Nursultan, the driver who had taken the Englishmen to the city, didn't show up until the next morning. He said he'd arrived during the night and needed to rest. I was glad he'd appeared at all—he could have simply gone about his business and never come. I asked him about the Englishmen. He said he'd dropped them off at the "Sheraton." He also mentioned they had argued the entire way, especially the red-haired one, who seemed to be fighting with everyone. There were four of them, including the redhead. Nursultan left them at the hotel; he didn't know what they did after that because he went straight to the taxi stand. This stand was in the northern part of the city, the only place he could find passengers for the return trip in the direction he needed.
Finding out he'd already rested, I asked if he would take me to the city. After getting his agreement, I settled up with the guesthouse owner, gathered my things, and Nursultan and I set off for Dushanbe. Not right away, though—we first stopped by his place: he needed to gather some things for the road and talk with his family. In short, we wasted a good chunk of time. I had roughly estimated arriving in the city by lunch, but now it would be afternoon at best. Looking at Nursultan's beat-up Opel, I thought it would likely be closer to evening.
The dirt road from Sarytag wound its way down to Iskanderkul, skirting the lake along the northern shore, and led to the tourist bases on the eastern bank. From these bases, an asphalt road continued to the major Khujand–Dushanbe highway. The drive was quite long. During this time, I carefully questioned the driver again about the Englishmen, but he had nothing more of substance to add. Oh well, I'd have to figure it out on site.
Near the city entrance was a large parking lot where drivers and passengers organized rides to the north of the country. Here, I asked to be let out and said goodbye to the driver. No need to leave too obvious a trail—you never know who might be interested. Besides, the transport situation in the city was much better anyway. I calmly took a bus home.
Now I had to run the neighbor gauntlet. Anyone who lives in the East knows—it's practically impossible to hide from neighbors for whom everything is always interesting. And it's better not to even try—I mean, you shouldn't hide, because that only increases their curiosity and attention. Therefore, when returning from somewhere, I usually stopped to chat, generously sharing made-up stories with any neighbors I met, diligently playing the part of an enthusiastic nature lover. The locals consider this a quirk, but they tolerate it well enough, seeing me as an eccentric outsider. And in the East, guests are not offended, and they tend to turn a blind eye to possible oddities.
This time, surprisingly, it went quickly—I only met one neighbor, so I didn't spin any yarns, limiting myself to a brief conversation.
"Oh, hello! Where have you been?" asked the neighbor sitting on the bench by the entrance.
"Just went to Iskanderkul."
"Oh, great place! How was it?"
"Excellent, it was warm, even went for a swim."
"You should be careful with that, it's dangerous to swim in mountain lakes," the neighbor showed his knowledge.
"Yeah, I just dipped in quickly."
"That's the right way, you can't swim for long—you'll get sick."
"Yes, that's true," My policy of agreement worked like a charm. The neighbor quickly lost interest in me.
Passing him, I went inside. By the way, I have a ward on my door—if anyone comes to me with ill intentions or is unknown to me, that person forgets why they came at my doorstep and, as a rule, leaves without even knocking. Don't think I'm paranoid—it's just one of the rules drilled into me by my teacher, who said a careless hunter sooner or later becomes the prey himself. The rule is simple: don't leave traces and don't attract excessive attention to yourself. Unless you intentionally want to mislead someone—like I do with the neighbors. I'm constantly in plain sight, but in reality, no one knows anything substantial about me.
So, home. Or maybe, den? Just kidding, of course. An apartment like any other, no frills. A bachelor's pad, naturally, but with this lifestyle, that's not surprising. No, I'm not a complete recluse and I do socialize with members of the opposite sex from time to time, but only a companion with similar abilities could be a permanent partner for me. And there are plenty of such people, but most of them aren't even aware of it. A lot of things have to align: for such abilities to manifest, and for someone to be nearby who can help develop them—which happens extremely rarely. The only saving grace is the natural longevity from enhanced regeneration, meaning there's always a chance to find my other half. That is—to wait, or to find a girl with similar potential myself, facilitate its manifestation, and teach her. Sounds complicated, but it is possible. Especially since that's usually how it happens.
