by Zeppy Cheng
I see Crayton, but not Alice. I approach Crayton and greet him politely.
“Ah, Markus,” says Crayton. “I assume you want to know how Alice is doing.”
I nod. It’s no use beating around the bush. “Is she okay?”
Crayton shakes his head. “She took a huge blast of psionic energy. She should be medically fine, but she just won’t wake up.” He shakes his head, though I can tell he is very, very worried about her. Then he seems to brighten up a bit. “I hear your efforts with Rearden metal are coming to fruition.”
I nod. “Yeah. I think at least some of the conjurers you hired are getting it.”
“Well, then, keep at it.” Crayton seems to want to avoid talking about Alice’s situation in any depth. Without even a nod at me, he wanders away into the crowd.
I don’t know what to do next. The party seems to be going well, and everyone looks happy, but I have a feeling that everything here is fake and plastic. But what could I expect? This is high English society at its finest.
A man wearing a tan suit approaches me. He extends his hand, a smile on his face. “I’m Raputin Drommel.”
I shake his hand.
Raputin nods. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Everyone is talking about what you did for the country. And you’re from America! I never knew you Yankees had it in you!”
“Well, we did win both World Wars.” I mostly intend it as a joke.
Raputin frowns for a split second and then smiles again. “Ha! A fine sense of humor we have here.” He tilts his head. “So tell me. How did a young man, so clearly still in high school, attain the sought-after designation of an S-class Adventurer?”
“I killed a balrog,” I say. “With a little help. A, uh, Dungeon Striker missile did most of the work, but I was the one who pointed it.”
Raputin gives me a false grin. “Very interesting! I’ll do my best to convince the government to invest in more of those! I heard they were very instrumental at the Battle of Crickhowell?”
I am about to shake my head, but then think better of it. I don’t want to reveal how small the effect of those super-expensive missiles was against an army of A-class monsters. I certainly don’t want to burst the military’s bubble and discourage more research into anti-dungeon monster technology. Instead I do my best to smile. “Yes, they certainly turned the tide.” I pause. “I recognize you. You were at the battle, right?”
“Just for a moment,” says Raputin. “I’m the guild leader of the Green Blazes. They evacuated us when it got too hectic.” He sighs. “I wish I could have seen those beautiful Dungeon Striker missiles in action. I helped design them, after all.”
“Just a little bit.” Another man approaches from the center of the garden. He extends his hand. “Icarus Oppenburg. Leader of the Rocking Shooters’ Guild.” He puts his arm around Raputin’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to this man’s bragging. He barely did anything for the Dungeon Striker program.”
Raputin seems to be taking the downsizing well. “Ha! And you didn’t do anything. At least my guild fought better than yours at the battle!”
Icarus smirks. “Of course, my good sir. But our guild had the oh-so-important job of evacuating citizens. How many peoples’ lives did you directly save by charging in there like a mad beast?”
Raputin winks. “More than you would imagine. My guild is formed of only the best Adventurers!” He looks at me with a strange expression. “Would you like to join the Green Blazes?”
I shake my head. “I’ve already made a deal with the Blue Dryads. Plus, I belong to another guild back home, the Riding Valkyries.”
“Pah,” says Raputin. “That corporate bunch leading the Blue Dryads has no soul. They’re like the McDonalds’ of Adventuring guilds. And I don’t know anything about American guilds, but I don’t recognize the Riding Valkyries.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say. “It’s a small guild.”
Raputin frowns. “You’re an S-class Adventurer. You should be with a big, famous, well-led guild. Like mine!”
Icarus shakes his head. “No, your guild isn’t as famous as mine.”
“When you read the last guild popularity poll,” Raputin says, “the Green Blazes top the Rocking Shooters!”
“That was a recent upset!” says Icarus. “The Rocking Shooters have been on top a lot more than you!’
I bow and retreat from the oncoming storm, taking it upon myself to wander around the garden’s edges. The people at this party seem to be ignoring me for the most part. Perhaps I just don’t have the pedigree to deal with this level of society. I’m a commoner from America and I don’t understand how British high society works.
A man wearing a normal-looking suit approaches. He stands next to me without saying anything, sipping Champagne out of a fluted glass. “You have qualified,” he says after a long pause. “You must choose a side. White or Black.”
I turn to ask him what he means, but he is gone, like a ghost.
And I am left wondering what will happen next.
About the Author
Zeppy is a local Elkhorn, Wisconsin writer who enjoys writing as a hobby, with aspirations of becoming a professional. He holds a bachelors in psychology from Louisiana Tech University. He watches a lot of anime in his free time.
He currently has written fifteen books, only some of which are available at this moment.
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