Application of the eye aversion method in everyday life. Eye Contact: How to Learn to Look People in the Eyes Eye Averting Spell

How to move a thunderstorm away from your home It can be scary in your homes and gardens during a severe thunderstorm. To prevent lightning from striking your home, throw a piece of black bread out the window and say: Holy, Holy, Holy, pour springs on the face of the earth. The living Lord, the eternal God, execute the devil, not us. Always

Our eyes usually follow our thoughts, and sometimes, just by looking into our eyes, other people can understand what we are thinking about. Would you agree that reading another person's thoughts through their eyes is a very useful skill? Thanks to this, everyone will be able to understand whether they are being deceived or determine whether your interlocutor is interested in what you are telling him about. Poker players master this useful skill perfectly.

Eyes to eyes

Such contact with the interlocutor indicates that he is very interested in talking with you. Prolonged eye contact may indicate that the person is scared and/or doesn't trust you. Brief eye contact means the person is anxious and/or not interested in talking to you. And the complete lack of eye contact indicates the complete indifference of your interlocutor to your conversation.

Man looking up

Eyes raised upward are a sign of contempt, sarcasm, or irritation directed at you. In most cases, such a “gesture” means a manifestation of condescension.

If a person looks at the upper right corner

He visually imagines the picture stored in memory. Ask someone to describe the appearance of a person, and your interlocutor will certainly raise his eyes up and look to the right.

If a person averts his eyes to the upper left corner

This indicates that he is clearly trying to imagine something. When we try to use our imagination to visually “draw” some picture, we raise our eyes up and look to the left.

If your interlocutor is looking to the right

This means that he is trying to remember something. Try asking someone to remember the melody of a song, and the person will definitely glance to the right.

Looking to the left, people make up sounds

When a person imagines a sound or composes a new melody, he looks to the left. Ask someone to imagine the sound of a car horn underwater, and they will certainly look to the left.

If your interlocutor lowers his eyes and looks to the right

This person conducts a so-called “internal” dialogue with himself. The person you're talking to may be thinking about something you said, or they may be thinking about what to tell you next.

If a person lowers his eyes down and looks to the left

He thinks about his impression of something. Ask your interlocutor how he feels on his birthday, and before answering you, the person will lower his eyes and look to the left.

Downcast eyes

We show that we do not feel very comfortable or even embarrassed. Often, if a person is shy or does not want to talk, he lowers his eyes. In Asian culture, not looking a person in the eye and looking down when talking is the norm.

These “rules” are generally followed by all of us. But left-handed people do the opposite: right-handed people look to the right, left-handed people look to the left, and vice versa.

How can you tell if someone is lying to you?

There is no absolutely correct algorithm by which you can determine whether your interlocutor is lying or not. The best option is to ask a basic question, such as “what color is your car?” If a person raises his eyes and looks to the right (or left, if he is left-handed), then he can be trusted. Thus, in the future you can understand whether you are being deceived or not.

For example, while telling you about something that happened in class, your friend looks to the right; When talking about his holidays, he constantly looks up and glances to the right. Most likely, everything he said is true. But when he tells you about the beautiful girl he met the other day, and his eyes are directed to the upper left corner, you can conclude that he is clearly “embellishing.”

Luckily, Amber got my hopes up and tried the pills. Five minutes later I realized that she was indeed very drunk - because under the influence of the drugs her gaze cleared, and her gestures acquired completeness and precision.

I walked her to the car and then went to August. The boss was unhappy, and even his usual equanimity disappeared somewhere.

Della, it's rude to get so drunk at this time of day.

As it turns out, you’ve known Max for God knows how many years?

August hesitated - he did not expect the turn of the topic.

Didn't they tell you?..

The main thing is that you imagine what he is. So, do you still have doubts about my manners?

Max is very well brought up.

He is. And when he wants, he can show off his high-society gestures. The trouble is that he likes bad girls who will climb trees and play war games with him. Therefore, he did not educate me, but on the contrary, he strongly approved of the boy’s antics. And he especially liked it when I violated decency.

All men like such girls. Or almost everyone.

That's why you're looking for tender young ladies, touch them and they'll wither!

And our mothers, who themselves were once bad girls, like them. Therefore, if it is more important for a man to please his mother than himself, he pretends that he likes gentle young ladies.

Why did you fight with Max?

Della, in my circle men don't fight. They meet for a duel strictly limited by the rules.

Fine. Why did you and Max have a fight?

August thought:

I do not remember. He called, so I could ignore what was the reason. What's the difference, really. The challenge has been thrown - we must accept it. Max is a very strong opponent, technical and fast. It was an interesting fight.

I guess you won.

Yes, the seconds thought it was me. Max insisted on revenge. Here I refused. It's like I have nothing better to do! And so my grandfather gave me a hard time because I broke his award sword.

Oh, you also use swords. So romantic.

I prefer gentleman's boxing, but there were doubts that Max could do it. I asked what he thought about swords. He agreed. He had his own, and I secretly took it from my great-uncle. We were both wearing small chest armor, covering only the heart, liver and stomach. Max left a scar on my left arm, and I hit him under his right collarbone, literally half an inch above the edge of the armor, in the shoulder strap. The blade pierced the belt, passed between the ribs, rested on the shoulder blade and broke. I didn’t expect it, the sword looked just like a real one.

Wonderful. August, you truly are a genius. You have to be able to pull off a man ten years older than you, who was also almost born with a sword!

He shrugged:

Della, I also grew up in a family where boys from childhood are taught all sorts of unnecessary things that only clutter the brain. I rarely use these skills because I don't see any practical use in them. But I know and remember all this. Now go to sleep, you're drunk.

I'll be fine in half an hour. I have some ideas.

“Go to sleep,” he repeated and left the office.

I sighed heavily. And I went to bed, but what should I do?

