The house stood on the outskirts, as if trying to stay away from the rest. Gray walls, black roof, white painted picket fence. Brennon, with his hands in his pockets, frowned at the pair of windows glowing on the third and first floors. In his breast pocket was an arrest warrant for Hildur Lindquist, suspected of infanticide.

"When we enter, block all the exits," the Commissar said briefly and pulled the bell at the gate.

"Yes, sir," Dwyer boomed.

Brennon saw the gatehouse door open into the slit between the picket fence, and an old gatekeeper stepped on a path trodden in the snow. Heavy shuffling footsteps were heard.

"Som'one over there?" she deafly asked because of a gate.

"Police, ma'am, open it," Dwyer demanded in ba.s.s.

"Som'thin'?"

"We have a warrant, ma'am!"

"Do you have som'thin'?"

"Break it," Brennon ordered. Dwyer stepped back and beat the huge foot into the gate. The gate with a crunch turned around on the hinges, the old woman screamed piercingly, and the police sprinkled into the courtyard of the guesthouse, like peas. Brennon strode swiftly to the porch, gesturing for the police to remove the gatekeeper into the gatehouse. The old woman managed to emit only a choked squeak. The commissar several times. .h.i.t the door knocker on the door, behind which he could already distinguish voices and rustles.

"Who's there?" they asked him frightenedly.

"The Blackwhit police. Open."

"Oh my G.o.d!" They moaned in horror at the door.

"Open, ma'am. Immediately!"

"G.o.d, G.o.d!"

The door, however, remained locked. Brennon knew why they didn't open it - in such places they are afraid and hate law enforcement officers not less, than in thieves ' dens, because almost every inhabitant of the guesthouse has either been in the hands of the police or miraculously dodged them.

"We have a warrant, and if you don't immediately open, we will break the door."

"Oh my G.o.d! Oh my G.o.d! Missis Flynn, Missis Flynn!"

Finally, a key creaked in the lock, and the door opened exactly palm-wide. Brennon thrust the warrant into the slot. As soon as the lady inside squinted at the paper, the Commissar pushed the door with force. The woman cried out loudly, and Nathan burst inside, and two police officers rushed after him.

"How dare you! Go away! Go away!" The woman screamed; she was supported by another, younger, in a uniform gray dress. Brennon glared at it.

"Hildur Lindquist!" The commissar shouted loudly, outvoicing the slamming of doors, steps and voices. "Hildur Lindquist!"

"You can't! You have no right!" the woman grabbed his hand. "Go away! Leave us alone!"

"Missis Flynn?" Brennon specified. "Read it!"

Mrs. Flynn involuntarily ran her eyes over several lines in the warrant and gasped.

"Oh my G.o.d..."

"Still want to leave her here?"

"Prove it!" Mrs. Flynn hissed.

"Hildur Lindquist escaped from your shelter a few months after father Tyne brought her. She gave birth to a child in the house of one doctor, but also fled from there. And she returned to you, but already without a child, right?"

"She said he was in the shelter!"

"He's in Lake Weer," Brennon said. Mrs. Flynn drew back and leaned heavily against the wall. The commissar nodded at the policeman, turned on his heels and managed to catch a glimpse of a tall blond girl flas.h.i.+ng on the landing.

"Hildur!" Nathan raced up the stairs. "Hildur, wait!"

The girl rushed away along the narrow corridor, into which many doors went out - apparently, from the rooms of the inmates. She held something to her chest with both hands, and Brennon guessed what it was.

"Hildur! Wait!"

The corridor was curved with the letter "U", and at the turn the girl slipped, hit the wall and fell, dropping what she was holding. A book in a black cover with a cross rode across the floor, Hildur rushed after her on all fours, and then Brennon overtook her and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Hildur!"

"Let go!" She shouted, breaking free and kicking like a child. "You not know anyting! Not can anyting!"

"I know, Hildur, I know why you need her! I know that he's coming for you!"

The girl fell silent for a moment and stared at the commissar with huge, transparent eyes from fear. Brennon carefully set her to her feet.

"Come on, Hildur. You cannot stay here."

In the corridor came the familiar clatter of Dwyer. The girl twitched her whole body.

"Oh look," the detective bent down, "here it is, sir!"

Hildur flinched weakly.

"Give her the book," the commissar ordered.

"But sir, this is evidence."

"Give her back!"

Dwyer blinked in amazement, but handed the Bible to the girl. Miss Lindquist grabbed it and convulsively pressed it to her chest.

