My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist

by Irina Syromyatnikova

  "In short," Reich continued after waiting for my objections, "Brian sees only one solution: to force Giom's backers to cover up his death. They'll pull on the brakes if we drive them into a corner. Yours and Brian's testimonies won't help: you are directly involved, he is temporarily incapacitated. Giom's aura in the press conference hall partially matches the imprints on the kids' bones, but this is not enough; we need more tangible evidence. And you'll help me get some."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There were ten corpses, from your own words. We think that the last two are underground, in the mine. Surely, Giom wasn't as careful deep down with destroying evidence from the crime scene as he was on the surface."

  He was forcing me to go down into the mine, into the place where hundreds of people died, into the absolute blackness that did not dissipate for millennia, into hell.

  "I will not climb down there!"

  "You will," the "cleaner" chuckled. "Giom hid that ancient bone somewhere; without it no one would believe your report. You'll take us to the place where they found the jaw."

  I instantly rebelled: "I can't find that place! It wasn't a full necromantic ritual - there was no Circle, I was the only one! All that I got were images of last days of the deceased. Only a few pictures!"

  "Will you be able to recognize this place if we pass by it?" Reich squinted.

  I delved into the memory scraps of the deceased. Where did it happen? Some sort of a lateral tunnel, where this man, tormented by thirst and lack of sleep, barged into ghouls who were rapidly gaining strength. The deceased hardly knew where he was.

  "It's a bad idea."

  "There are no others. Brian didn't rat on you, but I'm not a novice. And I don't need a witch hunt here: half of my specialists will quit immediately."

  I didn't want trouble either. I just bought my first home, invested all my money in it.

  "Okay. Only…ehh…" I didn't know how to explain my fear of climbing down without losing my dignity.

  "Everything will be organized professionally," the colonel proudly drew himself up and went out without saying a word.

  Son of a bitch! And Brian, too! These smartasses finally found someone to blame! Once again NZAMIPS proved to be just another source of trouble for me.

  "Any problems?" a concerned Quarters stood at the door.

  To tell him that I made a fool of myself once again? Never!

  "No, no. They have asked for help." It was almost true. "Just to be clear: I am still a part-timer with NZAMIPS."

  Quarters pulled his eyebrow: "I thought you stopped - you didn't want to work for them."

  "I still don't want it. But I am forced to repay my duty to our homeland."

  I would never wish such creditors on my enemy! I cursed them with all my heart while driving to Junction station. The equipment I ordered for our new project had arrived. I needed to arrange its delivery to the farm in such a way that my presence wouldn't be required.

  * * *

  For the Department of Theological Threats (its undercover name was a group of functional designs for object strategies), NZAMIPS hired singles, preferably with old scores to settle with the criminals on the group's wanted list. Many people still remembered the last attempt of the artisans to bring happiness to the world at any cost; insufficient time passed to settle all accounts and calm passions. The group's size never exceeded twenty-five; if necessary, its permanent commander had the right to borrow any number of employees from the ministry. The group never failed; however, it had no active combat operations so far.

  Surrounded by people who had known him for fifteen years, Larkes felt no need to pretend. He expressed his emotions with gestures, as he used to. His coworkers knew his eccentricities and understood them.

  Now Larkes rhythmically tapped the desk with his palm (it meant he was impatient and decisive). "Gentlemen, the situation has moved forward. Did everybody have a chance to study the meeting's materials? Mr. Geniver, please."

  Seven NZAMIPS employees with top secret clearance gathered for a retreat meeting on the outskirts of Redstone: a white mage, two dark ones, and four ordinary people. A skinny old man in civilian clothes - a famous financier in the past - took the floor. His sharp intellect and predatory instincts enabled him to survive the artisans' interest in his wealth, but his son was trapped forever in the walls of an elite hospital for the mentally ill. Mrs. Geniver visited her "sunny boy" three times a week, with quiet tenacity hoping for a miracle.

