Mike woke up with a sharp headache. He tried to open his eyes, but his eyelids were stiff. His body was unresponsive and sore in several places. There was a continuous ringing in his ears. Inside him there was an unaccustomed emptiness; he could not feel the usual flow of magical energy inside him. The pain in his body prevented him from concentrating on his thoughts, and with each beat of his heart, the pain pierced his head with intense pain.

So, he lay there for about five minutes trying to overcome the pain. At last, the pain had subsided a little, and he was able to control his senses. It was quiet and cold all around him. Mike lay on his right side, his back against the cold wall. He tried to open his eyes again. Slowly, but this time he succeeded.

It was pitch black all around, and even with his eyes open, Mike could see nothing. He instinctively tried to weave a "night vision" spell, but nothing happened. There wasn't even a magical weave. His inner magical energy refused to obey him.

Abandoning his attempts to use magic, Mike concentrated on his body. His hands were barely moving, and his fingers were almost unresponsive. He tried to sit up and a sharp pain immediately pierced his head, he might even have lost consciousness, but he wasn't sure of that.

An uncertain amount of time passed. Mike didn't try to move again yet. Occasionally he heard distant muffled sounds. But he couldn't make out what it was. He became very sleepy. Soon he was asleep.

 

16th day of the 5th month of the year 50143.

 

Mike woke up and opened his eyes. It was morning or afternoon. It was hard for him to tell how long he had slept. His head didn't hurt as much anymore and his body listened much better. But the ringing in his ears continued. He tried again to sit up, and this time he succeeded. Immediately the headache increased, but it was bearable. Mike was finally able to see where he was.

He was in a prison cell, or a place similar to one. The small cell measured 2.5 by 1.5 meters. Along the long wall were wooden bunks on which he sat. On one side was a metal door with a closed peephole, and on the other was a small barred window, probably facing the outside, which let in the daylight. Below the window was a washbasin on one side and a toilet on the other.

After sitting like this for a while, Mike decided to examine himself. His clothes were left behind, taking only his shoes and coat. His hands were bound together with black metal bracelets. On his neck, he could also feel the coldness of the metal, a collar that pressed against his throat. His legs were not bound together, but each leg also had bracelets at the ankles. Both the collar and the bracelets were naturally anti-magical. He still didn't feel any access to his inner magical energy either.

 

In the morning, Stan Baltimore was waiting for Mike outside the Ministry of Foreign Intelligence. He had a small leather briefcase in his hands. He had been waiting for over an hour, and Mike still didn't show up.

He paced back and forth and didn't know what to do. Finally, he got tired of waiting and went into the building through the common entrance. Inside, he approached the first available duty officer.

"What can I do for you Captain," the duty officer addressed him.

"I need to see Major Mike de Graaf from the Internal Investigation department," Stan said to the man on duty.

"I'm sorry Captain, the operatives don't have a public reception. Of their department, only Colonel Tyrell accepts visitors on a schedule. I can get you an appointment with him."

"And to Catherine de Graaf, can I get an appointment?"

"Madame General Catherine de Graaf does not accept visitors. Her deputy, Istas de Reine, is in charge of the reception."

"De Reine?" asked Stan again.

"Yes, that's right. Would you like an appointment with him? Only I must warn you that it is also possible that you may be refused an appointment."

"No, thank you."

"I can also suggest Colonel Teodor de Graaf. He is the secretary to Madame General Catherine de Graaf and to her deputies. You will have no refusal there, but he, too, requires an appointment."

"No. There is no need for an appointment," said Stan, then said goodbye and left the building.

 

 

At Colonel Tirell's morning meeting, of course, Mike was absent. All of his subordinates sat gloomy, waiting for trouble and the wrath of their superior. But, to their surprise, no storm followed.

"Who knows where Major Mike de Graaf is," the colonel asked those present as they began the meeting. "Did he say anything to you?"

"No, sir," replied Captain Eric Shtof.

"He didn't leave a note with the secretary, either," the colonel considered. "Then send someone to his house to find out what happened. I hope it won't be like with Sylvie Meyer at his place."

"I'll make arrangements right away, sir."

The colonel looked at the captain, then said.

"You'd better go there yourself, Captain. It will be more reliable that way," he said to Eric Shtof.

"Yes, sir," the latter answered.

"Speaking of the lieutenant," the colonel moved the conversation on. "I take it there's no news on her either."

"Unfortunately, yes, sir," Captain Stoff answered him. "Tomorrow we are to receive a preliminary report of the investigation from the Capital Guard. We have questioned her colleagues, but no one knows anything."

"No progress on Captains Crocan and Drake either?"

"Yes, sir. No new word from Artea on them either."

"I see," said the colonel. " Just another lost day."

 

Martha couldn't stop herself been worried. Mike hadn't come home from his meeting with a friend. It was morning, and the young master had not returned. Doran was sitting next to her, eating a bun as if nothing had happened. Martha couldn't stand it and speak.

"So why didn't you stay and wait for him, Doran?"

After chewing quickly, he replied.

"Martha, he sent me back himself."

"Maybe there's something wrong there. Maybe he's wounded now," Martha persisted.

 "Calm down," Doran told her. "I'll finish my food now, and I'll go over there and find out."

"Just hurry up, please."

"All right, all right."

At that moment the doorbell rang. Martha jumped up and ran to the front door.