At home, I unpacked my backpack and put everything in its place. All the dirty stuff went straight into the washing machine, which I started. I took a shower myself. It was too late to go anywhere now—by the time I got there, by the time I found anything, I might have had to go somewhere else. One might think the jondor could just disappear. I figured if it was necessary, it wouldn't go anywhere, and if it did, then it wasn't meant to be. No need to rush headlong. Besides, it was worth preparing more thoroughly for possible surprises. This jondor was a tricky one—moving around, why couldn't it just stay in its lair? But for now, there were only questions without answers.
I didn't eat—if I wanted, I could now go without food for up to two weeks. The ice witch had been very old and powerful; I was overflowing with energy.
I turned in early and went to my improvised gym in my dream. Without practice and constant training—you get nowhere. Let your guard down, and you'll deeply regret it in the next confrontation—most likely, mortally. I won't describe the training itself. Routine: it's similar to any martial art—practice, practice, and more practice of movements, strikes, combinations, footwork. Everything must be brought to automaticity.
Then, as usual, I fell asleep on the beach and woke up in my own bed—time to move on. After drinking coffee, I went to the "Sheraton." I didn't go into the hotel itself. The most complete information can be obtained from drivers—they always know who arrived, who left. The main thing is to find one who's willing to talk. I often go to the mountains, and on any route, there's always a chance of meeting a familiar face.
I lingered near the taxi stand not far from the hotel. After a while, I saw a familiar face. If I'm not mistaken, his name was Faiz. He'd once given me a ride to Romit in his ancient Mercedes, which he was very proud of. He claimed this Merc would outlive everyone. Maybe he was right.
I approached his car.
"Hey, Faiz! Is the Merc still breathing?"
"It'll outlive everyone."
"Listen, if you haven't had lunch yet, let's go get something to eat. We can talk."
Nothing surprising—I'm talking about lunch. They usually stand here since night, so around ten in the morning counts as lunch.
"Eat? That works," he said, then turned to the other drivers: "I'm going for lunch. If anything, watch my place in line."
They just nodded lazily in response.
We went into a small canteen. I immediately ordered plov, salads, flatbreads, and tea.
"Remember me?"
"Honestly, not really. Though you do look familiar."
"You gave me a ride to Semiganch once."
"Ah, right! I was looking—couldn't remember. But you wouldn't be feeding me plov just for old times' sake. What do you need?"
"You're right about that," I didn't bother being tricky. "I wanted to find out about the Englishmen who came from Iskanderkul yesterday. Are they still here? Maybe they went somewhere?"
"Ah, you mean those ones—noisy customers. They were arguing from the moment they got out of the car until they went into the hotel. Then, at night, three of them left for the airport, one stayed."
"Was there a redhead among them? Did he leave too?"
"Nah, he's the one who stayed."
"So he's still at the hotel?"
"Him neither. He left in the morning, very early, almost night."
"Where to?"
"Well, I didn't need to know. Somewhere south, I think they said something about Dusti."
"That's the one almost on the border?"
"Yeah, that's the one. There's a bridge across the Panj to Afghanistan not far from there."
"Are you sure that's where? Or somewhere else? Can you find out?"
"Well, I can. Davlyat drove him. But it's a bit awkward to just ask. And maybe they're still on the road."
"Just say that the driver who brought them from Iskanderkul showed up. Say he wasn't fully paid, like a warning that he might ditch them. And ask where he's taking him or where he dropped him off."
"Hmm... Yeah, that might work," he said and started dialing a number on his phone.
After a short conversation, he said:
"Well, yes. He drove him to Dusti. Already dropped him off and left him at a little restaurant near the parking lot, and he'll head back soon once he finds passengers."
"Got it. Well, if you're done eating, then get the car—we'll go to that restaurant too."
"Done eating? You've talked my ear off."
