna Veltrittdottir was working that night — another streak of alcoholism had just ended, and her liver needed time to recover.

Twilight had long since passed into night. The big city fell silent, preparing for the usual miracle — the moment when one year would be replaced by another. But here, in the old working-class neighborhood, the streets were deserted not only on holiday — the nearest factories had closed five years ago, and many houses stood empty. The few residents hid in their apartments as darkness fell. Some, on the other hand, crawled out of their lairs — but those... creatures were not exactly what a single woman was supposed to encounter. So Valria paced swiftly, warily checking her surroundings. She did not try to hide. Tall blond elfish woman in a strict suit with a short skirt, black stockings, a light expensive coat, high leather boots with heels, with a purse on her shoulder, looked here as appropriate as a gold ring in a box with bolts and nuts. But the sharp, long ears, which couldn't be tucked under a hat, attracted attention anyway — so why try for nothing?

The block looked dead — only a few windows in the residential five-story buildings were lit, no streetlights on the sidewalk, and even in the dark back alleys the woman did not notice any movement. Criminals also celebrate the New Year. Not all of them, fortunately — otherwise Valria would have nothing to do today. The detective stopped in front of the entryway she wanted, tilted her head back. The building looked no different from the others, but in one of the windows she saw a streak of light streaming in from behind the curtains. The light flickered and wavered — the candles were obviously burning inside.

— Aha. — The elf-woman grinned wryly. She tightened her thin leather gloves and adjusted her oval glasses, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. Threw back the hem of her coat and unfastened the holster behind her back, pulled a telescopic baton from a loop next to it, and clutched it in her palm. Detective stepped forward and ... froze. A snowflake stuck to the lens of her glasses, melting almost immediately. The woman put up her palm and another one fell on the black skin of her glove. It was beginning to snow.

— And the beret lay in the car. Lovely. — Valria pushed open the cracked door with a sigh and stepped into the entryway. She was enveloped in warmth and dusk — unlike the power grid, the central heating had worked so far. All for the best. Though the elf' s eyesight had weakened with age, she could still see better in the dark than most people. Clutching the strap of her purse on her shoulder, the detective climbed the stairs. When she wanted to, she could move silently, even in heels — her appearance took the tall guy guarding the fourth-floor landing by surprise. "So they guessed to put a guard," the woman thought.

— Hey, what are you... — the sentry began, trying to see in the darkness the unexpected guest. He had no flashlight, the only source of light being the broken window behind the detective. Valria didn't answer. She lunged forward, swinging her right arm. The baton snapped open. The first blow struck the man in the neck — not hard, just enough to make him choke. The second was to the head, hard. The guard staggered back, collapsed to the floor with a strangled wheeze. Valria pushed the limp body away with her foot, went to the door to the very apartment where the candles were burning. She listened, her ears pointed up. There was singing inside, too quiet and unintelligible even for an elf's ears.

— I'm at the right place, — the woman whispered to herself. She pressed the flimsy door leaf gently with her hand, feeling resistance above the lock. A latch, then. The lock itself was broken, or the new tenants had no keys for it. The lock picks wouldn't work, so she' had to make some noise.

Valria put her purse on the dirty floor, took off her coat, and laid it carefully on top. Taking out her pistol with her left hand, she pointed it at the door. Covering her face with her right wrist, she pulled the trigger. If there had been any intact glass in the entryway, it surely would have rattled from the shot — but the door just spattered with splinters. The detective slammed her shoulder into the door, kicked it in. She dashed through the dark hallway, holstered her gun on the run, burst into the living room. Detective stopped on the threshold with her baton in her lowered hand.

The large room was practically devoid of furniture. In the center of it, in the middle of a chalk pentagram, stood a wooden armchair. And in the armchair sat a bound ludrian. Or, more accurately, a ludrian woman — it took Valria half a century of living among this lizard people to learn to identify their sex by the shape of their jaws. The unfortunate woman wore a single loincloth and an ancient brass amulet on her lap. Three young men in black robes accompanied the captive. Two boys and a girl stood surrounded by a ring of candles, reciting in chorus some nonsense from identical, uncovered books.

— Police! — Valria roared, stepping forward. — On your knees, hands on your head!

Strictly speaking, the elf was no longer in the police force, but this kind of trickery often helped her avoid a fight. Not today, alas. The hooded girl shrieked, dropping her book, and her companions, glancing over, lunged at Valria. Maybe they just wanted to push the detective away and escape — the woman didn't want to check. Especially since one of the guys had pulled a stupid-looking, crooked knife out from under his robe. Valria simply stepped to the side, turning slightly, and the first opponent flew past her like a cannonball. The second was met by the detective with a hook to the jaw. The baton added weight to her fist, and the young man collapsed on his back, raising a cloud of dust. The first foe stalled, spun on his heels, put his knife out, and cried out as the club struck him in the fingers. The knife fell out of his hand, and a second later the detective knocked the false warlock out with a blow to the temple. The boy, knocked down first, wiggled, and Valria kicked him in the head with the toe of her boot. She strode across the living room to the girl, who was huddled against the wall.

— I... I didn't... you have no right, we didn't... — she mumbled, but the elf-woman was in no mood for conversation. She tapped the girl lightly on the side of the head, knocking her out for a short moment. Detective stood for a moment, catching her breath. The years were taking their toll, after all. She stood there for a moment, her breath catching. She should fight less and rely more on the gun. It doesn't care how old you are.

Ludrian woman hissed softly in her chair.

— Yes, yes, I'll be right there. — Valria folded her baton with a sigh and hung it on her belt. Pulling out a folding knife, she cut the bonds on the captive's arms and legs. She helped her up. The scaly woman hissed again, making a croaky sound that signified personal gratitude.

