The merchant cried out in shock and a few people screamed, thinking something sinister was afoot. Other people tried to grab a fish and dart back into the crowd. The merchant’s screams of protest could be heard over the general din of the market, drawing the attention of the city guards. The two men started making their way toward the fishmonger's booth.
Time to go!
Tim’s feet started moving again. The distraction wasn’t worth shit if he didn’t get away. Turning away from the chaotic scene, Tim continued deeper into the market. When he looked over his shoulder, he didn’t see the man with the orange sash, but he didn’t feel safe yet. He still had to make it out of the market.
At least he didn’t have to worry about countersurveillance. In this world, there weren’t any cameras or cell phones. His biggest problem was that he didn’t have a change of clothes and couldn’t afford one.
“Not yet, anyway,” Tim mumbled through gritted teeth, casting another glance over his shoulder.
Tim decided he was all in on his desperate bid to escape. He’d do whatever it took to make it out of here, even if it meant bending his moral code. Stopping to look over a merchant's wares, he kept his eyes glued to the clothing next to them. When the merchant left to help a new customer, Tim stole a cotton shirt and a pair of simple woolen trousers.
Before the merchant could turn around, Tim had the items in his inventory. He started moving with the general flow of the crowd again. His gut twisted as he thought about what he’d done.
“Desperate times,” Tim murmured, even as he swore an oath to come back and repay the woman for the clothes he’d stolen.
A few quick turns and surreptitious glances behind him later, Tim un-equipped his robe and equipped his new clothes. With his disguise in place, he reoriented himself and started working his way toward the nearest exit. Once he cleared the market, he could head to the north side of town and deliver the letter, and then he could get some rest.
It was always better to be safe than sorry, so Tim stopped at another stall and pretended to check out the wares while he watched the crowd behind him. The familiar hint of orange he’d grown used to wasn’t there. Tim beelined for the exit, stepping back out into the main thoroughfare.
Tim took a deep breath, wishing for fresh air but only smelling the press of humanity that surrounded him. Being in the market pressed against so many people felt suffocating, but now he was back out in the open and totally exposed. He couldn’t risk leading the man with the orange sash to where he was delivering the letter, so he started to form a plan.
There was only one way to be sure.
Tim darted into the alley on his right, sprinting a short way before ducking behind a stack of crates. His breath was thrumming in his ears, each beat of his heart thudding harder than the last. He wrapped his hand around the grip of his scepter and leapt from behind the crates, ready to attack.
“Graahhhhh!” He swung the scepter as hard as he could.
The alley was empty.
A lady walking past the mouth of the alley gave him a curious look, shook her head in disgust, and moved on. It was the same kind of look a person had on their face when they saw someone talking to themselves about the fairies while wearing a tinfoil hat. Tim didn’t have a tinfoil hat, but he had just attacked the air like a little kid playing swords after Saturday morning cartoons.
Tim took a few calming breaths, laughter spilling from his lips as he placed his scepter back into his inventory. He must have looked ridiculous, jumping from behind the crate and slashing the empty air. At least the house he was looking for wasn’t too far away.
Tim pulled up his map, and after a few dicey moments, he found a way to leave a transparent overlay in the top right-hand corner of his vision. Using that, he moved through a series of alleys and servants’ passages until he arrived on the Street of Thorns.
“Not a very welcoming street name,” Tim mumbled as he looked up and down the road for any hint of orange.
Nothing jumped out at him, so Tim quickly double-checked the waypoint on his map, then took off at a brisk walk. He reached the house in question a few minutes later. It was a massive building, much like the famous row houses of San Francisco, but with a much more Tudoresque appearance.
The craftsmanship of the building impressed him. It must have taken forever to attach each of the dark wooden shingles. Tim wondered what kind of money a contractor could make inside the game. Eventually, people would be able to afford land and build houses. Then they would want all the things houses needed, including the furniture they’d grown accustomed to from their cushy inn rooms.
A craftsman with the right entrepreneurial nature could make a killing.
But he wasn’t here to admire the man’s house. He was here to deliver a letter. Stepping up to the door, Tim fished the letter out of his inventory and looked at it for the first time. The name in scrawling calligraphy on the front was Lucy Briarthorn.
Not what I expected.
Served him right for assuming the letter was going to a man. Just because they’d stepped back in time, it didn’t mean the developers had created a sexist world. So far, the only deity he knew of was a woman, and at least half the players were bound to be female.
Tim smiled as he grabbed the brass knocker on the door. Gone were the days of a boys’ club for gaming. More women had earned their seat at the table, both on the development front, and in the kicking-ass-and-taking-names department. It was a brave new world in the gaming community, and he loved every minute of it.
Tim slammed the brass knocker down and waited. A minute or so later, a man wearing a pair of leggings covered with a simple woolen tunic appeared at the door.
“May I help you?” the man droned as he noted Tim’s ragged appearance.
“I have a letter for Lucy Briarthorn.”
The servant held out his hand expectantly. “Well, come on, I don’t have all day.”
“The letter is of some importance. I was directed to place it in the lady’s hands myself.” It was a lie, but after being followed, Tim wasn’t sure he could trust anyone besides the high priest’s intended recipient.