  "Our analysis revealed that there are four objects on our list that show systemic deviations in their behavior. Object 1 on the first slide has a reputation which does not meet his psychological profile: he is knowledgeable well beyond his background and successfully resolves hopeless situations. These inconsistencies are statistically significant."

  The files of all four suspects were carefully examined by the participants of the meeting.

  "Should we exclude the dark one?"

  "No," Larkes' fingers trembled in the air (it meant he fell into thought). "They have already demonstrated that they could win over even combat mages. Pay attention to the third object. Sensors of instrumental control recorded suspicious activity in the area of the object's responsibility."

  "Should we put them under 24/7 surveillance?"

  "It can draw unnecessary attention to them, if we ask for more help from the ministry."

  "Four objects are not too many; our resources will suffice."

  "Gentlemen!" Larkes' fingers were pointed a little upwards (it meant he was inspired and excited). "We are moving on to the second stage of the project!"

  Chapter 31

  A cat - a gray long-legged beast - appeared in the house of the suicide along with my companions. No, they did not bring him; he came by himself from somewhere (the closest farm was five kilometers away) and didn't meet any objection from the zombie, which was supposed to be guarding my homestead. Max, usually indifferent to other animals, was about to commence a dog's favorite amusement - but Ron suddenly stood up for the cat.

  "Leave the cat alone! He'll hunt mice in the house," he said to Max and me.

  "What mice? I have a protective perimeter around the farm." And the perimeter successfully deflected mice, but not the fluffy beast.

  "A cat in the house brings good luck!"

  In my experience, cats were of no use in a house, just more hair and stench, but Quarters had a soft spot for them. Well, if I slightly modified my warding curse, the cat would be gone. On the first his day with us, he stole a hamburger from Polak's plate, earning him the nickname "Bandit." I thought Polak would take my side against the cat, but he just laughed. So Bandit became the sixth inhabitant of my house.

  Johan did not react to Bandit's appearance - the white was busy up to his ears setting up the lab. Under Johan's supervision, we erected a small hut inside the barn, with all amenities ranging from forced ventilation to a sealed vestibule. Outside, the new lab was wrapped in layers of safety spells and signs.

  "You should not treat white magic lightly, young man!" Johan used to tell me. "In the course of our work we bring beings to life, and they could be so dangerous that even the gray rot would look like flu by comparison. We must be fully aware of our responsibility for the fate of the world and strictly follow the rules!"

  I got it and added to his safety measures a dark warding perimeter around the lab against a very wide range of animals, including termites, rats and cats, so that they wouldn't gnaw through his precious possessions and shit everywhere.

  Spring began in Suesson. It down poured; the depth of the water reservoirs peaked, and all district offices, according to established tradition, took a month break in their work. I welcomed such traditions!

  My vacation time promised to be exciting: Colonel Reich was set on making a rock climber of me. I was able to get onto the top of a training wall on my own, albeit slower than the rest of his subordinates, so I wasn't a total disgrace. On Reich's team there were about a half-dozen "cleaners" who specialized in spele
ology. It was clever of him, taking into account that the extent of underground tunnels in Suesson exceeded the length of public roads by many times.

  "Why are you trying to make a rock climber of me, sir?"

  "Our team must not have a weak link! Everyone should know the specifics of the work. At least, the very basics of it."

  That sounded reasonable, but I was convinced that the colonel wanted to take me down a peg or two. Reich was lucky; a single scowling glance from him, and I would start a duel, and his pumped up muscles would not help him!

  All sane inhabitants of Suesson tried to stay at home, dry and warm; even most of the pubs were closed at this time of the season - there were no customers. After each trip to the polygon I had to wash all my clothes and take a bath; dirt on the training ground was so corrosive that my cleaning spells did not work well. I was not pleased with the day the colonel selected for our descent (Friday, the 13th). I did not like the team (a company of five unfamiliar dark mages would make me feel uncomfortable even in the pub, let alone in a nearly collapsed ancient mine). I abhorred Reich's frivolous comments addressed to me. Also, I requested that our support on the surface be presented by combat mages, but the colonel disagreed.

  My physical training finally ended, as well as the impassability of local roads.