* * *

As subsequent events showed, sleep was by no means a stupid idea. Although I cannot exclude that Augustus calculated the situation with his brilliant brains and chose the optimal sequence of our actions.

Because in the evening Maximillian van den Bergh came to us in person, and in a capacity in which I could not even imagine him: as a client. So my day off is over.

“I want you to investigate the murder of Mr. John Smith, the elf,” he said, sitting imposingly in the client’s chair, crossing his legs and clasping his knee with his fingers interlocked.

As far as I remember, Prince, John Smith was not your servant or the child of your servants. You had never even heard of him before his death.

When communicating with clients, August always said “you,” even if he knew them damn well. He would also address his own mother as “you” if she were in this office on business.

“I’ll explain,” Max agreed. - My distant relative is a high rank in the transport ministry. He was extremely disturbed by this murder because John Smith was a federal employee. My relative fears that this murder was not without reason. He wants to know exactly why he was killed. Is it because the elf found himself in a position that was prestigious in the eyes of some people, or because he participated in some kind of fraud, or because he was killed because he tried to prevent such a fraud. This is not the first murder of a federal employee by the same gang, or by the same maniac. Since another victim was related to transportation, different... thoughts arise. My relative believes that the police will take the easy way out just to close the issue. Anything could be behind these murders, from the theft of budget funds to an attempted coup. Just don’t argue, such cases are known when a seemingly nonsense incident...

Yes, a robbery in Vanilla,” August agreed. - Although a coup d'etat in relation to that case is still too strong a word. Regardless of the ambitions of the gang leader, the limit of its capabilities is to terrorize a small town. And not for long.

“But it doesn’t matter to me at all,” Max retorted. - As you yourself understand, my relative could not contact you personally - due to his official position and the obligations associated with it. So he asked me for a favor.

I hope you are aware that I am obliged to show the contract with your signature to the police?

It’s okay,” Max waved it off, “I’m not negotiating with you about buying a batch of slaves.” Like every citizen, I have a legal right to worry when a crime is committed.

Of course,” confirmed Augustus.

For the next fifteen minutes they heatedly discussed the details of the agreement. Fifteen minutes later they shook hands. I took out the agreement forms, filled them out and submitted them for signature - first to August, then to Max. Max stared at the documents with bulging eyes:

Are you using paper?!

Don't worry, August replied, it's not cellulose paper. Plastic. But very well made. I treat environmental requirements with reverence.

Max simply blinked:

I am not talking about that.

Oh, sorry. - August didn’t even bat an eye. - I have a full federal license. You are required to sign a number of documents on paper.

“I thought now only deeds of land and wills are written on paper,” Max chuckled and reached for the stylus.

Yeah, I understand him. I myself was shocked when I agreed to become not only an operative, but also Augustus’s secretary, and he listed new responsibilities for me. How is it possible that documentation is also on paper?! It's a matter of license. Augustus had the right to conduct investigations throughout the entire territory of the State of Earth. The territories are divided into states, and in each state the federal legal “skeleton” acquires its own “meat”. On Earth itself and in most states of the first and second radii, a digital signature is equal to a handwritten one. The rest require a handwritten signature. Moreover, in some places it is used to certify literally all documents, in others only notary and bank documents. In the tenth state, even though it is in the first radius, six years ago they banned digital signatures on property documents. There was an unpleasant incident: the patriarch, who had fallen into childhood, bequeathed all his property to the nurse, died a few days later, the nurse overnight became a rich lady, and the old man’s family ended up on the street. This is because you can put a digital signature even if you are incapacitated: it does not require coordinated motor skills or at least relative clarity of mind. Fortunately for the affected family, fraud was proven and justice prevailed. But in order to prevent such misunderstandings, a handwritten signature was now required on wills, deeds of gift and deeds of sale.

By the way, on Earth, many notaries and attorneys also began to hedge their bets by duplicating important documents “on paper.” God saves man, who save himself. And all holders of full federal licenses - including August - were literally required to keep paper records. Not entirely, of course, - only contracts and client orders. And thanks for that; If we were forced to keep a log of events on paper, I would probably rebel.

Della,” August called, “you will go to Kruger.” Now. Figure out how to lure him out of the house yourself.

Yes, boss. - I got up to go to my room.

Great. - Max leaned back in his chair. - In the meantime, we’ll take a walk in the garden.

I suspected a trick. But I was on duty and had no right to question August or bother Max. So I went to get dressed.

The meeting was planned, although it was on a day off, but it was official and difficult. First, Kruger will swear and clutch his head, then whine about how tired he is of McKinby and me, then bargain over every little thing. Without thinking twice, I put on my favorite two-piece pants. So that Kruger doesn't imagine that I've come to my senses, become a good girl, or, worse, trying to impress him.

Half an hour later I returned to the office. Max was just about to leave.

Both were a little... disheveled. Max's face was also petrified with rage. I didn’t even have time to open my mouth when August politely opened the door for the guest:

All the best, Prince.

“Yeah,” Max said and left so decisively, as if he was going to enter the parking lot through the wall.

I followed him with my gaze, waited until it became quiet, and looked questioningly at August. Augustus was combing his hair into a sleek helmet. I said nothing. If a person likes to disfigure himself, let him.

Life turned out in such a way that August and I actually had two acquaintances. We first met while studying at neighboring universities. I caught the same period when August wore jeans, had a tangled mane and was called Sandy. Then one bastard tried to poison him, Sandy thundered into intensive care. After spending several days unconscious, he woke up and found that his hair had been matted into felt. I asked the nurse to shave them. After the treatment, he changed a lot, he didn’t see me point-blank, and I didn’t even try to get into his eyes. I just heard that he didn’t let his hair go anymore, he liked to sparkle his bare skull. At Great York, I saw an absolutely, universally indifferent man without age, with thin straight hair, and a color unfavorable for such a structure - wheat. Either paint them black or cut them in some other way, it’s not a sin to shave them off completely. And he combed them back smoothly, so that they fit tightly around his head. When leaving, August turned his back, and I was convinced that his hair only seemed thin - the ponytail in which he put it back was thick.

