by Eric Ugland
Cool Beans, you’ve unlocked the innate skill Eavesdropping (LVL 18). Now you can listen to others without them knowing about it. Significantly harder to detect while listening to others.
Well, look at that. I was really starting to like this game. Also, I never realized how much I’d clearly been eavesdropping on Earth.
“Tasty nuts,” came a familiar voice.
I looked up, and into a face I didn’t know. A woman with a dark complexion, a nose that seemed to have been broken more often than it had been straight, and a lazy left eye.
“Do I—”
“It’s the only person you know here,” she said, “and I need to move quickly.”
“Oh, Et—”
“Let’s not use my name, shall we?”
“Got it.”
“Good, come on. We’re going to the South Gate, and we’ve got a stop to make on the way.”
She was already walking, and I had to scurry to catch up to her.
“Do you know about something called the White Hand?” I asked in hushed English.
Etta stopped and stared at me.
“Why do you know that name?” she replied.
“Overheard some big dudes talking about it.”
“Don’t muck with them, they are really bad news.”
“But who are they?”
“Criminal organization.”
“Like a thieves guild?”
She shook her head and started walking again. “Those don’t exist here,” she said.
“Okay, but—”
“Let me tell you what does, criminal organizations. Gangs. Families. All those things are here. Just like in that old place we don’t talk about. Your best bet is to join one.”
“You didn’t.”
“And look what’s happening to me. I’m being run out of town.”
“You’re leaving of your own volition, I thought.”
“Mix and match, really. I have a life here, I’d like to have kept it, but that’s not what’s happening, now is it?”
“I don’t know what is happening. Just that you’ve been—”
“I was being tortured so I’d join a gang. Or punished because I didn’t.”
“Who?”
“The Iron Silents.”
“That’s the name?”
“Would I make that up?”
“You could be making all this up for all I know.”
“I’m not.”
“I know you aren’t, but, I mean, I’m hoping you're not, just—”
“I’m not. I’m steering you true through this quagmire that is the game world we live in now. We’re getting close to the first stop on the grand tour of me leaving. He’s a fence. I’m going to go in there, present a token to him, and he’ll give me some stuff. I introduce you, you say a few words.”
“Is he trustworthy?”
“He’s a fence.”
“Which means?”
“No. Not wholly. He’s a guy who looks out for himself. You look out for him, he’ll look out for you, most of the way. And he can make some introductions to the others in the business. People you need to know.”
“You know a group I should join?”
“No. I don’t like groups. I didn’t do any research. Pay attention to where we are, I won’t be here to guide you back.”
I did as she said, and really took a moment to look around at the neighborhood we were in. The streets were broader, the buildings quite a bit shorter, and the sound of the place was fundamentally different. More talking, shouting, people calling out to each other. There was a liveliness to the area that wasn’t apparent in Old Town. And a ton of shops.
“This is the Grand Market,” Etta said, “and if you can think of something you want to spend money on, it’s going to be here.”
“Doesn’t seem that grand,” I said.
She gave me a look. A look that was even more ridiculous with Etta’s current goofy face, “The actual grand market is closer to South Gate. But there are stores all around this place, some of the best in the city are here. Also, closer to the gate itself, that’s where you’ll find the Caravaner’s Guild, and you can sign on with a caravan.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“It’s what I want to do, dingus. That’s the store up there,” Etta said, using a jab of her chin to point to a rather modest storefront with gold leaf flaking off letters reading: The Trading Emporium.
“That’s the store?”
“I just said it was. Gideon is a bit, uh, different, just be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“Sure,” she said and picked up the speed.
As soon as I opened the door, a bell rang out. The inside of the store had an interesting dichotomy to it. An extensive spread of items that ran the gamut of quality and quantity. Piles of rusting borked chainmail armor on one side of the room, swords so magical they practically radiated power on the other. Barrels filled with maces and spears. Crates overflowing with silks and exotic cloth. Pieces of animals, bits of gadgetry, it was such a wide variety that I had a little difficulty even understanding how the store functioned. All of this was contained behind a long counter that spanned the entire store, separating the customer area from the product area. A large older man sat on a high chair with heavily padded arms, well, half sat. More like he perched, ready to hop off at a moment’s notice. The man, and I have to stop there because man becomes a problematic term to use in Vuldranni. While it works on Earth, here, in a different world with a whole bunch of sentient species, man became a challenging term to use correctly. But this man, he wasn’t human. The differences were slight enough to not be readily noticeable at first, but there was just something off about the dude, something innately discomfiting without knowing why. I mean, identifying a dwarf or a minotaur was easy, but not here. The proportions were off just enough, and the little mannerisms, like when he shifted in his chair, were just not right. I also had the distinct sense his bulk was inhumanly distributed about his person, hidden in the way he sat behind his counter.
He had dark hair combed back, very dark eyes, and he looked like he could use a shave. Or two. He had a lot of stubble. He wore robes under a jacket, both dark. And the darkness of his clothes did a fair job at keeping his form hidden.