— Thank your mother and father. — The detective took a seat beside the senseless kidnapper, stripped her of her robe, and slung it over ludrian shoulders. — And the next time you decide to join a cult, you might want to study their doctrines first. About why they might need a ludrian or elf. Charging old amulets, offering sacrifices at midnight for the change of years... Good thing the real mages I knew were all long dead.

She handcuffed the two captors, tied the hands of the other two with their own belts. Shaking off the gloves, she asked the rescued one:

— Is there a working phone in the house?

A tentative hiss in reply.

— Okay. We'll run under the snow to my car, get warm there. Then we get to the bus stop, there's a pay phone.

The detective took ludrian by the elbow and led her out of the room. On the threshold she turned around and said to the still awake kidnappers:

— Couldn't you hide any better, you idiots? What am I going to do half the night now?

* * *

The police patrol that picked up the arrestees was clearly in a hurry — the officers were anxious to get back to the station. The sergeant in charge knew Valria, and Valria had known his father and grandfather. So they let the elven woman go without unnecessary formalities, taking only the promise to give a statement after the holidays. The detective took the rescued girl to a Ludrian neighborhood in her car, where she handed lizard woman over to her happy parents. With the signed check in her pocket she went home, wondering on the way what she could do now. In fact, she could have paid a visit to the police headquarters, where she would be welcome. But... Valria didn't want to frantically remember the names of the people greeting her and their connections to people she'd known forty or a hundred years ago. And even less did she want to remember new faces that in another half-century would have to be forgotten. The elf-woman loved this cold, gray city on the bleak seashore, loved its inhabitants — but all at once, like a faceless mass. Every time she singled someone out, she paid the price in pain. On the whole, this was not just true of Odisyottle. Humanity was Valria's true love — all and all at once. Chaotic, changing, looking forward to tomorrow. But it was fraught with danger to love and even know individuals too intimately. So the office was off the table, though there were those who genuinely considered themselves her friends. That left only the apartment. Come home, make tea and listen to the radio until midnight. She could not go to bed — the sleeping pills would not have time to work, then the fireworks would start, sleep would become unsteady, and she might have dreams. And she can't dream, under any circumstances. Dreams will kill her.

The detective parked in her usual spot, under a street light. She passed the closed pharmacy on the first floor, went up the stairs to her landing. Took out her keys, and suddenly felt dumbfounded. The door of her apartment was unlocked. What kind of surprises were these? Had one of her ill-wishers chosen a holiday for revenge?

— This is really going to be a gift... -the woman muttered, pulling out her gun. She hung her purse on the doorknob and slipped into her hallway. The lights were on, and there was a pair of someone else's boots on the shoe rack. Not the elegant, feminine high boots with sharp heels that Valria herself wore, but the army boots with the wide cuffs and thick soles. Already at that moment the detective realized who had opened her door. Fearing to believe in the reality of what was happening, she cautiously entered the kitchen, where she could hear the clanking of metal and the clinking of dishes.

At the kitchen table stood a young red-haired elven girl wearing huge round glasses and a blue military uniform without insignia. Murmuring a children's song under her breath, she was chopping vegetables for a salad. Seeing Valria, girl nodded quietly:

— Hello, mother.

The detective was speechless for half a minute. She pulled herself together, clumsily hid the gun, and, as she was, in her coat, boots, and gloves, entered the kitchen. Silently hugged daughter and dug nose into her dark red hair. Valria muffled:

— Ithiel... I thought we had agreed...

— Yes, I remember. — The young elf's voice remained steady. She put the knife down and hugged her mother back. — I didn't return. I'm just on a layover in Odisyottle, flying to the continent in the morning. If the weather holds.

— But there's no way you could have just happened to be here, on a holiday. — The detective pulled away reluctantly. — You always have everything planned.

— Of course I do. — Ithiel smiled, her green eyes sparkling mischievously behind the lenses of her glasses. Just like when she was a child. If Valria's eyesight had been impaired by old age, Ithiel had been born nearsighted — a rarity among the elves of her generation. — I made the route on purpose.

— We haven't seen each other in... twenty years?

— Twenty-one. — Ithiel stepped around her mother, stripped off her coat, took her gloves. She sat her down in a chair at the kitchen table, and pushed up a bowl of plain vegetable salad, which had already been sliced. — I wondered if the food in your food pantries was better now, so I looked in to see if it was. And since I'm here anyway, I came to see you, too. By the way, get better locks.

— All right. — No witty remarks or quips came into the detective's mind. She just sat at the table, palm resting on her cheek, and watched Ithiel take up the vegetables again. — Will you... stay? Tonight?

— Till morning, — the redheaded girl nodded. — Then I' be on my way again. I'm sorry, but I can't stop.

"So you won't end up like me," Valria added in thought. But she did not say it aloud. The detective smiled and asked:

— Was it a good year? For you?

— It has. I met Simele again, saw Dattir, too. Had some rough nights. Helped a lot of people. A lot of people helped me. As usual. Why don't you do the talking? I think you need it more.

Still smiling, Valria poked a piece of cucumber on her fork and started:

— Today I saw a bunch of idiots trying to recharge an amulet from the time of the All-Burning with blood sacrifices. They even drew a pentagram.

At midnight sharp, the town hall bell tolled. The bells of the police and fire stations echoed his call. Across Odisyottle, bright fireworks exploded in the sky, and the cannons of the naval fort gave a resounding salvo. Steamboats rumbled in the harbor. The Royal Navy cruisers in the harbor fired blanks. But the two elves, young and old, did not even go to the window to admire the fireworks. They were too busy talking...

The end.