  "We'll pretend we're going for a scheduled inspection; it's high time to check the tunnels. You'll be an intern," Reich told me on the eve of our descent.

  Next morning Quarters gave me a lift to the place where the last bone was found. "Relax!" the colonel gave me a patronizing smile, taking off the security seal from the mineshaft. "Our men on the surface will be safe during the day time, and 'cleaners' will replace them at night."

  "Are you planning to stay overnight down there?!"

  "Of course! There is no difference - night or day - deep underground."

  The mouth of the mine was lit with blue lanterns and looked terrifying. But the "cleaners" were already climbing down, blithely bickering; I was last to step over the edge.

  The shaft was about one thousand feet deep. It's a huge distance when you climb the rope-ladder into hell. Our descent took three hours; on the way the "cleaners" were chattering, checking the previously installed warding amulets, and generally enjoying life. I sweated and tried not to think whether I could make a return trip.

  "Hey, rookie, scared?" Reich shouted out of his respiratory mask (we put them on as soon as we were halfway through). "This is nothing compared to what happened to my group when we went down a three-thousand-foot shaft…" this smartass boasted about the shittiest job in the entirety of NZAMIPS.

  The mine almost lost its man-made appearance: pit props had rusted and partially fallen off; here and there collapsed rock had gathered in high cones, which were probably hiding the corpses of ancient workers. I lifted my head and searched for the bright spot of the shaft opening, but I didn't see any light up top - the mouth of the mine was too far. Though the sunlight could not reach so deep down, it was dry here, at least.

  "Break for half an hour!" the colonel declared as my feet touched the rocks at the bottom; I was last, the first ones were already resting.

  I walked around our improvised camp looking for the traces of necromantic rituals. Tunnels going from the main shaft were blocked almost to the ceiling, except for one, where rocks were moved to the sides, opening a passage.

  "Follow my order," the colonel gently finished sucking in an energy drink through a straw, without taking his respiratory mask off. "Odd numbers will stay here, even - go with me. Two will shield me, Four will shield the necromancer. Is that clear? "His subordinates murmured affirmatively in response. On the surface, they called each other by name, but in underground darkness they wore uniforms and masks and differentiated themselves only by numbers on their overalls.

  Against all my expectations, the mine's tunnels appeared empty and quiet, without any trace of otherworldly creatures.

  "There is nothing for them to eat. The echo of the shaft's warding spells keeps them deeper down," said Four.

  I shivered. Thanks, Four, for calming me down. Soon all local otherworldly, fainting from hunger, would rush here to feast on us. Hopefully, most of them wouldn't be mobile.

  A little later, Reich found traces of a pentagram on the floor: someone cast out the phoma, which apparently overshadowed that passage. "A dark mage was in here," the colonel concluded and became gloomy - this evidence wasn't what we hoped for - we searched for traces of white magicians' work.

  I guessed that Giom brought his bodyguard down here. The bony dark mage had a record of his aura in the NZAMIPS vault. Reich's subordinates pulled sampling cameras out of their bags and took imprints of the dark aura for future identification.

  Luckily for us, at about a fifty foot distance we found the place of the ritual. Two tiny mummified corpses with dissected faces, a human skull lacking its jaw, and crayons and candle-ends lay in the middle of a passageway. The "cleaners" took off their backpacks and started collecting evidence; as I understood, Two was the chief criminalist.

  "Done," Reich rubbed his gloves. "Now we have all the proof!"

  He sort of winked at me; behind the respiratory mask it was hard to understand his mimics. I shrugged.

  "Who was the dark in your family?" Reich asked.

  "I am an orphan." It would be foolish to expect compassion from the "cleaner", so I didn't elaborate on the topic.

  "Have you heard about the Salem Brotherhood? I believe Giom was trained by them. If artisans set a goal to get rid of dark magic, the Salem Brothers strive for the opposite - to learn and use it. White mages are fond of secret societies!" the colonel laughed contentedly.

  The kids' mummies were wrapped in clean cloth, packed in tarpaulin bags, and stuffed in backpacks. Tired but satisfied, we turned back.

