My Path to Magic 2: A Combat Alchemist Read Online Free

me to see the color of his face. I believed it was pale green.
    "Have n't I warned you that you cannot lie to a dark magician? I mean, to a real dark magician." My purring, trust-inspiring intonation was the best technique for interrogation. Well, I would not give him a chance to lie to me once again.
    Sam tried to hide from me behind the mops. That was just the beginning.  I was about to make him run away, shitting his pants, from any dark mage he would ever see in his life.
    "Where is he?"
    "I do not know anything!"
    Perhaps he really did not know; no one would involve a small shot in serious business.  Though I had some thoughts on that account...
    I smiled nastily, "Do you think I need your revelations? You will see that the ideas impressed onto you are far from reality.  I will return Ron home by midnight. Pray to God that he won't tell on you."
    I left him alone in storage, wondering if he wet his pants.
    No, t he corporal didn’t mop the floor with my face in vain: definitely, one of my forefathers was a half-baked hero.  Where did my rage stem from otherwise? Yes, Ron seemed to land in trouble because of his own stupidity.  But I did not have to interfere in his tussle with artisans. Their involvement was a matter of fact - no need to go to a fortune-teller.  I could whisper to the right people and let NZAMIPS deal with the artisans.  On the other hand, I didn't want to miss the "Quarters has been beaten" show. All the more so because finding Ron was really easy for me: I just had to step over my pride and ask the otherworldly. Good thing there was no one around to witness it.
    I threw bait to Rustle : 'Where are you, monster?' He didn't manifest himself, taking offense.  'I promise not to scare you; I'm in a good mood today.' The creature seemed to be figuring out what he could pull out of me in exchange for his service. 'Okay, my first and last suggestion: help me find Ron, and I'll forgive and won't scold you anymore. The rest will depend on your behavior. If you refuse, blame yourself, and you better forget about me.' I did not know how well Rustle understood my speech; I tried to articulate his choices clearly. An almost indiscernible picture appeared in my mind in response.  Of course, the monster lacked eyes and therefore "saw" things differently; the image he showed to me was sketchy; the real place could look quite dissimilar.  But the benchmarks were the river and a warehouse.  'This bank or the other?' - 'The other.' - 'Up or down current?' - 'Down.'  I tried to revive in my mind a map of the city and its suburbs.  'Before the garbage dock or after?' - 'Before.'
    Excellent! With Rustle's help, finding Ron was as simple as making a victory sign with my two fingers.
    I rolled around in my mind the image presented by Rustle and resolutely set off to the tram stop; on the move, I searched my pockets for the NZAMIPS "whistle" and called Max - I needed to be prepared for anything.  I did not want to use Satal's help, unless I absolutely had to; if the coordinator knew I overcame my aversion to the monster, he would take advantage of it.  The thought that it could be dangerous on the docks at night did not enter my mind.
    I immediately garnered plenty of occasions for heroism.
    First , it turned out that the last tram stop was quite a few blocks away from the warehouse. If I had known that, I would never have started this venture!  Secondly, the road had as many potholes as an abandoned mountain track in Krauhard: its cheap paving stone was smashed and sagged by horse hoofs, in some places up to three inches down; luckily, there was no slurping mud under my feet. It stopped raining for a change, but the weather was wet and cold.  I breathed the specific odor of an urban spring - the smell of melted snow and waste below it, accumulated over the winter.
    I wal ked through the labyrinth of dark alleys, carefully maneuvering between puddles and reflecting on what I was doing and why (timely,