Scoffing, the servant started to turn away. “The lady of the house doesn’t have time for the likes of you.”
“Then it’s a good thing the letter isn’t from me.” The man glared at him. “I believe the lady is expecting it.” Tim wasn’t sure what to do if he couldn’t get inside.
A female voice called from the darkness of the entryway, “There’s only one letter I’m expecting.”
Tim held up the letter and flashed both sides so whoever was standing inside could see it, then he held his breath, hoping for the best.
“Show him to the study, Reginald. I’ll be there in a moment.”
Reginald grunted and motioned for Tim to follow him inside.
Maybe Tim would have been better off handing the servant the letter. The quest only stated he had to deliver it, not that he had to place it directly in the hands of the recipient. Something about ensuring the letter’s safety felt right, though, and he’d done more than enough to have earned a few answers.
Tim didn’t get hit over the head as soon as he stepped inside, so there was a good chance he wasn’t going to get murdered. Letting out a sigh of relief, he followed Reginald through the house until the servant stopped outside a set of dark wooden doors. Smiling, Reginald flung the doors open with a flourish.
The study was bigger than Tim expected. It felt more like a library than an office. There was a fireplace dominating one corner of the room. Reginald headed in that direction to add a few more logs to the fire, giving Tim time to take in the entire room.
Spinning in a slow circle, Tim scanned the shelves of books. In some places, the shelves reached all the way to the ceiling, and there were ladders attached to shiny brass rails that could be rolled around the walls.
There was a treasure trove of knowledge here. He could almost feel the power radiating off of the books.
Lucy Briarthorn swept
into the room like a vision from heaven. Her flowing silk robes seemed to dance against her skin as she moved. Long blonde hair hung to the center of her back. Tim couldn’t decide if she was wearing makeup or not, but her face had an almost angelic shine to it.
Lady Briarthorn glided across the room. It wasn’t that she floated exactly, it was more like each of her steps was so perfect, they flowed together. Lucy took a seat behind a desk made of black stone and motioned for Tim to take the open chair across from her.
Tim pulled the letter from his inventory and handed it to Lady Briarthorn. Reginald moved to stand behind him, placing firm hands on each of Tim’s shoulders to make sure he couldn’t get up without a fight.
Lucy simpered. “You must excuse me for the precautions, but the last person claiming to have a letter for me intended me bodily harm.”
Tim almost laughed. “I think you must have me confused with a much more daring individual.” The way she moved, he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to hit her, let alone kill her. That was assuming he could break free of Reginald’s grasp.
Lady Briarthorn snorted. “True, you don’t pose much of a threat, but there are other ways to kill a person.”
Yeah, like poison.
He wasn’t here to poison her, though, just to drop off a letter and get the hell out. “Paul asked me to deliver it personally.”
Lucy slit the letter open with a dagger and began to peruse the contents. Her eyes lit up. “That sneaky little bastard.”
Lady Briarthorn quickly scribbled a reply and sealed it with wax. She handed the letter to Tim. “Take this back to the high priest and tell him preparations are underway.” Reaching into the desk, Lucy pulled out a small coin purse and tossed it on the table. “For your trouble.”
Quest Received: Turning The Tables
You’ve successfully delivered the high priest’s letter to Lucy Briarthorn, but she has another task for you to complete.
Success: She paid you upfront for the job.
Failure: Reginald hunts you down and removes a finger for every coin that’s missing.
Accept the quest
Tim snatched the bag of coins off the desk. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Lady Briarthorn stared coolly at him from across the desk. “You know the price for failure.”
Tim nodded in acquiescence.
Lucy’s deadly expression turned warm. “Then we understand each other.” Reginald’s hands released their grip on Tim’s shoulders. “Reggie will see you out.”
Reginald grabbed Tim by the shirt, hauled him out of the study, and closed the doors behind them. “I hate when she calls me ‘Reggie,’” he grumbled, stomping down the hall in the direction of the front door.
Tim started to laugh; he’d had a few of the same experiences. With Xander as a best friend, you could be given a new and insulting nickname at any time. “Just like when people call me Timberino.” He shook his head as if warding off a bad memory. “I hate that shit.”
“Timberino. That’s good.” Reginald chuckled as they reached the front door.
“Just remember, I know your pet name, and you wouldn’t want a secret like that getting around.” Tim gave him a jaunty wave as he walked down the steps and out onto the street of thorns.
Tim pulled up his map and started looking for the quickest way home. If I wake up early enough, I might be able to get my reward from the high priest before work. As much as he hated to admit it, being chased through the market and delivering the letter was enough excitement for one day.
Tim had always fancied himself as more of a kill-the-monster-type player. He wasn’t into all the cloak and dagger political intrigue shit. Too many people died playing those sorts of games. Tim glanced into the upper-right-hand portion of his vision and turned until the arrow on the map matched the way he wanted to go.
Once everything was aligned, he started the long walk home. “They really need to add quick travel to the game,” he grumbled. “At least I have boots and a few spare coins.”
Chapter Fifteen
Another week of this, and I’m going to be in the best shape of my life.
