THE CASE OF THE STOLEN WARM HAT AND OTHER GRIM THINGS

Detective Orestes shuffles into the precinct, raincoat rumpled, squinting at his notepad… So, we got a new case. A bone hammer missing from the Crypt—necromancer's weapon, very spooky. Then over at Strigoi's Castle, the humpback, from the vampire's staff, goes missing. The vampire's real upset about it, very protective of his people, good boss I guess. And, then, somebody steals a warm fur coat from the Ice Citadel. The coat. That's what bothers me, see? A bone hammer, okay, maybe you want a weapon. The humpback groom, maybe you need help with something. But a coat? From the Ice Citadel?
That tells me somebody's cold. Real cold. Cold enough to steal from three dangerous places just to stay warm.
So, flashlight in hand, I go to the Crypt. Dark place, smells like... well, you don't wanna know. I'm looking around, and the necromancer, he's getting impatient with me. "It's a bone hammer," he says, "very distinctive, you can't miss it." But the thing is, it's not here. I check under the altar cloth, in all the dark corners where nobody wants to look. Nothing. But I do find something—fresh scratch marks on the stone floor. Drag marks. Like someone pulled something heavy out of here recently.
Next, I go to the Castle. The Strigoi himself meets me at the door. Very dignified, very old-world manners, but I can tell he's furious. "My humpback groom," he says, "loyal for a century, and now someone dares to take him?" I ask around. Nobody saw anything. The carriage is sitting in the courtyard, empty. But then I notice something. There's mud on the cobblestones. Fresh mud. From somewhere outside the castle grounds. And the pattern—it's like footprints, but heavier on one side. Like someone was being helped. Or carried.
The Ice Citadel, now that's something else. Cold like you wouldn't believe. The guards are embarrassed—"How could someone steal clothes from a fortress made of ice?" they ask. I tell them, "Look, even the best security has blind spots." I check the storage rooms, the guard quarters, the armory where the coat should be. Nothing. But outside, near the heating vent, I find something. Footprints in the snow. Leading away from the fortress. And they're fresh—can't be more than a day or two old. The captain tells me, "Those tracks head north. Toward the Frozen Wastes."
Now here's where the investigation gets interesting. See, I've been doing some reading. Turns out, about six months ago, there was an apprentice. Young guy, worked for the necromancer. Name of Viktor Chenkov. Talented, ambitious, but—and this is according to the necromancer—"too impatient for the deeper mysteries." Got himself banished. Expelled from the Crypt.
So I'm thinking, where would a banished necromancer's apprentice go? Can't stay in town—too many people know his face. Can't go south—too warm, too civilized. But north? The Frozen Wastes? That's where someone goes when they're planning something. When they need privacy. And when they need to stay hidden.
I follow those footprints north. Takes me two days. And there, in a cave carved into the ice, I find him. Viktor Chenkov. Thin as a rail, shivering even with the fur coat wrapped around him. He's got the bone hammer leaning against the wall, and the humpback groom is huddled in the corner, trying to start a fire with frozen wood.
"Viktor," I say, "what are you doing out here?" He looks at me—eyes wild, desperate. "I'm going to prove myself," he says. "There's a ritual. An ancient binding. If I can complete it, the necromancer will have to take me back. I'll have power. Respect."
I shake my head. "With a stolen hammer and a kidnapped servant?" I ask. He gets defensive. "They were supposed to help me," he says. "The hammer for protection, the groom for assistance, the coat to survive the cold. I was going to return them when I was done." I look around the cave. Ritual circles drawn in the ice. Symbols I don't even want to understand. Half-finished, abandoned. "Viktor," I say, "this isn't about proving yourself. This is about surviving. You're freezing to death out here, and whatever you were trying to summon—it's not coming."
He doesn't deny it. Just looks at the ground. "I didn't know it would be this cold," he says. "I thought... I thought I could handle it. I thought the coat would be enough.
So I bring him in, along with everything he took. First stop, the Crypt. I hand the bone hammer back to the necromancer. He takes it, examines it carefully. "It still has power," he says, "but it's cold. Unused. The boy never even figured out how to activate it." He looks at Viktor with something like pity. "Foolish boy. Always trying to skip steps."
At the Castle, the Strigoi is relieved to see his groom returned. The humpback bows deeply, clearly exhausted but unharmed. The Strigoi pulls me aside. "Thank you, Detective," he says. "My groom told me everything. The boy used compulsion—crude, barely effective. More pleading than commanding." He glances at Viktor. "He's no master of the old ways. Just a desperate child."
The guards at the Citadel practically throw a parade when I bring back the coat. They hang it up in the armory, right where it belongs. The captain shakes my hand. "We were worried it was something bigger," he says. "Turns out it was just a kid who got in over his head."
So, back at the precinct, Viktor sits in a warm cell, wrapped in a blanket, drinking hot tea. The necromancer isn't happy, but he agrees not to press charges—on the condition that Viktor leaves town and never practices the dark arts again. The Strigoi is satisfied with his groom's return. The Citadel has its coat back.
You know what really gets me about this whole thing? Viktor didn't steal those items because he was evil. He stole them because he was desperate, cold, and in way over his head. Sometimes the villain in the story is just someone who made bad choices while trying to prove they weren't a failure.
I put my hand in my pocket and feel the cross. I'm keeping this close. Because next time? Next time it might not be just some kid who bit off more than he could chew. Next time, it might be someone who actually knows what they're doing.
Orestes, tips his hat, puts on his raincoat, and walks out. Feeling satisfied with a job well done.