And then they tried to drown us both in the sewers on Lucton. Yes, yes, that same swimming in the sewer. Bathing with cuffed hands and with a rail on your feet. The scoundrels did not take into account that I was a career intelligence officer, albeit in the past - but in the recent past - and August... Well, to be honest, he surprised me then too. Very much. Of course, I understood that he had good breathing - with such a chest and excellent health, it would be strange to have bad lungs - but not a Jedi's!

After that forced swim in icy sewage water, we warmed up and washed ourselves at the local police station. There was no hair gel in the police department, so I had the pleasure of seeing my boss as he is, as they say. I openly admired the rich, curly mane, which shimmered with all the shades of a ripe grain field. It was even better than Sandy's.

What a pity that August turned out to be more stubborn than any other sheep and turned a deaf ear to all persuasion to change his hairstyle...

What is it this time?

August raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Max asked if I really said that you look better without a dress than in it. I answered - yes, something similar happened, but what, he considers this statement false? He suggested that I had little basis for such conclusions, I objected that it was just him - he sees you in a dress for the first time in your life, he has nothing to compare with. After which we found out which of us has the right to make such conclusions, and he went home. I hope he understands everything and will no longer insist on revenge.

And what this time?..

Boxing. Only hands, only to the body.

I shook my head. Boys.

Keep in mind: he has no relatives in the transportation department.

Thank you. I know. He needed an excuse to meet you often, so he came up with one.

Why did you agree, since you understood?

First of all, I need an excuse to do this thing. And secondly, I did not find a single reasoned reason for refusal.

So what do you think about this?

I hate it when they try to make a romantic adventure out of work. By the way, Della: I do not limit your personal life, but be kind enough to spend the night at home.

I blinked in amazement.

Are you jealous or what?

No,” said Augustus sharply. - I don’t like that you walk until the morning, and then drink in the morning.

“You’re jealous,” I said affirmatively. - You're afraid that your favorite red car will be stolen. It was Brenda Taggie who told me a new joke - about the fact that you perceive me as a particularly rare copy of a red car. And you will lay down your bones, but you will not allow me to pass into the hands of another “collector.”

“Don’t be stupid,” was all Augustus muttered. But by the way he looked away, I realized that I had hit the mark.

Then give instructions.

I have never received such instructions before.

Can you? - August noticed that he stunned me.

Boss, I'm a scout, everything will be... okay. But perhaps I chose the wrong outfit.

Yes, we need to be stricter,” August nodded. - More impressive. You look too frivolous in trousers.

I wanted to hit him.

You don't understand women's clothing!

“I understand Kruger,” he said.

Business suit with a skirt?..

No. A skirt is standard office wear. Nobody notices a woman in a skirt and jacket. How does no one think about what is hidden under the clothes of a woman in a police uniform?

Well, now, I thought. Are you going to tell this to me, a retired cop?

Ideally, said August, Kruger should have a slight culture shock when you appear.

“What happiness,” I said. “So you won’t ask me to come to him drunk, naked and with a bloody kitchen knife in my hand.”

August became thoughtful, and I hurried away.

* * *

I didn't have to persuade Kruger to meet at the cafe. He was called to work. On the way to the office, I looked at the news. Sixth corpse. Orc, nineteen years old, which corresponds to about thirty years for a human. No details. Okay, now we’ll find out on the spot.

In front of the entrance, reporters were already hanging out, looking rather pitiful - amateurs, small fry. Using several simple techniques to avert my eyes, I slipped unnoticed almost to the door. However, at the last moment I relaxed, attracted attention, they recognized me and called out:

Ms van den Berg, has your boss already joined the investigation?

I turned around and looked at the reporter with an icy gaze:

I'm bringing cheesecakes for senior expert Kruger.

It is very easy to confuse an amateur journalist: more than anything else, he is afraid of seeming funny, of getting into a stupid position, of being stupid. A professional will not be distracted by wondering how exactly I am trying to fool him and make him look like an idiot. He will ask himself the main question: why am I doing this? And he’s certainly not afraid to get into a puddle. Any professional whose job is to obtain information and analyze it regularly ends up in a puddle. Take Kruger, for example. Or me. This is not who we are, this is a property of information. There is always too little of it.

For an experienced journalist, cheesecakes and a machine gun are all equally uninteresting; his object is me. I didn’t have a machine gun, but on the crook of my elbow I carefully carried a package with the logo of an expensive bakery. The reporters, as if on cue, stared at him. Half a second of confusion allowed me to duck through the glass swirl of doors and emerge in the hall. The duty officer bared his teeth.

“It’s a good joke,” he nodded, “we should take it into service.”

The joke is a lie, but there is a hint in it. I really need Kruger. I remembered something important from the previous corpse. I discovered this poor elf.

Maybe Johansson is for you? He's running the business. And Kruger is busy right now.

Johansson? - I was surprised. - He was promoted, or what?

Yes, yesterday. - The duty officer was distracted by the external camera. - Excuse me, one minute...

Of course, I said.

And she calmly headed towards the elevators. The duty officer only sighed sadly behind me, but did not run after me. He also understood that I was asking questions for the sake of formality - more precisely, to find out whether Kruger was in the department, otherwise he had suddenly gone to the morgue or somewhere else.

Kruger was indeed busy. And he’s busy in the company of that same Ian Johansson. Therefore, I looked through the glass that separated the senior expert’s office from the common room and entered without knocking.

I said - on Monday! - Kruger barked.

He looked bad. Of course. I silently walked to the table, sat down on the first chair that turned up and crossed my legs.

