The Gods' Favorite" - continuation of "TERRANUM" (Chapters 1 and 2 and Part 3) Spring arrived in

 

, bathing the city streets with increasingly warm breezes. The greenery on the trees, shrubs, and lawns looked increasingly beautiful. A long-awaited joy sprouted in the hearts of passersby, weary of frost and snow, and was greeted with a sense of relief. With the arrival of warmer days, people became kinder to one another and smiled more often. A southerly wind finally brought the long-awaited thaw. The snow melted, causing minor floods here and there in the lowlands. However, even the aggrieved villagers, whose homes had been damaged, smiled to themselves, as the country's then-president took advantage of the situation and diverted public attention from the scandal in which he was involved by announcing that the state would cover the damage caused by the disaster. By the way, what difference does it make how much money goes to cover the damages when the budget gap will be colossal anyway?

The editorial office of the new newspaper "Życie w Mieście" (Life in the City), located on 1 Maja Street, was bustling with activity and hustle and bustle. "Creative chaos," as the Editor-in-Chief called it, was the hallmark of the office, located on two floors of a historic tenement building.

At 8:45 a.m., after the weekly briefing, a wave of employees poured from the Editor-in-Chief's office, heading for their duties. Two people, however, walked at a leisurely pace. Deputy Editor-in-Chief Robert Miś, a short, overweight, bawdy, balding man in his forties, and Michał Sienkiewicz, a short-haired, medium-built "youngster," as the Editor-in-Chief called him, were walking down the corridor, discussing a strange recording and an incident that had occurred two weeks earlier.

"I don't believe it, man," the deputy editor insisted. "It's a story from 'One Thousand and One Nights'! But you have a recording! What that guy was saying is the figment of a sick mind." "They've clearly been watching too many movies!"

"Damn it!" Sienkiewicz said angrily. "How many times do I have to explain to you that if they were psychos, they would have done me in! You heard the tape! You think I recorded it myself?!

" "So what if you have a recording! That doesn't prove anything! Sorry, but your story sounds pretty... strange. They could have made it all up and fabricated it to make us take whatever they gave us. Maybe the competition wants to embarrass us!

" "Yeah! And what did I see?" the young man persisted. "And the fact that I didn't remember anything?"

"Oh, temporary amnesia. You got hit in the head. You had a concussion, you could have messed it all up."

They descended the stairs to the ground floor next to the reception desk, where, as usual, Teddy winked at the curvaceous blonde at the front desk. They walked out onto the street, where a car was parked, a white Punto Roberta.

The Editor-in-Chief had been planning to discuss this matter for a long time. Only last Friday did he summon Michał and, in a conspiratorial silence, order him to investigate the matter with Robert Miś.

"Interesting," he said. "Robert, you two will go to this warehouse and check it out. I love these kinds of puzzles, but you understand yourselves that until we have anything concrete, this has to stay between us." He said this with a clear emphasis on the "only."

The Editor-in-Chief was passionate about stories of the "uncreated." He belonged to several UFO-hunting clubs, even serving as president of one. That was the only reason he was interested in this case. Otherwise, Michał would probably have been ridiculed and scolded for engaging in such nonsense.

They parked their car on the sidewalk across the street, near the warehouse where, according to Sienkiewicz, he was being held and where the strange story told by a certain Fabian had been recorded. Michał had played the cassette tape several times for fear of damaging it. He kept one copy for himself, two went to the editor's office, and took the fourth to his friend Grzegorz, asking for safekeeping.

They crossed the street and approached the alley leading to the warehouse. Miś stopped.

"Wait here," he said in a theatrical whisper, lighting a cigarette. "I'll go alone. This warehouse might be under surveillance, and it wouldn't be good if someone recognized you."

Michał agreed and lit one himself. "I'll let you know on my cell phone in about ten minutes." With that, he headed down a side street lined with empty cardboard boxes and scuffed-up garbage cans. His footsteps echoed off the old, crumbling walls.

***

II

He had to admit that he really liked the food here. Some of the dishes reminded him of his hometown. He was currently devouring the signature dish, chicken in garlic sauce with fries and red cabbage, with great pleasure. He sat, as usual, in the corner of the small room, reeking of burnt grease. Alone, as usual. His hat lay on the table beside him. He placed his small green backpack on the other seat. To wash it down, he ordered a double mint tea—another thing that reminded him of home. There were many anonymous customers like him at the station bar. He was very pleased that no one asked any questions. Vagrants and life's misfits came here for meals, or simply to warm up and sit, or catch a few minutes of sleep. No one paid him any attention, no one bothered him. He came once a day to eat his fill and watch from his seat outside the window the people hurrying to their daily chores or catch their trains. He didn't talk to anyone. He placed his order and ate slowly, satisfied that so far, the plan, of which he was the main executor, had been 100 percent fulfilled.