Отредактировано BrownGunner6864 (2026-01-26 23:33:20)

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❤В мою дверь кто-то тихонько постучал. — Заходите ( разрешила я). Через порог переступила мужская фигура. О! Это же Орест, наш домашний сыщик. — Что случилось, какими судьбами? На мои вопросы он вытащил из внутреннего кармана  пиджака стопку фотографий и положил их на журнальный столик, возле меня. Интересно, что это. Начинаю перебирать по порядку, как сложил их Орест. Вначале ничего не понятно: какой то старинный склеп, точнее открытое надгробье, из него торчит рука. На следующем снимке эта рука выволакивает из ямы знакомую рыжекудрую бестию, которая находится непосредственно чуть ли не в воздухе, на рукавах парадного фрака Василия( моего полтергейста), а вот и он в своём пеньюаре бережно придерживает её хвост, выплывая следом. На следующих фото данная парочка, раздобыв где-то парочку бешеных коней, улепётывает прочь от Замка, а с ними, обняв русалкин хвост, оттуда убегает небольшой Вампирёныш. Судя по его горящим глазам и радостному виду, это добровольное решение. Ну оказывается, это ещё не всё: суровый ледяной зал- эта троица катается на санках. У нашей рыбки, видимо чтобы совсем не закоченела, на хвост натянута меховая муфточка, а сверху опять парадный фрак, застёгнутый на имеющиеся пуговицы, из необъятного бюста красавицы торчит голова упырёныша. Василий тянет сани, а белые медведи, которые стерегут цитадель, спрятались за трон Хозяйки. Да, вот это жизнь. И что теперь? ( обращаюсь к Оресту) — Да что уж тут поделаешь, пусть хоть вещи вернут.  Зову Василия! Вася, почему?— Да надоело уже на этом морском дне , всё одно и тоже, вот решил Эсмеральде наши Новогодние праздники устроить! — Вещи и упырёныша нужно вернуть, нехорошо это. Он с готовностью выкладывает на столик руку и муфточку. А Габриель  Стригоевич пока не хочет возвращаться, мы на днях собираемся в Африку заплыть, так он хочет поймать для своего господина слона или бегемота.🐘🦛

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Совунья
Код d92bfe уровень 993

Quête Le secret du coucou
Un matin alors que je me promenait dans le grenier de ma grand-mère j’ai découvert une vieille horloge toute poussiéreuse elle était ornée de dessins délicats, c’était un coucou je me suis approchée pour l’examiner de plus près, en soufflant sur la poussière qui recouvrait le cadran j’ai remarqué que les aiguilles tournaient dans le sens inverse. Soudain un bruit se fait entendre j’ai sursauté et sans vraiment comprendre pourquoi, j’ai touché le mécanisme une lumière éblouissante jaillit de l’horloge j’ai senti un tremblement sous mes pieds et avant que je puisse repartir un tourbillon d’étoiles m’entourait en un instant je fut propulsé dans un voyage extraordinaire.
Merci 🥰

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Mamie code 667a2c

❤ Тааак ( протянула я , а если честно, не протянула, а заорала) Это что за фигня? — хорошо, что с новой шляпы вместе с бумажными вкладками я рукой нащупала какой то кругленький предмет. — и что вы думаете это было? Яйцо! Яйцо! Яйцо! Такое кругленькое, нежное, даже ещё теплое! А ведь меня не было в комнате всего минут тридцать… А шляпку я купила только вчера и сегодня хотела продемонстрировать её все жителям нашего Домика, пройдясь по периметру сада. Нет, ну это просто какой-то перформанс
! А если бы я её сразу нахлабучила на голову?  Так и представляю. ,как яичная масса течёт по моему лицу. Зову Жюли — Женька, Женька! Та прибегает через пару минут. —:Моя дорогая Жюли, почему в моей новой шляпе лежит это чудо природы? ( и показываю ей дивную картину). — И у Вас тоже? Это же к нам кукушка поселилась, вот дело к весне, она потомство плодит. Такая бестолковая, я ей на кухне гнёздышко сделала, а она так и норовит по комнатам яйца подкинуть. И ведь прячется в часах, такая неприступная, чуть чего- кукует: высунется и обратно за дверку!

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