  The "odd numbers," whom we left at the main shaft, intently searched for something.

  "What happened?" Reich became anxious.

  "Someone at the top cut the rope-ladder."

  The white cords of the ladder gleamed on the floor among the debris.

  We stared at the mouth of the shaft in silence. Then the colonel cussed out masterfully. "What's this shit mean?"

  My tension suddenly faded away, as if I had waited for something to happen, and it now occurred. I tossed up a few necromantic weavings trying to reach the surface - no, one thousand feet was too far. The "cleaners" frantically searched through their backpacks for spare crutches and carbines.

  "Don't climb there now," I advised them.

  "Really?" Five snarled.

  "Did you see blood over there?" I pointed to a few dark spots, hardly distinguishable on the rocks.

  Reich barked at his subordinates and approached the bloody patch. He fingered and tasted it.

  "You are right, it's fresh blood."

  "If you give me permission for a ritual, I will try to find out what happened to our people on the surface."

  The colonel snorted, "Go ahead, do it!"

  I sat on the rocks and dove into a shallow trance. "Someone, whose name was Nestor, brought our watchmen lunch. The man whom I am questioning knew Nestor. The visitor was accompanied by two more people. Then my guy experienced sharp pain. That's all."

  The colonel involuntarily looked up and suddenly yelled, "Beware!"

  I barely had time to dart aside. A human body fell down from the top; it was the corpse of our duty man - apparently, it had been held up by something in the shaft.

  "We will have to climb up, anyway," Reich said.

  "I am sure they have another surprise for us at the top," I cautioned.

  Something banged loudly, proving my point. "Get out!" yelled Reich, and we rushed into the cleared tunnel.

  I had attempted to set a shield across the shaft, but Reich unceremoniously dragged me into the passage, gesturing at the others to follow us. A second later, tons of disturbed rocks collapsed onto the bottom of the shaft. The floor noticeably shuddered; dust filled the air.
r />   I am a combat mage - nothing usually frightens me - but this was too much.

  "Is everybody alive?" Reich croaked. The "cleaners" responded with a little delay. "Your backpacks?"

  Only one "cleaner" managed to save his backpack (Two simply did not have time to take it off). By chance, the most significant evidence was carried by the chief criminalist, so we did not lose it, but the equipment required for climbing the one-thousand-foot shaft was buried under tons of rocks.

  "What's next? Wait until they dig us out?" I asked nervously.

  They looked at me as if I was an idiot.

  "We'll never be dug out. Our foes blew up the shaft, and half of the hill fell off! We are lucky the last passable tunnel hasn't collapsed yet."

  It was debatable whether we were lucky being locked deep underground, short of food and water, together with hungry otherworldly, and having mining lamps as the only source of light.

  "What shall we do, chief?" We gathered around the colonel.

  "Come on, necromancer, tell us how things are set here," Reich seemed to rely on my help.

  "Sorry, no can do. Unless we return to the crime scene." Nobody stepped up with a better idea, and we went back to the place with the pentagram. The sounds of our footsteps and the grumbling of our empty stomachs echoed in the silence of the tunnel.

  I meditated with the ancient skull for an hour but didn't learn anything particularly useful. The mine used to have three vents, one main shaft with a cargo elevator and an emergency exit with a sort of a hoist. The deceased and other trapped-underneath workers discussed these routes of escape among themselves, but I did not fish out images of their exact location. We got inside through the main shaft, which was blocked now. Unlikely that the vents were more passable than the emergency exit, and after a brief meeting we decided to seek the emergency shaft, hoping it hadn't collapsed yet. It must be located at the opposite end of the mine, about a kilometer away from the main entrance. We cautiously moved forward in single file. I looked everywhere for a hammer or miner's hack, or any other tool that would help us to climb up. Apparently, they were stolen long ago (from a one-thousand-foot depth, what a skill!). We found a few vessels made from milky glass, some debris and scrap, broken tiles and gray dust; all the rest (even the decorations on the sides) was ripped off.