Involuntarily, with my hand at my side, I extended my fingers and was just about to send some mana through when a hand gripped mine tightly, giving me a crushing squeeze.
“Gideon,” Etta said, slinking to the counter and sliding a large steel-colored coin across the heavily varnished wood.
The ‘man’ leaned forward and came to a standing position, towering over me. And Etta. It’s like he unfolded a whole extra version of himself. Gideon took the coin, gave it a look, and then relaxed and smiled. His entire demeanor changed.
“Our dear,” he said, his voice so deep it surprised me, but so melodious and welcoming I just started to like the guy. “We are so happy you visit us today.”
“Sadly, not the best news.”
“Oh?”
“I have to take a trip.”
“There is much of the world to see.”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“We will miss your custom,” Gideon replied, putting both his hands out to Etta.
She put her hands in his, and they stood like that for a moment.
“Do you wish to share your destination?” He finally asked.
“South, I think,” Etta replied. “I’d like to see the Erg.”
“A sight worthy of the bards.”
“You’ve seen it?”
“We were not always constrained to these walls,” he replied with a smile, his thin lips baring to show teeth far too pointy for comfort. “It is nearly equal in grandeur and awe to the Emerald Sea.”
“Too much snow that way,” Etta replied. “I prefer the sun and sand.”
“We remember an overabundance of both in and near the Erg. You come, then to settle your account?”
“And t
o make an introduction,” she said as she motioned me to step to the counter. “A friend of mine, Clyde Hatchett.”
“Master Hatchett,” Gideon said, all comfort and friendliness instantly gone from his voice. “We greet you.”
He dipped his head into something of a vague bow.
I bowed back
“I, uh, greet you,” I said.
“Do you wish to open an account?”
I snuck a glance at Etta.
She nodded.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Gideon laughed, a booming thunderous affair, and I really wished I had some clue how I amused him.
“Approach,” Gideon said, both arms out, hands open.
I had to overcome a welling revulsion that sprang up out of nowhere, but I swallowed, smiled, and put my hands in his.
His fingers were very long, almost too long, and they seemed like they had an extra joint or segment. But the weirdest thing was his skin, his soft, pliable skin. Soft to the point I worried one of my elven nails might puncture it.
I felt a warmth flow quickly through my body, followed by a coolness. The cycle repeated a few times, feeling like power ran from one of his hands through my body to the other hand.
There was a nod, and Gideon released my hands. He folded himself back on his stool and waited.
“Rules exist for this account,” he said, finally breaking his silence. “Only items of great value are negotiable. Everything else, you must take the price we give you.”
“Is there—”
“Questions will wait,” he said, holding one of his large hands up to interrupt and silence me. “We will buy most everything you can sell. You may take gold or credit. Credit will be worth more, and should you close your account with us, it will be paid out in gold. You will not bring another here until we have given you permission.”
A small figure seemed to appear behind the stool, then darted across the floor and retrieved a metal disc from a lockbox on the other side of the room. The thing looked over at me, but I couldn’t discern any details from beneath the dark cowl of the creature’s cloak. The creature definitely looked me up and down, then returned its attention to the metal disc.
“There is no violence permitted inside these walls,” Gideon continued. “If you spill blood here, your account is forfeit, as is your life.”
“Noted,” I said.
“If you bring us something we have never seen before, we will reward you greatly.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
The little figure scurried back over to Gideon and handed over the metal disc. Gideon took it, looked it over, then presented it to me. It was a coin. A coin I recognized. At least, mostly.
One side of the coin was a small hooded figure, and the other was a tree. It looked a bit like the Stanford tree, a tall evergreen sort of thing. It was large, about two inches, and thick, with a number on the edge. 11492. It had a steel color to it, but I thought it felt too heavy for the metal. Then again, it’s not like I had a ton of experience gauging metal based purely on weight. Ice cream I could do. Pizzas, definitely. But metal? Nope.
“You are now Evergreen,” Gideon said. “Your name will not be mentioned again here.”
Note: You have established an account with the vendor Gideon in the city of Glaton.
“Great,” I said, slipping my account coin into the pouch with all the other account coins I’d looted. I also noticed that I now had a tab marked “Accounts” in the menu subsystems of the game world.
Gideon waved me away from the counter, and Etta pulled me gently back, taking my place right in front of the big man.
They leaned their heads together, as Gideon pulled a book from under the counter, and opened it up. They whispered a few things, Gideon pointing here and there. I noticed more of the little figures running from the stool around the shop picking up goods and piling them to the left of Gideon, with the last one plopping down a large leather pouch that looked pretty heavy and settled with a telltale clunk of coinage.
Etta looked over the things, then packed everything quickly into a large backpack of sorts, and slung it around her body.
“Thank you,” she said.
“We thank you for your custom,” Gideon said with a final bow, but as soon as the bow was done, he turned his attention to his book, making some notes.