He was thinking, staring out at the street, when suddenly he remembered a balding, overweight man hanging out near the warehouse. He'd noticed him on his way to the bar. The man struck him as odd because he looked like he was going for a walk. Except the area around the warehouse wasn't exactly suitable for that kind of relaxation. A sense of unease stirred within him. Maybe I shouldn't have ignored him? He wondered to himself. He'd thought earlier that this city was full of weirdos and lunatics who might find such an area suitable for strolling. He didn't like waiting. So he decided to go and check out the warehouse. Worst case scenario, he thought, I'll kill some time and get some exercise.

He left the bar and entered the street, lit by the spring sun. He walked briskly toward the crosswalk, carefully avoiding the puddles that had formed as the rising temperature melted the snow. Despite his strange attire, he blended seamlessly into the crowd of passersby, who, minding their own business, paid him no attention.

It took him twenty minutes to reach the warehouse. He glanced around to make sure no one was nearby and with a simple spell, neutralized the lock. The door opened with the creak of long-unoiled hinges. He stepped into the cool, shadowy warehouse. He calmly surveyed the area. The empty hall, littered with old newspapers and scraps of paper, looked the same as before he left. He smelled rats against the wall, his only company. Not counting, of course, visits from his superiors, but those were rare, and only a few, and two very brief. He crossed the hall to the storage room where he usually stayed. The door was open just as he had left it. Before he crossed the threshold, his ears picked up a rustling, somewhere high above the tin roof. He froze, listening intently. He had excellent hearing. As he concentrated, he could hear the faint squeaking of rats on the other side of the hall. He looked up at the vault. He felt a presence there. Tense, he stood still. Suddenly, a pigeon flew out from under the vault and circled to the other side, escaping through the broken window. He calmed down a bit and returned to the storage room. He decided to get some sleep, as his superior was coming for a visit that evening.

***

III

They crouched, terrified, behind a tin railing. If it weren't for the creaking of the old door, they would have been caught red-handed. Both were now offering thanks to the unspecified god of all birds for sending a pigeon, which, as if on cue, had just flown into the hall through an open window. It took them half an hour to find the entrance. For all the world, they couldn't get the strange lock on the hall door open. Only by walking around the warehouse did they manage to climb the old, rusty fire escape to the roof and from there through a broken window into the hall. They crouched, watching as the strange figure below returned to the storage room, closing the door behind him.

"That's the guy who did this to me," Sienkiewicz explained.

"Where was that portal supposed to be?"

Michał pointed to a spot on the south wall. Now a pile of cardboard boxes filled it. "It's just an illusion." Robert's skepticism irritated Michał. "When it activates, it becomes terribly bright." I told you so.

"Okay, okay, you said so. Let's try to find a way down."

They did as they decided. They carefully walked along the hall, along a metal walkway, to the ladder leading down. Robert's obesity caused him some trouble, as he couldn't fit through the narrow safety hoop securing the ladder. Only with Michał's help did he manage to squeeze through the entrance. They descended slowly, afraid to make any noise that might alert the "hatter," as Michał called it, the man guarding the warehouse. They felt more confident when their feet touched solid ground. Calmly and slowly, they walked, hiding in the shadows, to the place Michał had indicated. Robert bent down to pick up one of the boxes. Meanwhile, Michał was fingering the wall in disbelief.

"Illusion, you say..." Robert said in a sarcastic whisper, handing Michał a piece of cardboard. He angrily pushed his hand away. "Fuck! I swear! It... was here. In this place!"

He continued searching, realizing the absurdity of the situation. There was one more chance he could prove his story. They had to wait for the portal to reactivate. The problem was, that could happen immediately, or at some unspecified time in the future.

"We have to lie in wait here," he whispered. "And wait...

" "You're crazy! I have a column to write! I'm not going to chase ghosts or fairy tale creatures!

" "Please! At least see this guy. You can judge for yourself whether he's human or not.

" "Young, damn..." Robert said, getting angry, but he decided to give Michał one last chance. "Okay, let's get this over with."

They crept quietly to the closet. Robert cautiously peered inside, where a guard was sleeping on a couch in the corner. The problem was that he had covered himself with a blanket and was facing away. Besides, the dim light from the lamp on the simple table didn't cover the entire room. He showed this to Michał. "We'll wait a moment," he said. "If he doesn't turn around in five minutes, we're out."

Robert nodded in agreement. He leaned against the closet wall and began to play with a cigarette he'd pulled out. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an object lying among the newspapers on the floor. The object caught a reflection reflecting the light from the closet bulb. Robert walked over and picked it up. It was a small, round stone, a deep red. He began to examine it with interest. He showed it to Michał. "It's probably a ruby. Or something like that."

His knowledge of gemstones wasn't very extensive. It was cold to the touch and unusually smooth. Michał weighed the stone in his hand. A real one would be worth a fortune. He thought.

Shadows danced at the warehouse door. Someone was pressing from the other side, trying to get inside! The startled journalists hurriedly hid behind boxes.