Oh how.

- What's the catch?

- Well, what a trick. A young man, a nobleman, though not rich, a very capable magician.

I made a bored face, that's enough, they say. What is the missing detail? Well, people don't smirk so toothy for no reason. As if he wanted to dissuade me from my undertaking, but not directly, but in hints.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

- Master Devlin, - said the secretary and stood aside, letting someone through.

I didn't really turn around. Almost noiseless footsteps sounded behind you, no fashionable heels three fingers thick. For the second time in a quarter of an hour, a crowd of goosebumps ran down the back from the sound of these steps, as if in the presence of a predatory beast. A man walked past me, standing next to the table of the master Olsin, and I felt the unexpected smell of gunpowder and wood. Dark red jacket with lacing on the sides, comfortable soft riding boots, a sword on the belt. Young, a little older than me, apparently. Her black hair, just below her shoulders, was pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a scarlet lace, only two strands on the sides were knocked out, shading her high cheekbones. The beautifully shaped eyebrows reminded me of the black wings of a seabird taking off. Straight thoroughbred nose, chiseled chin, however, with a slight hint of a frivolous dimple, but the lips are thin, without a drop of sensuality. Dark eyes slightly elongated to the temples with velvet eyelashes seemed to be slightly screwed up and looked cold, but not haughty. When he turned to the curator, greeting him, I stared at the almost perfect triangular back: wide straight shoulders - narrow waist. Slim, but not skinny. He carried himself with dignity, but not arrogance. He didn't look like a magician. This is how, in my opinion, a fighter should look and move, or maybe a killer from the guilds, but the secretary called him a master ...

- Meet Maitre Devlin Cooper, Maitressa Christina Xavien.

I stood up, and with a completely unfeminine gesture, extended my hand for a shake, without thinking of curtseying and staring straight into his eyes. How will he react? Leonard would have resented such an attack on purely masculine ways. Although among magicians, handshakes were sometimes met without regard to gender. My escort without protest squeezed my hand with hard and strong fingers without a single ring, by the way. Hard, but without causing even the slightest pain. By the way, I didn’t see a single piece of jewelry on him at all, so I immediately felt like a discharged Indian.

Seriously, no pins, no precious buckles on boots, nothing. Everything is exceptionally comfortable and functional.

- I already told you both separately about the trip, the only thing is that Christina will need to stay there, and Devlin ... will decide for himself.

“Chris,” I corrected, shrugging my shoulders mentally at this almost imperceptible pause, “what’s the point of fixing it?

- Devlin.

It seemed to me that I was talking to a statue - an extremely unperturbed statue, I must say. He politely faked a half-smile, but not a light lit up in the dark cold gases. Listen, well, it was just a challenge! The duke's son, perhaps, does not call for marriage, but this one looks like at an object in a museum.

- Let's clarify the details, sit down, - the curator suggested, and the meter Cooper sank down on a small velvet sofa against the wall, not encroaching on my chair. It seems that the posture is relaxed, but inside it feels like a metal compressed spring, which can straighten out at any moment.

“What is it with me? - I thought, for some reason I was not able to unstick my eyes from the dimple that was barely visible in the neckline of the shirt just below the neck. - I've never liked these guys? Looks too simple. Too aloof for pleasant company."

And I kept remembering that feeling from the touch of his fingers. Thin, about such they say, musical. But, obviously, they are not sleek and have never known varnish and sparkles.

Amazing is the only word that came to mind. What was it about him that got me hooked?

"Hey! Are you still here?" asked an inner voice.

I had the feeling that I had smoked a semileaf, or some other dope, and now I was simply unable to concentrate

- ... if there are no questions? - Master Olsin looked at me semi-questioningly, raising his voice, apparently in order to pull the unlucky student out of this semblance of a trance.

“I understand that you didn’t seem to take a word of what I said,” his reproachful look said, “and, probably, this is a consequence of an overly stormy graduation celebration, but I won’t shame you in front of strangers” .

Oh how. Well, thanks for that. I have papers in my hands, we'll figure it out further.

“Davlin,” I asked, “I suggest joining some caravan, what do you think?”

"I'll find out who's going there in the coming days," he nodded curtly, still pretending to be a statue.

And empathically? No, it's deaf. I don’t feel anything, and it seems that he has a permanent shield from reading emotions.

- What if we meet in the evening, for example, in the Golden Trout? We will have dinner, and at the same time we will discuss the trip plan. Do you like redfin goldfish? They cook it excellently there! It's okay though, you probably already know that. As?

Master Cooper smiled slightly.

- Good.

Like this. One word for twenty of mine.

By the way, about verbosity and laconicism. I recalled one experiment conducted at the Academy, when I had just entered there. A stand was placed in a separate room, with a strange toy placed on it. It was a blue beast, with huge ears, square teeth sticking out in all directions, and three eyes. He had six paws.

First, five first-year girls who were not yet familiar with each other were allowed into the room, with the task to see what was in the room. A heated discussion immediately began - oh, who is it, how fluffy and pretty it is. At the exit, the exchange of views continued, although until that moment the girls had never met in their lives. Then five guys came in, stood silently, looked and just as silently left.

In the second part of the experiment, everyone was asked to describe what is in the room. The girls talked about the funny little animal, made an assumption that he was very cheerful, tried to guess who his parents or owners were, tell fortunes about his biography, on average, each uttered thirty-two words. The guys were limited to a maximum of eight. And some gloomy comrade, they say, generally declared: a toy. All point.

We are, on average, more talkative, that's a fact.