Kruger looked at me sideways and winced. I was wearing a strict black dress, and over it a jacket with elbow-length sleeves. The hair is styled not in a work style, but as if for a social occasion. Maybe I didn’t experience a culture shock, but there was some movement in the head of the senior expert. At the very least, he decided that I had come to torment him, and not to beg. And now he hoped to at least postpone the torment until tomorrow.

That's it, Della... - he began threateningly.

“I’ll wait until you calm down and remember that there’s a lady here,” I answered arrogantly.

I'll remember, yeah. I can still remember something...

That's great. Those details of my official biography that you are hinting at will come in handy now - there will be fewer unnecessary questions.

Listen, Della, I'm busy. - Kruger was not going to give up so quickly.

Do you want me to wait outside for you? In a crowd of strange guys who are confident that they know how to make news?

Kruger groaned:

Okay, lay out what you need. Ian, later. She won’t lag behind anyway, it’s easier to figure it out right away... Tell Cossa there, let him bring coffee. Two.

Ian walked away, allowing himself one polite smile addressed to me.

And who is he now? - I asked when the door closed behind Ian.

Who should have been from the very beginning. Investigator.

Oh how. Why did you work as a junior criminologist?

Kruger gritted his teeth:

Della, why did you come?!

I placed copies of the investigation agreement and August's license on Kruger's desk.

This was the only thing Kruger needed for complete happiness - for a first-class inquisitor to get involved in a case that was already making his hair stand on end.

Kruger,” I leaned forward, “let’s avoid this pathos, huh?” No time. You won't solve this case without us.

What the hell is this... joy?!

So much so that the average person cannot afford an elf servant.

Just a working version!

Listen, that's enough. There was an elf there. Keeping an elf in the house, let me say nothing, raising him is a privilege of the nobility. This means you will have to deal with the family aristocracy. And you yourself know that the last baron, the droopy one, is a very uncomfortable person when you need to talk to him. In the best case scenario, his lawyer will contact you. Yes, you must be told everything that can shed light on the crime. But how can you prove that you are bothering this or that sovereign lord for a legitimate and significant reason? Real aristocrats are busy gentlemen, their mouths are full of troubles, and labor legislation does not protect them from overwork. They rule the planets. They just missed you!

Current page: 4 (book has 23 pages total) [available reading passage: 16 pages]

Lady Berg wanted to be known as a society lady, a true princess. Why does anyone care that behind closed doors she is an experienced alcoholic? The main thing is that her evenings are an example of good manners.

Augustus's relatives held the image of a respectable person as their ideal. They didn't try to understand Augustus, they found fault with his behavior. I don’t care that they are dry and soulless people, dull as rain in December. But they know how to behave. But Augustus, a renegade and scoundrel, doesn’t want to. If he doesn't respect his elders, that means he doesn't love him. A good boy should obey his dad. True, I didn’t see my dad, but I had enough with my grandfather. The only difference between the grandfather and the robot was his origin.

I think I only knew two aristocrats who weren't pretending to be anything. Max and August. Max lived as greedily as if this was his last minute. He did not look back either at the opinion of society or at his reputation. However, maybe I’m wrong to think that he wasn’t pretending? Maybe this is also a mask - a kind of enfant-terrible, but in fact he is a quiet person, prone to armchair studies?

But Augustus was not pretending at all. But he doesn’t need to, he’s a genius.

- Max? – Amber asked again, since I said this whole tirade out loud. - No, it seems to me that he is like that. He's cramped and bored, so he prescribes pretzel. He rarely enjoys himself and life. He told me that he was happy several years ago, but not for long.

– I hope not in connection with me?

Amber smiled with slight sadness:

- He never talked about you. Nothing. All I know is the words of his sister, who doesn’t like me. They even called me a different name.

I sighed:

– Della is a half-abbreviation, half-pseudonym. Dad shouldn't have drunk that last glass when he was choosing a name for his daughter. Because what kind of Ophelia am I?!

“It’s a very beautiful name,” Amber protested. – And the real Ophelia was not at all the way Shakespeare portrayed her. This is not my topic, but I read one study that proves... She was killed because she was smarter, more charismatic and independent than her father and brother. She refused to submit to the usurper and may even have inspired the conspiracy. That's why they killed her. Perhaps they drowned. Because she knew a lot, and it was impossible to allow Hamlet and Ophelia to join forces.

- And you? Are you pretending to be someone?

- Oh no. I'm very drunk, I'm dizzy, but the conversation is so interesting. She distracts me from my drunkenness. I should probably leave before I fall off my chair, it would be very unpleasant. I can still come to terms with the fact that falling is indecent, but it would cause you unnecessary trouble, and I don’t want the meeting to end in irritation.

“I can put you in the guest room to sleep.” Is it better than calling a taxi, what if you fall asleep in the car?

- Thank you, but I won’t sleep, I feel so bad that I’ll try not to sleep. There's no need for a taxi, I called my mother's driver, he arrived an hour ago and is waiting at the garden terrace. Mom cannot imagine doing without comfort while traveling. She didn’t want to let me go to the conference alone, she flew with me, and, of course, took her car and driver with her. Many people think that this is effeminacy and spoiling, but I believe that there is nothing wrong with this. After all, my mother, with her habits, allows so many poor people to earn money!

Lord, I thought, where did you come from? You can literally find merit in everything.

With the wrong hand, I found in the medicine cabinet a blister of anti-alcohol and a jar of detoxifier. What a pity that I didn’t think of taking them with me yesterday, then I wouldn’t have cared for both the Taggy cocktail and the Sonny port. Amber became interested, I explained: the first pills should be taken to relieve intoxication, and the second to relieve poisoning.

– Oh, I haven’t even heard that such medicines exist!

Naturally, I haven’t heard of it, these are special equipment, they won’t be sold in the pharmacy. We don’t so much buy them ourselves as “get them”, despite the federal license. They are produced in strictly limited quantities, and if suddenly, say, a special intelligence station on dissident planets goes on a binge for the good of the state, there simply isn’t enough for the rest.

