My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  I was already unforgivably late for my last university exam and would have to beg Satal for help graduating. I had to flee to Redstone as soon as possible. As it turned out, it was much easier to negotiate with the army healer than with his civilian counterpart in NZAMIPS, and learning that I urgently needed to go back to Redstone, he did not object: "I'll give you potions for the duration of your trip and will write a note to my Redstone colleagues. Go see a staff healer in your division right after your arrival!"

  I nodded diligently; I already knew the road to the Redstone healers. Soon they would start showing me to their students as an exhibit: I became possessed by Rustle, and then was hit by a necromantic rebound. Where else would they find another such loser?!

  "Corporal Liken will go with you."

  "Why?" I became alarmed.

  "Because of your zombie!"

  Oh, yes, someone would have to refresh the revivifying spells on Max. Hopefully, my dog would not go berserk from being treated by a military mage.

  "Will you be able to handle it?" I asked the corporal.

  "Do not worry," the guy smiled at me - he seemed to be proud of the assigned task. "I studied the basics of retrospective animation in the course on preliminary interrogation."

  Hmm. Better not ask him what kind of job the army necromancers were engaged in.

  At the train station we met a crowd of refugees who were returning to Arango. Ridzer said something about the nationalization of the land in the province, but I didn't believe it could be done so fast. The refugees were headed by a vaguely familiar short man (the one who harassed me at the ill-fated meeting in Ho-Carg?), and at his chest he kept a bundle of books. There I recognized with great surprise my Krauhardian brochures on magic safety. A bilious gentleman with a bag and a cane strode beside him. Did they finally hire a dark magician? What striking progress in their worldview! Now they certainly had a good chance to populate their land again.

  The military train did not stop in Ho-Carg: quarantine was declared in the city, and it was under martial law. How about my report? I worked so hard to have it done! I decided I could deliver it through Satal.

  * * *

  "Here's the report, sir, which you have waited for so long. I would like to comment that General Zertak's competence was greatly exaggerated."

  "The report is a top secret document, Mr. Satal."

  "I know. I classified it myself."

  "Give me the document, at last!"

  "By the way, my employee deserves disability benefits, of course, at the expense of your department."

  "What disability are you talking about? Big deal, the kickback! He'll rest for a couple of months and will get back in the action as good as new."

  "Do you deny the fact of a workplace injury?"

  "Actually, he worked under your contract."

  "Hence, he's not your agent anymore, is he?! Excellent. However, his contract with NZAMIPS did not include the rescuing of military mages."

  "I'll solicit compensation for him."

  "Will you double his salary?"

  "No, it will be a one-time personal award from the ministry."

  "Don't sell him short! Give him a medal!"

  "If he gets a medal, then I deserve two!"

  "I wonder for what?"

  "For not killing you both as of yet…"

  PART II. A COMBAT ALCHEMIST

  Chapter 21

  It finally happened! I was found worthy of a degree of an alchemist. I stared blankly at my diploma: in the upper right corner it sported a large, gold-embossed seal, reminiscent of cross-section clockwork. Another seal in the upper left corner was black, intricate, with an iridescent oily sheen, which my memory associated with a barrel of tar. The seals seemed to be cursing each other. The right one signified my outstanding achievements in alchemy, and another evidenced that I was a professional combat mage, who proved his skills in battle. I feared that from now on my employer-alchemists wouldn't believe in my intelligence, and the combat mages, if I had the misfortune of working for them, would wonder what disability made me work as an alchemist and would nag at me.

  University degrees were awarded publicly, in front of a large audience. I graciously accepted the congratulations of my relatives; by the way, I was the only dark mage who came to the graduation ceremony with his entire family. Lyuchik rolled his head from side to side in admiration and bombarded me with questions. Little Emmy graciously thanked my female classmates for their attention. A year ago I would have worried about people poking fun of me for my white relatives, but now I did not care (perhaps it was merely a side effect of the inhibitor, though).