 

Mike did not know how much time he spent in the cell. His watch was taken away, too. It was probably still morning or near lunchtime. He didn't even have any documents in his pockets, not to mention his ring on his finger.

Sounds were sometimes heard behind the iron door, sometimes of an indistinct type, sometimes like footsteps. This time, a footstep-like sound was heard behind the door. Then a small peephole on the door suddenly opened and a guard peeked through it.

"It's dinnertime," he announced and closed the window.

Then a metal plate on the door, below the window, opened and a small metal box slid out onto it.

Mike jumped up from his seat and ran to the door.

"Hey!" he called out to the guard. "Why am I here!"

There was no response. The guard could be heard moving away from the door.

"Hey!" he called out to the guard again and then punched the door with his fist. The sound was faint, muffled.

After waiting some more time, and when there was no answer, he finally looked at the contents of the metal box. In it was a palm-sized bun, and nothing else.

Taking it in his hands, he took a small bite. It was edible but no more than that. He was afraid to eat it all at once. There was no telling what might happen.

He went back to his seat and put the bun next to him. Apparently, he had plenty of free time now. If so, he decided to occupy that time with something useful, like meditation. He sat down comfortably and put his hands on his knees and meditated. He closed his eyes and began to observe his breathing, trying to get it to be even.

His breathing gradually became deeper. Slowly, the tension began to leave his body. Mike focused his attention on his inner energy. He was able to feel her quite easily. But his further attempts to make her obey his will proved unsuccessful. The anti-magic bracelets performed their functions perfectly.

Mike shifted his attention from his inner energy to his surroundings. After all, magical energy exists not only inside the body but also outside the body. There was not much he could count on, for the anti-magic bracelets were interfering here as well, though to a much lesser extent. Besides, in this cramped dark cell, he could only count on two external magical elements - shadow and air. Stone and metal, though present in the cell, their surface was protected from attempted magical influence.

He directed his consciousness to feel the slightest movement of the air. His even breathing helped in some part. At first, he mentally followed the direction of these air movements, gradually shifting their direction of movement around him.

After quite a while, the air currents were fully moving as he needed them to. Mike was surrounded by a fairly tangible stream of air. Then he slowly began to concentrate the currents into his palm. And after quite a bit of time, he succeeded. A large blob of air energy swirled above his palm. He could not weave a spell in his current state, of course, but he could use the pure power. Mike directed the blob of energy into the stone wall for a test and covered his eyes.

 A faint grinding sound was heard. He opened his eyes. The wall where he had directed the energy blob had small scratches in a circle the size of an apple. Sighing heavily, Mike began to meditate again.

 

Late that night, a carriage pulled up outside a two-story house with a sign that read "Goltz's Antique Shop" in the window. A young man in an expensive suit and carrying a cane got out of it. Even though the store was already closed he came to the door and pressed the doorbell.

The wait was short; there was a light on behind the door, and the door was opened almost immediately. An elderly, dark-skinned man in the same house clothes and glasses on his face opened the door.

"Mr. Louie, come in," the old man recognized his guest, inviting him inside and then looking carefully outside before closing the door.

As they both sat down in the comfortable hallway Louie asked him.

"Is my order ready?"

"Yes, it's all ready."

"There was no problem?"

"Nothing too serious for you to worry about," Goltz assured him.

He got up and went out into the next room. He returned a few minutes later, holding a crystal tablet and a small wooden pen case. Goltz placed both items on the table in front of Louie.

Louie first took the wooden pen case and opened its lid. Inside were several vials of unlabeled clear liquid and a couple of vials of grayish powder, also unlabeled. In addition, there were a couple more syringes with needles for injection.

"How good is the product?" asked Louie.

"The supplier is quite reliable," Goltz assured him. "The goods are clean, not from preservation. There shouldn't be any problems."

"That's very good."

"I hope I don't need to tell you how to use this product, Mr. Louie," the old man asked him.

"No, you don't," replied Louie. "I've had to use a product like this."

Louie closed the pen case and placed it carefully on the table then took the tablet.

"You won't give me the tablet, of course."

"I'm sorry sir, but I can't. That's the rule. If this information falls into the wrong hands, it will lead straight to me. And the tablet is worth a lot more than you paid me."

"Are you that much afraid for yourself, Mr. Goltz?"

"No, I'm not. I am old. I was no longer afraid anymore. But there are very few like me here in the empire. And in the capital, there is only one more besides me. So, this is only an extreme precaution."

"I see," Louie said and activated his tablet.

He studied the information recorded on the crystal tablet for quite some time, memorizing everything literally to the word. For the third time, he checked quickly to see if he had memorized everything correctly and then handed the tablet back to the old man.

"I heard there was an accident with one of your persons of interest. Could it be a coincidence?"

"Mr. Goltz you know better than I do that there are no such coincidences," Louie answered him.

"You are taking a risk, Mr. de Brian. Fifty years have passed, but there are people, who remember you personally."

"Mr. Goltz," Louie smiled at him. "Everyone who remembered me is either dead or they have forgotten, which is for their own good."

"And yet I ask you to be careful, Mr. Louie," the old man said as he escorted Louie to the exit.

"I will consider your wish to the best of my ability," grinned Louie.

"If there is anything else you need, feel free to contact me at any time."

"I think that won't be necessary. I'll be leaving this place shortly, as soon as I've completed my mission."

"Until next time, then."

"Until next time," Louie said goodbye.