"Come on, miss," Brennon said. "Dwyer, find her coat."

"You nit beleve me al same," the girl whispered.

"I know who's following you," Nathan replied. "And you too know who he is. I don't think that you want death to any of the inhabitants of the shelter. Because he will find you sooner or later, despite her," the Commissar tapped his finger on the Bible. "You better leave."

Hildur lowered her head and sobbed quietly.

***

"It's her," Broyd peered through the narrow window at the door. The girl was sitting at the table in the interrogation room, clasping her hands in the castle and pressing them to her lips.

"Hildur Lindquist, the homager of King of Sternborn, nineteen, a maid," Brennon handed the chief a sheet with a brief description. Broyd frowned at the "Detained on Charges" line.

"She will be hanged," he snapped abruptly. Brennon looked gloomily at the chef. "If she really drowned him, if it was she ... made him this beast - I will not sympathize with her."

"She could decide that the baby is dead."

"And before that, she tried to have an abortion purely by accident. From a lot of love, apparently.

"What did she need to do after the ****?" Brennon asked. "What do you think?"

Broyd was silent.

"What should she do, sir?"

"Bring me the interrogation protocol, when you are done," the chief muttered and moved to the stairs.

"You thought it would be at night?" The commissar asked. "What will happen when he comes for her?"

Broyd stopped, squeezing the railing with force. Nathan waited with his hands in his pockets and swaying in his heels.

"She drowned her child," the chief of police rumbled m.u.f.fledly. "And both of these creatures are disgusting to me. If we can lure the utburd here, if we can turn his neck ... then I don't care if the bait survives."

Brennon gritted his teeth.

"Anyway, nothing awaits her, except the rope," Broyd hid in the stairway twilight. Brennon silently clenched his fists in his pockets.

"Sir," Finnel called timidly from the corridor, not daring to approach his superiors, "the lady is waiting for you there. Says that a translator."

"Who?" the commissar asked in deep irritation.

"Translator, sir. She says that from her tongue," the attendant poked his finger in the direction of the interrogation room.

Brennon quickly flew into the waiting room, ready to send the annoying lady to h.e.l.l, but choked by the very first words, upon seeing Mrs. Van Allen.

"What the fffck... ckkk... What are you here?.."

"I heard that you found her," said the widow. "I accidentally heard her name. I speak Sternborn, and if she does not know your language well, I am ready to help with the translation."

Brennon was silent, trying to find the words. As always in the presence of Mrs. Van Allen, his annoyance subsided, giving way rather to concern for her. If they delayed with interrogation until late at night, then how would she get home? Even if her house is on the other side of the street - now the Commissar would not let her go a step from the department. When Nathan finally somehow conveyed this thought to her, the widow shook her head:

"I still have insomnia from anxiety, and if you find me a chair, a lamp and a gla.s.s of water, then I just read it until the morning."

"I can give you an escort, but..." the commissar hesitated. "But you see..."

Mrs. Van Allen came closer and said softly:

"You think about the monster, I know. Do not be afraid, the police stations do not scare me. I won't go out until dawn."

"But you don't know what she did, you don't know what we will ask her, and it may be too much for... for..." Brennon fell silent in confusion.

"We suspect she killed her child," he finally managed. The widow turned pale; he expected her to run out of the department in dismay or cry, but Mrs. Van Allen froze, staring with wide eyes through the commissar.

"It's the utburd," she said suddenly, almost audibly, and Nathan nearly jumped in amazement. The widow's gaze again focused on him and flashed with anger: "You should have said!"

"To whom?" Brennon asked with boundless surprise. "How do you even know what that is?"

"I'm sorry," Mrs. Van Allen muttered, coughed, and stepped back a few steps. "This is a very famous legend in Sternborn. There everyone knows who such a utburd is and where it comes from."

"And how to fight with him, by chance, no one has mentioned?"

"To fight? Are you going to fight him?"

Brennon nodded. The widow stared at him in disbelief, sighed and ran her hand across her forehead:

"Come on. We'd better start now, wouldn't we?"

***

With the help of Mrs. Van Allen, things really went briskly. Hildur Lindquist spoke Riadian very poorly, and without a translator they would communicate without result for several days. The girl confirmed everything that the police unearthed in the registration books. As the Commissar supposed, extreme poverty pushed her on the road. She served in maids from the age of thirteen, moved from place to place, and once got into the house of Amba.s.sador of Riada in Sternborn. Six months later, the amba.s.sador returned to his homeland and took all the servants with him. However, when he died a few months later, the heirs did not want to endure foreigners in the house, and put all the Sternborns without recommendations on the street. Hildur had nowhere to return - her father died, her mother was dying, her brothers and sisters scattered wherever. Life in the capital was too expensive, and the girl bought a ticket to Blackwhit. She arrived in the city about a year ago.