  Of course, if I had returned to Redstone on time, I would have talked my stepfather out of coming here, but Joe took my lack of response regarding his wish to come to my graduation for typical dark indifference, and when I returned from Arango, a telegram waited for me, indicating the date of their arrival. Well, at least I managed to send my zombie to the "cleaners" for the duration of their visit.

  Ron came to the ceremony alone.

  "Congratulations," he said.

  "Same to you."

  "How did you manage to pass the exam in combat magic, if you were on inhibitors?"

  I pointedly put my finger upward. "Networking. High-level acquaintances in the right places. How about yourself? I thought you would have to retake the last courses."

  Ron shrugged. "I didn't have to! I worked hard till the last moment and met graduation requirements. You may congratulate a new alchemist. How about a drink?"

  The sale of alcohol was prohibited on the university territory, and nearby pubs were closed during the graduation ceremony to avoid trouble, so our party had to be postponed until evening. I handed Joe a folder with my diploma, my cap with tassel, and ceremonial scarlet-and-white robe (somebody made a fortune renting out this stuff) and moved along with Ron to the tables with snacks, where the smartest portion of graduates hung out.

  At the far table teachers drank liquor in secret, celebrating freedom from us. Why were they so cheerful? A new school year was about to start in two weeks.

  Graduates of the faculty of combat magic tightly clustered around the table with meat appetizers and a tub of salad. Naturally! Fruits don't sate us. I picked a clean plate and joined my classmates. They moved aside, yielding to me some space, and muttered greetings, keeping their stupid jokes to themselves. They respected me, though not for my feats - recent events in Arango were kept in secret. I basked in the glory of my mentor, the great and terrible Edan Satal. Interestingly enough, two years ago no one knew him, and now people worshiped him.

  One of my classmates, our best connoisseur of controlling spells, who regularly tried to challenge my leadership in that matter, deigned to converse: "What are you up to now, Tangor? Going to Ho-Carg?"

  I hesitated, wondering if I should tell him that only a nut would move to the capital nowadays with its plague and crowds of vagabonds. "You know, the city has been under quarantine for a month now, and this place is not at the top of my dreams."

  "What quarantine? Why quarantine?" startled the future genius of alarm systems for Ingernika's financial institutions.

  I seemed to be the only one who read newspapers. "Quarantine is a state of isolation, restricting the movement of residents and limiting some of their constitutional freedoms, which usually take place in case of plague or civil unrest."

  "Where did you learn about this?" a guy with the appearance of an army mage frowned.

  I silently pointed up to the sky. Everyone understood my hint correctly, and reverent silence reigned for a moment.

  A simple unpretentious guy decided to show off his erudition (people like him usually become big bosses): "I've heard General Zertak barely survived in Arango."

  And I was told it was a state secret!

  "How come? Who? What happened?" everyone perked up. Dark mages wouldn't miss a chance to gloat over someone else's misfortune.

  "While he was readying for an operation in Arango, ar
tisans approached his detachment from behind and cast a deadly spell on all army mages. One 'cleaner' saved them, as rumored." The future stars of dark magic smiled with a grain of salt - everyone knew that "cleaners" were totally unable to accomplish such a task.

  Then they began to boast about their future workplaces and expected salaries. I had to work four more years under the contract with NZAMIPS, and I thought of the remaining term as of a nightmare. Though, objectively speaking, it was sinful to complain: Satal managed to get me a disability benefit of a thousand crowns a month, which was not bad at all!

  "No spell casting whatsoever, do you understand?" the staff healer was adamant. For a thousand crowns a month I could understand anything. I pitied that I could not simulate my condition longer – Satal wouldn't let me take a single extra day off.