Seriously, who knew not having access to a car or public transportation could make you so fit? In the future, Tim would probably appreciate it, but right now, his feet were sore from breaking in his new boots, and he was pretty sure he’d earned a few blisters.
You’d think they would have taken the horrible process of breaking in a pair of boots out of the game.
But it really wasn’t his sore feet that were on his mind. Tim was still thinking about the clothes he’d stolen and how it might affect the person he stole them from. Sure, one pair of pants and a shirt might not be the end of the world, but if their business was just hanging on, losing a few items could be the tipping point.
Tim didn’t want to be responsible for that.
Now that he had a little coin in his pocket, he’d have to stop by the market and make a small donation. They might not like what had happened yesterday, but at least it wouldn’t cost them anything or take the food out of their family’s mouths.
Even though the NPCs were just code, everyone he met in the game felt like a real person. It made them more than ones and zeros. Tim didn’t want to be responsible for fucking up their lives. The goal of the game was to eventually destroy the big baddie, not to become one.
The guards nodded to Tim as he ducked through the archway back into the slums. It was better than the shifty look they’d given him earlier, although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve the new status. A gentle mist started to fall from the sky as he made his way down the dirt path to the inn.
A man stumbled out of the alley on the right side of the road, clutching one hand against his side. Blood blossomed on his shirt as he fell to the ground. Tim started forward, then stopped, eyes frantically searching the mouth of the alley to see if anyone was coming to finish the job.
Turning away from the alley in a panic, Tim shouted toward the guards on the other side of the archway. “Help! We need some help down here.”
One of the guards peeked through the opening. Not seeing an active attack, he went back to his post. What in the fuck was going on? Why weren’t the guards coming to help? It didn’t matter. He might not be able to fend off the attackers, but he could save the man’s life.
Tim equipped his scepter and the words for casting healing orb tumbled from his lips automatically as he ran toward the injured man. The first orb splashed the man, and Tim started casting the second one as he knelt next to him. This time, he cradled the orb in his hand and pressed it to the wound on the man’s side.
Lifting the victim’s shirt, Tim watched the wound seal itself closed. He dropped the man’s shirt into place and cast a furtive glance toward the alley. No one was running toward them with the intention of finishing the man off, but no one was coming to help, either. As he looked down at the unconscious man lying in the muddy street, one thought kept screaming through Tim’s mind.
Now what do I do with him?
“Fuck,” Tim grumbled. “Do I really have to do this?” Casting a forlorn look up and down the street and not seeing any help, Tim grabbed the man’s forearms and started dragging him toward the inn.
He’s not sleeping in my fucking room.
Tim yanked the stabbing victim up the steps to the wooden landing and shoved the inn’s door open with one hand. Holding the door open with his butt, he pulled the man inside behind him.
“Ernie, I need some help over here,” Tim shouted as he stared at the counter.
Ernie grimaced as he peered over the counter. “Kid, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we aren’t in the body disposal business.”
“He isn’t fucking dead. Just help me get him somewhere more comfortable until he wakes up.” Tim pleaded.
Ernie shook his head. “This isn’t a charity.”
Was everyone in this game just a worthless-self-serving piece of shit? Where was the compassion? Tim wanted t
o scream in frustration, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He’d read about how ruthless things had been during the Roman Empire, and again when England rose to claim the top spot, but he had never truly understood how brutal those times had been.
A royal could kill a peasant and no one would bat an eyelash. Power ruled. Every single society in history had been ruled by the strong. Every tribe, every nation, was trying to explore and expand. Tim shook his head to clear it. There were more important things than world history lessons to worry about.
Gaston got up from his customary table. “What’s going on?”
Ernie gave Tim a look that said, “Now you’ve done it.” “The squatter’s dragging in bodies.”
Gaston gazed at the unconscious man on the floor, then looked up at Tim with a cruel smile on his face. “The first thing you should learn, kid, is that you never shit where you eat.
“Isn’t that a sex reference?” The only time Tim had heard the expression used was in reference to not sleeping with a co-worker.
Gaston looked appalled. “Why would anyone ever mix shitting and fucking?” He looked like he might throw up.
Ernie shook his head. “You travelers are a weird bunch.”
Fuck. As if Tim didn’t have enough problems to contend with, these guys thought he was some kind of sexual deviant. The last thing he needed was to be hassled every time he came home. Hopefully, these two had enough going on they’d forget about tonight.
Gaston did a double-take at the man on the floor, then his entire demeanor changed. “Fuck me! It’s Freddy.” Rushing past the unconscious man, Gaston wrapped his hands in Tim’s robes and slammed him against the wall. “What in the fuck did you do to him?”
Tim stared calmly back into Gaston’s enraged eyes. He felt the cold calm of battle descending on him. It happened to him sometimes when a fight was unavoidable. It was like his brain knew and gave him a way to deal with the stress of it by turning off his emotions.
This time Tim fought off the cold clasp of the berserker and tried a much more diplomatic tactic. “I just saved his life and dragged him all the way here.” Tim tried to break Gaston’s grip on his robes but couldn’t.
Rise of the Grandmaster Page 12