Amber looked at the pills doubtfully.

This is the real aristocratic education. Everything should be traditional. If you drink, then please go through the whole cycle - the first euphoria, drunken hysteria, heavy sleep, so similar to loss of consciousness, and morning torture - with headache, nausea, pangs of conscience for yesterday and a concession to yourself in the form of a glass of vodka.

Luckily, Amber got my hopes up and tried the pills. Five minutes later I realized that she was indeed very drunk - because under the influence of the drugs her gaze cleared, and her gestures acquired completeness and precision.

I walked her to the car and then went to August. The boss was unhappy, and even his usual equanimity disappeared somewhere.

“Della, it’s rude to get so drunk at this time of day.”

– As it turns out, you’ve known Max for God knows how many years?

August hesitated - he did not expect the turn of the topic.

-Didn’t they tell you?..

– The main thing is that you imagine what he is. So, do you still have doubts about my manners?

– Max is very well brought up.

- Yes, he is. And when he wants, he can show off his high-society gestures. The trouble is that he likes bad girls who will climb trees and play war games with him. Therefore, he did not educate me, but on the contrary, he strongly approved of the boy’s antics. And he especially liked it when I violated decency.

– All men like such girls. Or almost everyone.

“That’s why you’re looking for gentle young ladies; if you touch them, they’ll wither!”

“And our mothers, who themselves were once bad girls, like them.” Therefore, if it is more important for a man to please his mother than himself, he pretends that he likes gentle young ladies.

– Why did you fight with Max?

– Della, in my circle men don’t fight. They meet for a duel strictly limited by the rules.

- Fine. Why did you and Max have a fight?

August thought:

- I do not remember. He called, so I could ignore what was the reason. What's the difference, really. The challenge is thrown - we must accept it. Max is a very strong opponent, technical and fast. It was an interesting fight.

- I guess you won.

- Yes, the seconds thought it was me. Max insisted on revenge. Here I refused. It's like I have nothing better to do! And so my grandfather gave me a hard time because I broke his award sword.

- Oh, you also use swords. So romantic.

– I prefer gentleman’s boxing, but there were doubts that Max could do it. I asked what he thought about swords. He agreed. He had his own, and I secretly took it from my great-uncle. We were both wearing small chest armor, covering only the heart, liver and stomach. Max left a scar on my left arm, and I hit him under his right collarbone, literally half an inch above the edge of the armor, in the shoulder strap. The blade pierced the belt, passed between the ribs, rested on the shoulder blade and broke. I didn’t expect it, the sword looked just like a real one.

- Wonderful. August, you truly are a genius. You have to be able to pull off a man ten years older than you, who was also almost born with a sword!

He shrugged:

– Della, I also grew up in a family where boys from childhood are taught all sorts of unnecessary things that only clutter the brain. I rarely use these skills because I don't see any practical use in them. But I know and remember all this. Now go to sleep, you're drunk.

“I’ll be fine in half an hour.” I have some ideas.

“Go to sleep,” he repeated and left the office.

I sighed heavily. And I went to bed, but what should I do?

* * *

As subsequent events showed, sleep was by no means a stupid idea. Although I cannot exclude that Augustus calculated the situation with his brilliant brains and chose the optimal sequence of our actions.

Because in the evening Maximillian van den Bergh came to us in person, and in a capacity in which I could not even imagine him: as a client. So my day off is over.

“I want you to investigate the murder of Mr. John Smith, the elf,” he said, sitting imposingly in the client’s chair, crossing his legs and clasping his knee with his fingers interlocked.

“As far as I remember, Prince, John Smith was not your servant or the child of your servants.” You had never even heard of him before his death.

When communicating with clients, August always said “you,” even if he knew them damn well. He would also address his own mother as “you” if she were in this office on business.

“I’ll explain,” Max agreed. – My distant relative is a high rank in the transport ministry. He was extremely disturbed by this murder because John Smith was a federal employee. My relative fears that this murder is not without reason. He wants to know exactly why he was killed. Is it because the elf found himself in a position that was prestigious in the eyes of some people, or because he participated in some kind of fraud, or because he was killed because he tried to prevent such a fraud. This is not the first murder of a federal employee by the same gang, or by the same maniac. Since another victim was related to transportation, different... thoughts arise. My relative believes that the police will take the easy way out just to close the issue. Anything could be behind these murders, from the theft of budget funds to an attempted coup. Just don’t argue, such cases are known when a seemingly nonsense incident...

“Yes, a robbery on Vanilla,” August agreed. – Although a coup d’etat in relation to that case is still too strong a word. Regardless of the ambitions of the gang leader, the limit of its capabilities is to terrorize a small town. And not for long.

“It doesn’t matter to me at all,” Max retorted. – As you yourself understand, my relative could not contact you personally - due to his official position and the obligations associated with it. So he asked me for a favor.

– I hope you realize that I am obliged to show the contract with your signature to the police?

“It’s okay,” Max waved it off, “I’m not negotiating with you about buying a batch of slaves.” Like every citizen, I have a legal right to worry when a crime is committed.

“Of course,” August confirmed.

For the next fifteen minutes they heatedly discussed the details of the agreement. Fifteen minutes later they shook hands. I took out the agreement forms, filled them out and submitted them for signature - first to August, then to Max. Max stared at the documents with bulging eyes:

– Are you using paper?!

“Don’t worry,” August replied, “it’s not cellulose paper.” Plastic. But very well made. I treat environmental requirements with reverence.

Max simply blinked:

- I am not talking about that.

- Oh, sorry. “August didn’t even bat an eye. – I have a full federal license. You are required to sign a number of documents on paper.

“I thought now only deeds of land and wills are written on paper,” Max chuckled and reached for the stylus.