  The student feast gradually moved from the university campus to the banquet halls and cafes. Due to my prolonged absence, I was late to book a seat with a suitable company and returned home with my family; we walked to calm the children down. It was a matter of life and death: my over-agitated white brother and sister chattered incessantly; they managed to wear down even Joe. I came up with the idea to buy ice cream for them - that way their mouths would be busy for a bit. Honestly, I hoped that they would stay no more than a week - otherwise I would go mad.

  My head was pleasantly light. I turned over another page in the book of my life – I became a degreed alchemist (and a magician, too). A small misunderstanding with NZAMIPS and unsettled relations with the Roland Fund could not spoil my good mood.

  * * *

  "Is that all you have?"

  "Yes, sir, but I can pull files from the central archive, as well." Captain Baer put a bunch of folders on his boss' desk.

  "Don't! It's sufficient." The senior coordinator picked up the papers and with a businesslike appearance hurried away.

  As soon as he hid behind the door, Kevinahari stopped fussing with the cups and frowned, "Have you noticed that Dan tried to stay away from me?" Baer recalled Satal's behavior over the past couple of days and admitted that she was right: his boss avoided the empath.

  Kevinahari took a sip of tea and decidedly set aside her cup. "What did he want from you?"

  The captain shrugged. "Information about some magic rituals, instrumental control data for the last seven years, and a demographic map of the region."

  "Is this for a new project?"

  "I haven't heard of any projects."

  The empath pondered for a while and concluded: "Believe me, some big trouble is brewing."

  "You know what," Kevinahari concluded, "some big trouble is brewing."

  Chapter 22

  I wanted to meet Quarters in the pub and relax in his company; but by the time I came, Ron was already drunk. I quickly took bottles away from him, despite his resistance. "Has someone passed away in your family?" - I could not imagine another reason to torture yourself like that. Quarters experienced a moment of tearful, drunken honesty. In the beginning I understood nothing, except for a general passage about general the injustice of existence. Then I asked if he had a row with his folks, and he nodded, dripping snot and wiping his nose. Ron was an ordinary man; his quarrels with his parents caused discomfort in him; obviously, he needed the help of a professional empath, but he wouldn't accept it - he had a horrible experience with them. I decided to try myself in the role of Kevinahari. We went to his place. I spent fifteen minutes making tea (ten of them searching for tea bags). The liquid acquired a strange color and became slightly turbid. After decanting the broth through a strainer into a cup, I recalled how the empath usually began her talk.

  "On what occasion?"

  "No occasion! I haven't even said anything to her…"

  After a cup of my tea with lemon and five minutes of snotty sighs, he recovered sufficiently enough to present his complaints clearly and logically: "I didn't reproach her for my being abducted by artisans, though it was she who introduced Sam to me. And because of him I fell into the artisan's trap." Memories of his clash with the cultists sobered Ron better than the tea. "It was I who had been hurt, but my mother pretends that she has suffered most. I cannot make a step at home without hearing a hiss from my father, 'Quieter, quieter, Mom is sick!' I wanted to arrange a stag party, invite friends - and she told me, 'There cannot be any darks!' You have saved my life, and she doesn't care! I opened my mouth to object, and she…She has recorded all the grudges in her notebook - who, when, and how offended her. I was speechless! And my father grabbed me by the shirt and said, 'How dare you to talk to your mother like this!' I hit him in the face and left. Now I will live alone!"

  And I spent my time on him because of this trifle?! All the young dark go through similar problems in their families. "Congratulations! You have grown up," I said.

  "You do not understand…"

  "Yes, I do! Time is long overdue for you to start living your own life." I hoped he managed to pick up at least a change of clothes from home for starters. "Have you bought a condo? Yes, you have. Do you earn your own income? Yes, you do. Hence, you have severed your family ties at the right time. Now you'll be just sending them birthday cards. But if you've had a row with your uncle, too - it's a different story." It would be unwise for him to lose such a lucrative source of financing.

  "No. Uncle had severed ties with my parents long ago."

  "That's it! Follow his example."

  For a couple minutes he sadly looked at the tea leaves in his cup (I should have filtered the broth through a cloth): "It hurts anyway."

