Thoughts became even darker. Magic can't be used? You can come to terms with this. But what is this strange reaction of the body to a blow from a baton? After all, they hit the prosthesis. Yes, and the first blow was not so painful when the fingers flew. Sadden, of course. The skin was torn, it bled a little. But nothing terrible.

The club looked normal. Wooden. The guards said that magic can't be used. Then why am I twisted?

“Grid,” I called, casting aside my pride.

- Listen, fox.

- What kind of club do the guards have?

- Who knows?

- You do not know?

- I know. She is wooden. Probably.

- And that's it?

Grid was silent. Grimacing, I buried my face in my knees. They took away my crown, weapon, smoking pipe, bag with the Diary. All have been taken. And now they're going to keep it here? What the heck? What is Beam thinking?

- Watch out, it's almost night. The torches are almost out.

Torches. They burn for quite a long time. Also weird. In Artilos, they had to be changed about once an ho