Yeah, I understand him. I myself was shocked when I agreed to become not only an operative, but also Augustus’s secretary, and he listed new responsibilities for me. How is it possible that documentation is also on paper?! It's a matter of license. Augustus had the right to conduct investigations throughout the entire territory of the State of Earth. The territories are divided into states, and in each state the federal legal “skeleton” acquires its own “meat”. On Earth itself and in most states of the first and second radii, a digital signature is equal to a handwritten one. The rest require a handwritten signature. Moreover, in some places it is used to certify literally all documents, in others only notary and bank documents. In the tenth state, even though it is in the first radius, six years ago they banned digital signatures on property documents. There was an unpleasant incident: the patriarch, who had fallen into childhood, bequeathed all his property to the nurse, died a few days later, the nurse overnight became a rich lady, and the old man’s family ended up on the street. This is because you can put a digital signature even if you are incapacitated: it does not require coordinated motor skills or at least relative clarity of mind. Fortunately for the affected family, fraud was proven and justice prevailed. But in order to prevent such misunderstandings, a handwritten signature was now required on wills, deeds of gift and deeds of sale.

By the way, on Earth, many notaries and attorneys also began to hedge their bets by duplicating important documents “on paper.” God saves man, who save himself. And all holders of full federal licenses - including August - were literally required to keep paper records. Not entirely, of course, only contracts and client orders. And thanks for that; If we were forced to keep a log of events on paper, I would probably rebel.

“Della,” August called, “you will go to Kruger.” Now. Figure out how to lure him out of the house yourself.

- Yes, boss. – I got up to go to my room.

- Great. – Max leaned back in his chair. - In the meantime, we’ll take a walk in the garden.

I suspected a trick. But I was on duty and had no right to question August or bother Max. So I went to get dressed.

The meeting was planned, although it was on a day off, but it was official and difficult. First, Kruger will swear and clutch his head, then whine about how tired he is of McKinby and me, then bargain over every little thing. Without thinking twice, I put on my favorite two-piece pants. So that Kruger doesn't imagine that I've come to my senses, become a good girl, or, worse, trying to impress him.

Half an hour later I returned to the office. Max was just about to leave.

Both were a little... disheveled. Max's face was also petrified with rage. I didn’t even have time to open my mouth when August politely opened the door for the guest:

- All the best, prince.

“Yeah,” Max said and left so decisively, as if he was going to enter the parking lot through the wall.

I followed him with my gaze, waited until it became quiet, and looked questioningly at August. Augustus was combing his hair into a sleek helmet. I said nothing. If a person likes to disfigure himself, let him.

Life turned out in such a way that August and I actually had two acquaintances. We first met while studying at neighboring universities. I caught the same period when August wore jeans, had a tangled mane and was called Sandy. Then one bastard tried to poison him, Sandy thundered into intensive care. After spending several days unconscious, he woke up and found that his hair had been matted into felt. I asked the nurse to shave them. After the treatment, he changed a lot, he didn’t see me point-blank, and I didn’t even try to get into his eyes. I just heard that he didn’t let his hair go anymore, he liked to sparkle his bare skull. At Great York, I saw an absolutely, universally indifferent man without age with thin straight hair, and a color unfavorable for such a structure - wheat. Either paint them black or cut them in some other way, it’s not a sin to shave them off completely. And he combed them back smoothly, so that they fit tightly around his head. When leaving, August turned his back, and I was convinced that his hair only seemed thin - the ponytail in which he put it back was thick.

And then they tried to drown us both in the sewers on Lucton. Yes, yes, that same swimming in the sewer. Bathing with cuffed hands and with a rail on your feet. The scoundrels did not take into account that I was a career intelligence officer, albeit in the past - but in the recent past - and August... Well, to be honest, he surprised me then too. Very much. I, of course, understood that he had good breathing - with such a chest and excellent health, it would be strange to have bad lungs - but not a Jedi!

After that forced swim in icy sewage water, we warmed up and washed ourselves at the local police station. There was no hair gel in the police department, so I had the pleasure of seeing my boss as he is, as they say. I openly admired the rich, curly mane, which shimmered with all the shades of a ripe grain field. It was even better than Sandy's.

What a pity that August turned out to be more stubborn than any other sheep and turned a deaf ear to all persuasion to change his hairstyle...

- What is it this time?

August raised his eyebrows in surprise.

– Max asked if I really said that you look better without a dress than in it. I answered - yes, something similar happened, but what, he considers this statement false? He suggested that I had little basis for such conclusions, I objected that it was just him - he sees you in a dress for the first time in your life, he has nothing to compare with. After which we found out which of us has the right to make such conclusions, and he went home. I hope he understands everything and will no longer insist on a rematch.

– And what this time?..

- Boxing. Only hands, only to the body.

I shook my head. Boys.

- Keep in mind: he has no relatives in the transport department.

- Thank you. I know. He needed an excuse to meet you often, so he came up with one.

– Why did you agree, since you understood?

- First of all, I need an excuse to do this business. And secondly, I did not find a single reasoned reason for refusal.

– What do you think about this?

“I can’t stand it when they try to make a romantic adventure out of work.” By the way, Della: I do not limit your personal life, but be kind enough to spend the night at home.

I blinked in amazement.

-Are you jealous, or what?

“No,” Augustus said sharply. – I don’t like that you walk until the morning, and then drink in the morning.

“You’re jealous,” I said affirmatively. – You’re afraid that your favorite red car will be stolen. Brenda Taggy told me a new joke about how you perceive me as a particularly rare copy of a red car. And you will lay down your bones, but you will not allow me to pass into the hands of another “collector.”

“Don’t be stupid,” was all Augustus muttered. But by the way he looked away, I realized that I had hit the mark.

- Then give instructions.

I have never received such instructions before.

-Can you? “August noticed that he had stunned me.