  "I'm glad you got off cheap. If she had really belonged to the artisans, you wouldn't have escaped so easily." Although Ron's father surprised me: with his puny complexion, challenging his physically strong son was stupid. "Okay, sober up! I'll drop by your home tomorrow; we'll talk about my next invention."

  Quarters gradually returned to the typical-for-him philosophical mood. At least, the next day Ron looked quite sane and enthusiastically discussed prospects of marketing my security amulet, while sipping coffee. He tried to convince me that we should manufacture the amulet by ourselves. I wasn't interested in organizing anything. "You do this, Ron. I will be very busy till the end of the month. Actually, I'll be totally inaccessible."

  I overestimated my ability to withstand the around-the-clock presence of two white youngsters. My apartment, too spacious for me alone, barely housed five people. My siblings got up with the first rays of the sun and went to bed early (I myself preferred to stay in bed till ten a.m.). Lyuchik showed an unhealthy interest in my motorcycle and constantly asked me to give him a ride. Emmy pulled us to walk - to the park, to the zoo, to the "moms" (the Mime Theater gave performances in Redstone's downtown). My mother had her own interests (I guess it was her first visit to a big city in the last ten years). Joe could not always cope with his two children, and I had my share too. Of course, I could move to a hotel temporarily, but it would look like I tried to escape. No white would make the dark back off!

  My only salvation was my work at Biokin. At the beginning of summer Polak generously gave me indefinite leave without pay to finish my studies. Now, having returned to work, I did not recognize the company. It occupied the entire floor of the building; the entrance was blocked by a polite, clean-shaven security guard; neat porcelain vases with accurate, as if lacquered, bushes stood in the hallway; dusty curtains on the windows were replaced with trendy striped blinds. The number of workers grew from ten to fifty. Five alchemists enthusiastically drew the designs of fermenting vats on the basis of our pilot tank (three-piped, five-piped, cascadian). Inaccessibly-haughty Carl was in charge of a group of servicemen, who permanently worked in the field. There were also a new financial director (who was quietly pushing Polak off the helm), a chef, and an expert in human resources; the latter immediately introduced daily records of employee attendance. Shit! A cozy firm had surely turned into a respectable company.

  I barely found my desk - it was moved into the far corner in my absence. I spent
a day looking over the schemes of new designs and checking if their latest innovations were fraught with any problems. I had to admit, Biokin hired good alchemists – they didn't make stupid blunders, drew carefully, and provided detailed explanations. I could join their team, endlessly fine-tuning fermenting vats, but I didn't see much point in that. After all, the pay increase to my current salary was less than the previous raise with premiums from Quarters; secondly, there was little prospect of career growth; and thirdly, the general atmosphere in the company was no longer suitable for a dark.

  In another situation I would have resigned immediately, but given the dominance of the white in my dwelling, the requirement to work on the clock was a plus. I could peck my mom on the cheek, pat Lyuchik on the back, and get off in good conscience, leaving Joe to deal with his offspring. He was their father, after all. At dinner time I looked through fresh job listings in newspapers and pondered if I should engage in the manufacture of my security amulets for vehicles.

  I was deep in these reflections, enjoying a casual lunch in the cafe, when Satal found me. A meeting with my "favorite teacher" unpleasantly surprised me. I was treated with inhibitors in Illsill, couldn't cast spells, and was exempted from visits to NZAMIPS for the next two months.

  The senior coordinator was dressed in torn and chewed clothes, though even in this outfit nobody would take Satal for a plain city dweller: a habit to command was ingrained in his nature. You can dress a wolf in a sheep's clothing, but either his ears or his tail will stick out.

  "Step aside, let's talk," he said.

  I paid for my lunch and, with an independent look, went after him. He didn't know about my second job at Biokin, and I wanted it to stay that way. Satal crossed several streets in silence and stepped into a dark pub.