"Well, eat then. Don't mind me—I'm full."
"What about your things? Don't you have any?"
"Everything I need is on me. Don't get distracted, eat."
Faiz didn't argue and set his jaws to work vigorously. But staying silent for long was apparently not in his nature.
"So why do you need him?"
"Like I said—he owes me money."
"So he didn't pay you?"
"Something like that," I said, pouring tea. By this time, Faiz had finished with the plov.
"Alright then, you settle up, and I'll go get the car," he said, drinking just one bowl of tea, and went to fetch his Merc.
By the time I paid, he was already pulling up to the canteen entrance. And so, straight from the table, we set off for Dusti.
Faiz stopped the car a short distance from the line of vehicles at the Dusti parking lot. I asked him to go talk to the drivers and find out what he could about the Englishman. After parking, Faiz went over to the local taxi drivers. He returned about twenty minutes later.
"They say there was a foreigner like that. When he arrived, he sat in that establishment over there for about half an hour. Then a car came for him from the direction of Nizhny Panj. Had diplomatic plates. Looks like he crossed the bridge into Afghanistan."
"Are you sure? They couldn't be mistaken or confused?"
"Are you kidding! A foreigner is walking money. They'd watch his every step with both eyes here."
"In that establishment, you say?" I asked, nodding in that direction.
"Yes."
"I'm going to buy some water."
If he spent half an hour there, his scent should be well-established. After all, from now on, I'd have to rely solely on the wolf's sense of smell. The place was no restaurant—more like a canteen with pretensions, judging by the painted walls. The jondor's smell hit my nose right at the entrance—it was that thick, even for human senses. I immediately knew where he had sat. I went to the counter, bought a couple of small bottles of cold water. Didn't ask anything, as it was all obvious. I went out and walked over to Faiz. Handing him a bottle of water, I said:
"Well, seems everything's clear. Since he crossed the border—let's head back."
"As you say. Any whim for your money."
We turned around and drove out of the town. In a more or less deserted spot, I asked him to stop.
"Listen, I'll pay you for the return trip in full. So don't come back to Dusti looking for passengers. Let everyone think we left. If you pick someone up along the way—that's your business, but don't drive back here. Okay?"
"Okay. Like I said—any whim for your money. But where are you going to go here?"
"Well, that's my concern. Your main job is not to tell anyone about any of this. It's better for you—who knows what might happen to me," I said to him, handing over the money.
As he took it, I lightly squeezed his hand, sending a pulse of mental threat. Not that I didn't trust him—just in case. Faiz jerked his hand back and looked around nervously.
"Okay, okay," he nodded. "I'll be silent as the grave."
"Good man. Have a safe journey," I wished him and got out of the car.
I stood for a while, waiting until his Mercedes was out of sight. Only then did I leave the highway. On one side of the road were low hills, on the other rose a small mountain. On its slope, there could easily be someone—shepherds, hunters, or villagers going about their business, who might not be visible from a distance. So, to make sure I wasn't being watched, I found a hollow where I couldn't be seen from the road, sat down, and began to study the mountain slope in front of me.
For several hours, nothing happened, but I didn't risk it and waited for darkness. Occasional cars passed on the highway, time dragged on slowly. Waiting is a normal part of the hunt. I was used to it by now.
I had to swim across the border river. Obviously, not as a human, but it was still not worth the risk—it had to be done under cover of darkness. Pursuit, tracking—that's a job for the wolf. Finally, it grew dark. In the darkness, I shifted and trotted towards the river, skirting Dusti in a wide circle. It was still several kilometers to the bridge at Nizhny Panj, but I didn't need it anyway. And I ran straight for the river. I would try to pick up the trail on the other side. Although I probably wouldn't need to at first—there was basically one road there, which they would likely take to Kabul. Well, of course, there were other roads, but where else would a foreigner in a car with diplomatic plates go? The most obvious conclusion was to the embassy.
Reaching the river, I swam to the other side. The Panj River was wide here, the current was calm, swimming was easy.