“Boss, I’m a scout, everything will be... okay.” But perhaps I chose the wrong outfit.

“Yes, we need to be stricter,” August nodded. - More impressive. You look too frivolous in trousers.

I wanted to hit him.

– You don’t understand women’s clothing!

“I understand Kruger,” he said.

– Business suit with a skirt?..

- No. A skirt is standard office wear. Nobody notices a woman in a skirt and jacket. How does no one think about what is hidden under the clothes of a woman in a police uniform?

Well, now, I thought. Are you going to tell this to me, a retired cop?

“Ideally,” August said, “Kruger should have a slight culture shock when you appear.”

“What happiness,” I said. “So you won’t ask me to come to him drunk, naked and with a bloody kitchen knife in my hand.”

August became thoughtful, and I hurried away.

* * *

I didn't have to persuade Kruger to meet at the cafe. He was called to work. On the way to the office, I looked at the news. Sixth corpse. Orc, nineteen years old, which corresponds to about thirty years for a human. No details. Okay, now we’ll find out on the spot.

In front of the entrance, reporters were already hanging out, looking rather pitiful - amateurs, small fry. Using several simple techniques to avert my eyes, I slipped unnoticed almost to the door. However, at the last moment I relaxed, attracted attention, they recognized me and called out:

– Mrs. van den Berg, has your boss already joined the investigation?

I turned around and looked at the reporter with an icy gaze:

– I’m bringing cheesecakes for senior expert Kruger.

It is very easy to confuse an amateur journalist: more than anything else, he is afraid of seeming funny, of getting into a stupid position, of being stupid. A professional will not be distracted by wondering how exactly I am trying to fool him and make him look like an idiot. He will ask himself the main question: why am I doing this? And he’s certainly not afraid to get into a puddle. Any professional whose job is to obtain information and analyze it regularly ends up in a puddle. Take Kruger, for example. Or me. This is not who we are, this is a property of information. There is always too little of it.

For an experienced journalist, cheesecakes and a machine gun are all equally uninteresting; his object is me. I didn’t have a machine gun, but on the crook of my elbow I carefully carried a package with the logo of an expensive bakery. The reporters, as if on cue, stared at him. Half a second of confusion allowed me to duck through the glass swirl of doors and emerge in the hall. The duty officer bared his teeth.

“It’s a good joke,” he nodded, “we should take it into service.”

- The joke is a lie, but there is a hint in it. I really need Kruger. I remembered something important from the previous corpse. I discovered this poor elf.

– Maybe Johansson would suit you? He's running the business. And Kruger is busy right now.

- Johansson? – I was surprised. - He was promoted, or what?

- Yes, yesterday. – The duty officer was distracted by the external camera. - Excuse me, one minute...

“Of course,” I said.

And she calmly headed towards the elevators. The duty officer only sighed sadly behind me, but did not run after me. He also understood that I was asking questions for the sake of formality - more precisely, to find out whether Kruger was in the department, otherwise he had suddenly gone to the morgue or somewhere else.

Kruger was indeed busy. And he’s busy in the company of that same Ian Johansson. Therefore, I looked through the glass that separated the senior expert’s office from the common room and entered without knocking.

- I said - on Monday! - Kruger barked.

He looked bad. Of course. I silently walked to the table, sat down on the first chair that turned up and crossed my legs.

Kruger looked at me sideways and winced. I was wearing a strict black dress, and over it a jacket with elbow-length sleeves. The hair is styled not in a work style, but as if for a social occasion. Maybe I didn’t experience a culture shock, but there was some movement in the head of the senior expert. At the very least, he decided that I had come to torment him, and not to beg. And now he hoped to at least postpone the torment until tomorrow.

“That’s it, Della...” he began threateningly.

“I’ll wait until you calm down and remember that there’s a lady here,” I answered arrogantly.

- I'll remember, yeah. I can still remember something...

- That’s great. Those details of my official biography that you are hinting at will come in handy now - there will be fewer unnecessary questions.

- Listen, Della, I'm busy. – Kruger was not going to give up so quickly.

– Do you want me to wait outside for you? In a crowd of strange guys who are confident that they know how to make news?

Kruger groaned:

- Okay, lay out what you need. Ian, later. She won’t lag behind anyway, it’s easier to figure it out right away... Tell Cossa there, let him bring coffee. Two.

Ian walked away, allowing himself one polite smile addressed to me.

- And who is he now? – I asked when the door closed behind Ian.

– Who should have been from the very beginning. Investigator.

- Oh how. Why did you work as a junior criminologist?

Kruger gritted his teeth:

- Della, why did you come?!

I placed copies of the investigation agreement and August's license on Kruger's desk.

- Again!!!

This was the only thing Kruger needed for complete happiness - for a first-class inquisitor to get involved in a case that was already making his hair stand on end.

“Kruger,” I leaned forward, “let’s avoid this pathos, huh?” No time. You won't solve this case without us.

- What kind of joy is this?!

- So much so that the average person cannot afford an elf servant.

– Just a working version!

- Listen, that's enough. There was an elf there. Keeping an elf in the house, let me say nothing, raising one is a privilege of the nobility. This means you will have to deal with the family aristocracy. And you yourself know that the last baron, the droopy one, is a very uncomfortable person when you need to talk to him. In the best case scenario, his lawyer will contact you. Yes, you must be told everything that can shed light on the crime. But how can you prove that you are bothering this or that sovereign lord for a legitimate and significant reason? Real aristocrats are busy gentlemen, their mouths are full of troubles, and labor legislation does not protect them from overwork. They rule the planets. They just missed you!

- Yeah, and you hope...

“I don’t have to prove anything to anyone.” Already because I was married to one of them and work for another.

I tapped my nail on the agreement. Kruger read the first lines, his eyes widened, he stared at me:

- Didn't understand. You asked him, or what?

