9
I continued nibbling on the cookies (they were really good, I give you that), while Mr. Bamber moved in his chair, trying to figure out what to say.
Somebody as good as he was at scamming money out of investors should be glibber. A fast-talking salesman of snake oil (what is with the obsession with snakes? They aren't magical creatures. Cats are, some of them; snakes are ordinary reptiles), that's how I imagined the founder of a start-up. Instead, I get a bald fat guy with sweaty hands. With no sense of style.
I should see his partners. There has to be something more to this. Or maybe the alchemy is really sound.
"Do you understand Yllamese, Miss Bedwen?" Mr. Bamber asked.
"No more than any other alchemist," I said. "Ashford university requires a basic knowledge of Yllamese for alch