"Have you got a job immediately with Missis Murphy and the "Sons of Blackwhit" Club?" the commissar asked. Hildur nodded: apparently, she understood simple phrases without translation.

"What happened then? How did you meet Mister Kinnan?"

The girl squeezed the Bible. Nathan felt that she was afraid.

"He came to the club before the opening," translated Mrs. Van Allen. "The master is his friend, and he allowed Kinnan..."

"So he saw you?"

Hildur nodded.

"Maybe you should leave?" Brennon quietly asked the widow; she shook her head, her lips tight.

"What happened, Miss Lindquist?"

"He offered me money," the girl rustled. "I ... I took it. I didn't know... I didn't want... I didn't think it would be so!"

Brennon waited for her to swallow her tears.

"What happened then?"

"He pounced on me," Mrs. Van Allen's voice went lower and vibrated m.u.f.fledly, "when he caught me in the pantry under the stairs. He said that he had already paid, and grabbed me..."

Something made Nathan look away from Hildur and see at the widow. Her chiseled profile almost glows against a dark wall. The commissar felt the fury emanating from the woman, as if he had sat too close to the fire.

"Tommy took me home. Tommy from the club. I don't remember his last name. I don't remember his face," Hildur said monotonously.

Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click for visiting.

"When did you realize that you became pregnant?"

"A month later. All the time I was sick like my mother, and they did not come."

"They?"

"Monthly bleeding," Mrs. Van Allen explained coldly.

"Mister Murphy guessed," continued Miss Lindquist. "He noticed ... vomiting and all that ... He took me to Father Tyne. I told him ..."

"Why did you run away from Missis Flynn's shelter?"

Hildur looked up at him, for the first in all that time.

"I was so scared," she whispered. "I wanted to run. Run all the time. No matter where."

"Did Mr. McCarthy meet you and take you home?"

The girl nodded and closed her eyes. She trembled weakly, as if the echoes of that night still did not give her rest.

"You left the doctor's house. Has your child been baptized by Father Tyne?"

Miss Lindquist nodded again. Nathan got up, leaned on the back of her chair and leaned toward her.

"Hildur, tell me, did you decide that your son is dead?"

The girl was silent and did not move.

"You threw him into the lake because you thought he was dead?"

He sensed Mrs. Van Allen's gaze as if she were touching him by her hand.

"Hildi, tell me, did you think he died?"

He leaned so close that he could smell her soap.

"Hildi, did you think he was dead?" Brennon asked quietly. The girl slowly opened her eyes and, looking at the wall, shook her head.

"He so cried," she said in Riadian, "he cried like that all the time ... But it hurt so much in me... All the time! He cried all the time, and the pain still was hurt and hurt and he could not shut up ...

Nathan straightened up and went out.

***

"Why?" asked Mrs. Van Allen. "You have been seeing criminals of all stripes for so many years, and still ... Why? Why do you feel sorry for her?"

Brennon rubbed his face in his hands. The clock in the waiting room struck midnight.

"Because," he muttered. The widow poured water into a gla.s.s and went to the interrogation door. The policeman was completing the protocol; Hildur signed on every page.

"She was not alone at all," said Mrs. Van Allen. "She met some good people, and they all gave her a chance. All they are dead."

"Hint?" The commissar asked m.u.f.fledly.

"No. But Mister McCartney, Murphy and Father Tyne did not deserve such a death."

"Of course. You think she sp.a.w.ned a monster."

The widow turned around.

"But the way it is. Utburd does not appear on its own."

"I know," said the Commissar. "Maternal curse, sincere hatred and other c.r.a.p."

Mrs. Van Allen raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Oh yes. You have a consultant. Who is he, by the way?"

"Longsdale," Brennon muttered. The owner of the bakery turned away and sipped a gla.s.s.

"How does he know all this?"

"I have no idea. You know that things."

"My husband had relatives in Sternborn, and we spent a lot of time there."

"He too."

"And where is he? You are not going to fight the utburd yourself, with the help of the Bible?"

"Why not?" the commissar threw through his teeth. "Who's stopping me?"

He went to the waiting room - it was empty. From above, from the chief's office, measured steps came. Brennon went to his office, took the Morrigan, draped his scarf and coat.