- Well, here’s another one. Maximillian van den Bergh, just so you know, doesn't get along with Augustus-Alexander Paul Nicholas-and-twelve-other-names McKinby. And of her own free will she will not turn to him for anything.

- Then what made him?

- Just think about it. What made him, what made me, what made August, who pays Max back...

Kruger thought about it. His secretary served coffee. Kruger, with a blank expression on his face, opened the safe, took out a box of chocolates and placed it in front of me:

- Help yourself. I keep forgetting to ask: what did you finish? This is not a police academy.

– Military University, Faculty of Tactical Intelligence.

He first raised his eyebrows, then let out an astonished exclamation. I hit him in the heart.

– Two years in combat service, then the police, Great York. Augustus was conducting a complex investigation and was looking for an operative to help. My colleagues decided to play a joke and suggested my candidacy to him - the entire department hated me.

- And you got along well.

- It's not that difficult if you want to.

- Hm. Pardon my tactlessness, but you served in the army...

– Unfortunately, this is classified information. Not at headquarters, if that's what you meant. Therefore, I can’t even name my place of service.

- Yes, yes, I understand. Della... what is the best way to address you now? What about the title?

– In public – Ophelia van den Berg. I don't have a title, I'm divorced. Alone - I beg you, don’t!

– And you, as far as I understand, want something unusual.

– Full interaction.

– So you will not only take, but also give? Would you like to share your materials?

“Yes, of course,” I lied without blinking an eye.

Well, how I lied... Of course, we’ll throw in something.

– And first of all you are interested in federal employees. People.

- You're wrong. It's easier with them. In addition to you, the investigation into their death is also being conducted by insurers, tax authorities and the feds. I think they will dig up literally everything. I'm interested in materials related to John Smith because of the contract to investigate his death. The rest, of course, too, but on an informational basis. And first of all – foreigners and non-citizens.

Kruger narrowed his eyes.

“Looks like for once, your boss and I are thinking alike.” Still, a conspiracy of foreigners, huh? Clean, respectable-looking servants, such good-looking guys beyond suspicion, formed a gang...

“My boss doesn’t think at all yet; he has no food for his brilliant brain.” Now, if I bring it to him in my beak, he’ll think so.

“However, he has already expressed the version that the elf was an accidental victim. Although I would consider the last one random.

- Orkushka. She resisted.

– I would like to take a look at the body, if you please?

I was almost sick of the sweet politeness of this conversation, but Kruger liked the game. I wondered what words the commissar would use to scold him for six murders in a row, if Kruger made contact so quickly. He has territorial instincts - like a large predator. Give him free rein, he would eat all the competitors on his land.

- Yes, later, I’ll give you Ian to accompany you...

- I'm flattered. A whole investigator?

Kruger laughed tightly.

– Expert, so what kind of metamorphosis happened to him?

Kruger sighed heavily:

- He's a romantic. Damn romantic. He doesn’t look for easy ways, he doesn’t want a quiet life. So much for the metamorphosis. He has a diploma as an investigator. When it arrived, I couldn't take it. Well, there are no places. True, he said - come on in a year, Kush will retire, there will be a place. In the meantime, look, on Everest, I know for sure, you need a specialist. He went there and came back two weeks later. There, he says, there is mortal boredom and there is nothing to learn, I tried it all as a student. I definitely want to work for you. Well, it’s clear: there are few people on Everest and things are routine, everyday. A young guy, greedy for interesting work, is bored there... Well, I blurted out - there is a place for a junior criminologist. Will you go? With your diploma? He said - I'll go. At the same time, I’ll master the specifics, fit into the team, and in a year then, if we work together, you’ll transfer me to the vacant investigator’s position. And, Della, there was no arrogance, he worked as he should! And here with these murders... In short, we persuaded Kush to leave early. He didn't really mind, to be honest. After all, he was in charge of this case, and he felt, it seemed, that he couldn’t handle it. Ian took his place. And, accordingly, he inherited our gang.

– Did the Commissioner find out what you were hiding? That you have a good young specialist, but you don’t use him?

- Well, yes. Ian has the first thing to do, he’s worried, you really...

“I understand,” I smiled. – I won’t push you with charisma.

- And don’t swear. He is well prepared, but there is little practice, and you are a lady... In general, as a human being - yes, I’m not just giving him to accompany you...

“Under guardianship,” I nodded. - Do not worry. I haven't spoiled anyone yet.

For some reason Kruger turned purple and quickly changed the subject:

- Della, why did you leave the army? It's more interesting there. Here we are locked within the state, but the military has a scope throughout the entire Galaxy.

– Who told you that I left the army?

I smiled as brightly as I could.

Kruger was killed outright.

“But you don’t have to believe me at all,” I added frivolously. “You didn’t receive any orders regarding me from your leadership, and they didn’t even hint to you.” And I didn't tell you anything either. Wrong stakes in the game.

It was the first time I saw Kruger really not knowing what to say.

When Ian Johansson arrived, an idyllic picture opened up to him: Kruger and I, completely stunned, were studying the dossier of the victims with two heads.

“A new form of cooperation,” Kruger said without expression. – It is not prohibited by law. Everything except those documents that Ms. van den Berg does not have permission to see. But we must show them to Mr. McKinby.

Lastly, I finished off Kruger. I unwrapped the package and placed in front of him a colorful box with two freshly baked cheesecakes. Kruger was so confused that he tried it. He liked this.

To get to the car, Ian and I had to make our way through a noticeably larger crowd of reporters. Two patrolmen cleared the road, and we got out almost unscathed.

“I wonder what exactly will be on the news feeds in a couple of minutes,” said Ian.

– It’s unlikely that they assume that we are going to the morgue. It's so boring.

“Yeah,” he agreed. – Do you really serve in intelligence?

I said nothing.

– Don’t worry, this is an operational machine, it looks around, but not inside. There is no wiretapping in the salon.