“Time to go,” Etta whispered.
16
We moved quickly through the streets, fast enough that I wasn’t able to talk to Etta while we walked. I focused on keeping up. About six blocks, and a few turns later, I finally saw the actual grand market. It was a vast open space, like a giant square four hundred yards on each side. A massive statue stood in the middle, a muscular man holding a set of scales. Tents and wagons and temporary stands spread out all across the open area, swarming with people of all sorts.
Etta grabbed my hand, and pulled me out of the main flow of traffic, directing me around the edge of the market.
“Everything you can imagine is likely down there in some form,” she said. “But it is very rarely worth going inside the actual Grand Market. Pickpockets are everywhere, the store owners are likely to scam a newcomer like you, and there is no one to guide you to anyone honest. Neat sight, though.”
“It is that,” I replied. “About Gid—”
“Don’t say his name.”
“Right.”
“He’ll find out. I know it seems weird, but he’s got connections everywhere.”
“What is he?”
“Oh yeah, about that identify spell, stop using it so bluntly.”
“Wait, what?”
“The spell. Identify whatever, it’s part of the basic kit. It takes less than a point of mana to cast, actually cast I mean. So you need to send the slightest little bit of mana into it. Any more and you leak magic out. Magic that people can feel. And if you’re sending magic across space, people can detect that. And if you’re hitting someone with magic, that person is probably going to feel that. Unless, you know, you’re really damn good at it, which you aren’t. So more care with magic.”
“Oh. Good tip.”
She rolled her eyes like I was an idiot for not knowing. Which I thought was a little unfair, this was all new to me. I had no idea what I was doing, the fact that I hadn’t died yet I considered a pretty big win.
“But back to that guy,” I said, “he’s not human.”
“No shit,” she replied with another eye roll. “I don’t know what he is, though. Never had the balls to cast a spell on him or ask him. He hates small talk. That was the most I’ve ever heard him talk about himself or his past.”
“He uses the royal we.”
“He might be royalty. Don’t know, don’t care. Rule Six: Don’t concern yourself with all the stuff that doesn’t concern you. There’s too much going on to get bogged down by the unnecessary details.”
We made it around to the eastern side of the market, where the Via Praetorius ran out of the South Gate up to the palace. On the other side of the giant street was a big building with a lot of space and grass around it, grass that held all sorts of animals. All draft animals of some kind, oxen, horses, large things with shells that might be snails, things that looked like oversized wolves, and on and on.
“Caravaners’ Guild,” Etta said. “Last stop for you and me.”
“That’s where you’re going?” I asked.
“Yup. It’s where you’ll go too when you realize this place sucks.”
“It seems pretty badass, actually.”
Cue eye-roll. I felt like she did it so often, she was going to hurt her eyes.
We waited for a break in the traffic, then darted across the giant thoroughfare. The Caravaners’ Guild building was large. Really large. Five floors, very wide, and with a remarkable amount of space behind it full of wagons. Some were very clearly parked long-term, covered with canvas and locks, others were being actively loaded and about to be driven out. There was a long line of people wait
ing to get into a grungy looking door, while occasionally, very occasionally, other folk walked into ornate double doors.
“Members,” Etta said.
“How do you get a membership?” I asked.
“You become an approved buyer then wait for the chance to buy a medallion.”
“Is it hard?”
“Usually someone has to die. Or retire. And not have the medallion already promised to someone else. So, yeah, pretty rare.”
“Huh.”
“Last rules,” she said. “Seven, don’t sleep. Not unless you absolutely need to. I don’t know why, but we special few, we don’t need as much sleep as the others here. So stay up. Grind. That’s why I had those other apartments. I had somewhere safe to practice things.”
“How little sleep?”
“Like half what you slept back home, every other night. Ish. Your mileage may vary, but that’s my guess based on a few conversations. But you start sleeping regularly like they do, that power goes away. So keep it. And keep it secret.”
“Okay, can do. Can I ask you something real quick?”
“Sure. Quick. I want to get on line.”
“On line?”
“Yeah, on line. You know, behind that dude, wait to get in.”
“Oh, in line.”
“On line.”
“Uh, okay. Sure. On line. You know the coin I got from—”
“Don’t say it.”
“The account—”
“Still.”
“I found some others.”
“Show me.”
I got the pouch out, the one with the weird coins, and I passed it over to Etta. She pawed around inside for a moment, keeping everything in the bag, but looking everything over very carefully. Then, she nodded, closed the pouch back up, and passed it back to me.
“There’s one in there for our shopkeeper friend, that’s for sure. The others, I don’t know. I mean, I know there are others involved in the underworld game around town, there have to be. And it makes sense that everyone has a system and that perhaps the system is the same for all the players involved. I guess this confirms it.”
“What do I do?”
“Go back to the friend, sell off what you got from my, uh, from the mess earlier today. And then give him that as well. Tell him you found it. As far as I know, it means you get whatever is in that account transferred to yours.”