"Where are you going?" Asked Mrs. Van Allen. She stood in the doorway of the narrow corridor that led to the interrogation room, and in the weak light of a lonely lamp seemed younger and taller.

"There," Brennon answered laconically. "Catch on live bait."

"Why? Why are you doing this for her?"

"Because," the commissar answered, grabbing the doork.n.o.b, "I saw a lot of sc.u.m and critters that crawled out from the very human bottom, but still she is not one of them."

He slammed the door and went down the porch. The street was spread in front of him like a diamond carpet, sparkling under the moon and lanterns. In the distance, a diffused silver glow was engaged. The Commissar thoughtfully watched his approach. Round lanterns burst like soap bubbles, marking the path of the utburd with a scattering of fragments.

The glow was approaching, and the commissar soon realized that it was a cloud of icy dust sparkling in the moonlight. There was no figure or silhouette, but Brennon knew that the utburd was there. The commissar caught an indistinct ringing, but the monster did not call for him. A barely perceptible call slid past, hitting Brennon's consciousness only with the edge. Nathan put his hand on the hilt of the revolver and quietly called:

"Hey you," his strained voice was hoa.r.s.e from the cold, and it came out rather menacingly.

It turned and looked at the commissar. Nathan did not see this beast, and to feel with his whole being the gaze of invisible eyes was terrible. It looked at Brennon, studied as if thinking, and then held out its hand. Hand's outline appeared for a moment in an icy haze; Nathan grabbed the Morrigan and fired into the center of the hand. The veil hissed like water in a frying pan, and pulled back. Over Brennon's head, Broyd's double-barreled shotgun rumbled from the window. Utburd howled briefly and recoiled.

Nathan did not know what Longsdale gave them for the bullets (they looked ordinary, no silver, no cross), but he approved the result. Aiming at the core of the veil, the commissar took a step toward her. In complete silence, he heard a double-barreled b.u.t.t hit the window frame, and the faint creak of the opening door. Nathan quickly turned around - Hildur stood on the steps, holding the Bible tight to her chest, and next to her was Mrs. Van Allen.

The veil stirred with a long sigh and flowed low above the ground, enveloping the pillars of lanterns, trees and fences of houses. Brennon dashed the long animal leap and shot at random in the swirling depth.

"Go away!" He growled. "Valentina, go away!"

The widow stepped forward, blocking Hildur by her shoulder. Mrs. Van Allen's face was white in the moonlight, but the Commissar did not see not a shadow of fear on him. But Hildur pounded with a big tremor. The widow slowly raised her hand, blocking the path to the utburd, and distinctly said:

"Out."

Her voice rang out over the empty street like a bang, deep and low. A shroud of icy dust recoiled. For a moment, she outlined a silhouette five feet high, but it immediately crumbled.

"Get out," Brennon wheezed. Mrs. Van Allen came down a notch. Utburd hissed and crawled away; the veil reared in a wave, hanging over the police department and the street. A second shot from the shotgun banged; in response, a short low growl came from across the street. Beneath the icy haze, Brennon saw a hound - the fur on the beast trembled like tongues of fire. The veil apprehensively tightened, moving away from it.

"Take the girl away, go out!" Nathan squeezed out hoa.r.s.ely. The widow of van Allen put her hand on the railing and went down another step. The hound snarled lingeringly and rollingly, so that the sidewalk vibrated underfoot. Utburd hissed abruptly and rushed away down the street toward the lake. Hildur fell to her knees with a loud cry. Mrs. Van Allen leaned heavily on the railing. Brennon darted to her and grabbed when she fell exhaustedly against them.

"Catch him," the woman whispered. "I'll look after Hildur. Chase the utburd into the lake."

"You ... you are safe, Missis..." Nathan hesitated: she was pale as snow. The widow smiled faintly.

"Hurry up."

The street was shaken by the clatter of hoofs, which sounded in complete silence like thunder. Brennon rushed down the stairs and nearly slipped. Glancing under his feet, he was amazed to see that the snow on the railing held by Mrs. Van Allen had melted and water drained on the steps. It was already frozen.

"Hurry up!" someone hailed fiercely at the Commissar. The horseman, holding the second horse in occasion, impatiently stood on stirrups. Nathan jumped off the porch and flew into the saddle of the bay horse.

"You?!" the Commissar was unpleasantly surprised when he saw the butler.

"He's busy," this gadfly snapped. "He will catch up with us there! Go!"