Free My Path to Magic by Irina Syromyatnikova

island's response to it be?  I'd better prep the lifeboat, just in case...
    And then came the day that promised to be "the one".  Noticing the signs, I quietly took Alex aside and asked him not to talk with Uncle, not even to say hello.  Actually, there was no need to alert people. Uncle disappeared in the morning, and at lunch both magicians looked so spiteful that even the meanest of the students, Pierre, did not dare to screw around.  During the day, Uncle Gordon was digging furiously, muttering something inaudibly (he was probably counting the offenses he had incurred), and Mr. Smith was milling around the shore looking dispassionately at the sea (probably doing the same thing as Uncle Gordon, but silently).  For the final collision they had to be brought closer.  Alex wanted me to help them, right?
    Seizing the moment when Mrs. Clements called Mr. Smith over to inspect some findings, I dropped my basket next to them as if by chance and asked, as though making small talk: "If we find any bones, will we be able to figure out what had killed their owners?"
    "No," Mr. Smith muttered over his shoulder.
    Uncle's snort was deafening: "They can't do anything now, but in my time this could be done very easily."
    "How?" I took a lively interest in it, since I didn't know the answer.
    "Raising the dead and asking who had killed him and why!  There is no such thing as an unmarked grave in Krauhard."
    "Shut your maw!" Mr. Smith snapped at once.  "Are you going to teach necromancy to a child, you old fart?!"  And addressing me, he shouted, "Don't you dare even to think about it, it's illegal!"
    The old magician broke into a cheeky grin: "Excuse me, I forgot!  The capital fools had invented rules for themselves in their infinite wisdom, and now they are all like a bunch of castrates—understand everything, can do nothing."
    Mr. Smith tried to pull himself together: "One more word, and you will continue your speech in front of your watch officer at NZAMIPS."
    The threat did not even faze Uncle: "Naturally, you know them so closely—same office, tea breaks together!  It's true what I was told: the dark cannot serve in NZAMIPS.  Their brain leaks out of their ass in the course of their duties."
    Mrs. Clements, who listened to the squabble perplexedly, did not understand Uncle's attitude toward his superior.  She was outraged, "Watch your tone!" 
    I sighed in frustration—she could have been the last straw.  Why was she trying to get into the middle of this?
    "Let them bark at each other, Mrs. Clements!  This is a kind of dark magic sport.  As they say, being fools is in the darks' nature."
    The lady crocodile seemed to understand what I was talking about.  She snorted disdainfully and walked away, sashaying her hips.  Mr. Smith coughed in embarrassment, glanced at me gloomily, and hurried after her.
    As soon as he had passed out of sight, Uncle also started coughing, "You know you shouldn't treat magicians like that!"
    "What have I done?"  I was genuinely surprised.
    "That…  You know."
    Damn it!  Both were mature, initiated magicians: what could I tell them about dark magic that they would not know already?
    After the incident, the conflict sharply died down, as if a bucket of water was dumped on brawling cats.  I did not know whether it was the role my words had played, or Mrs. Clements had managed to cool down her subordinates' souls, but common sense unexpectedly prevailed over magic.  They began treating each other in a formal manner ("Mr. Ferro", "Mr. Smith"), speaking in a jaw-twisting literary style.  I sighed furtively; other members of the expedition stayed quiet.  Yes, that's what happens when the number of dark magicians per square meter goes overboard.  Will I grow up the same?  How sad that would be.
     

 
    Chapter 5
    After a week of digging in the dump, we found a variety of items, but they were all related to the period of the prison's construction and didn't have any historical value.