Rise of the Grandmaster

by Bradford Bates

  The idiot’s daughter prattled on endlessly about her day. It was the most annoying drivel Juan Pablo had ever been forced to listen too. If he had to hear about how Daisy got stung by a bee at the park and cried again, he was going to vomit.

  Fuck it, he was going to kill them now.

  Juan Pablo pulled his trusty dagger free. They’d been through this dance together hundreds of times. Each time his blade sung him a new song. The sounds of death always fascinated him, and today would be no different.

  Sixty feet away.

  Forty.

  Twenty.

  A new voice joined the mix. “Where have you been? I thought you’d never come home.”

  “Things didn’t exactly go to plan.” Martin paused. “I wasn’t sure if it was safe.”

  A female snorted in frustration. “When are you going to start listening to me! These get-rich schemes of yours are going to be the death of us.”

  “Of course, you’re right. It’s just that we were so close to being able to leave the sewers, and I fucked it all up.” Martin sounded defeated.

  Juan Pablo pulled the sheet hanging over the opening away and stepped into the room. “She is right, you know.” He paused while everyone spun around and stared at him. “These get-rich-quick schemes really are going to be the death of you.”

  Martin pulled his wife and daughter behind him. “I’ll come with you. Just don’t hurt them.”

  “No.” Juan Pablo stepped farther into the room. The little girl’s sobs only heightened his rage. “If you didn’t want them involved, you shouldn’t have come back here.”

  Martin fell to his knees, hands extended in front of him. “Please! They didn’t have anything to do with this.” Tears streamed down his cheeks as he begged for everything he held dear.

  Juan Pablo smiled at the man, a cruel gleam in his eyes. “You can choose one.”

  “One what?” Martin asked, too terrified to choose.

  “Pick one, and I’ll let them go.” He kneeled and looked Martin in the eye. “Or I could kill both of them?” He stood up, testing the tip of his dagger against his thumb. “The choice is up to you.”

  Martin looked at his wife. Her face was calm and detached as if she’d expected something like this to happen all along. She smiled at him and nodded her head. Kneeling, he took his daughter's hand. “Baby, I need you to go to Daisies right now and stay there until we come to get you.”

  “But I don’t want to go,” the little girl cried.

  Martin’s wife pulled their daughter close, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Just go, baby. We’ll be right behind you.”

  It was touching. The kind of thing that would make most men rethink this line of work, but there was something broken inside of him. He knew what the feelings were, but he just didn’t feel them. Sometimes when he went to work with his blade, he almost felt something. It was that feeling, however brief, that drove him.

  Murder was the only way his mind escaped the void.

  There was this empty pulsating blackness right where his heart should have been. Sometimes he was happy that he didn’t feel the way other people did. Their lives were messy and full of chaos. His was defined by one thing: when he wanted to do something, he did it. There were no half-measures or days off; he was relentless.

  But even the most relentless got tired.

  Getting back to his bunk on the Mary Lou was all he wanted. The hunt, as exciting as it had been, didn’t really fill him with a sense of achievement. He liked it better when the hunted fought and kicked and screamed. Maybe if he killed the wife first, or even just cut her, Martin would grow a pair and come after him.

  The little girl slipped past him and ran for all she was worth. Juan Pablo didn’t have time to indulge in his work. Letting the girl go was probably a mistake. If the couple tried to fight him, they might be able to buy enough time for help to arrive. He took another step forward and stopped again.

  The sight before him repulsed him to his core.

  If there was one thing he’d ever truly felt, one thing he desired, it was to live. He’d never go down without a fight. Who would just let someone kill them? Life was never so bad you wouldn’t fight for every last damn breath of it.

  These two must not have shared his desperate desire for life. Juan Pablo closed the gap between them, crossing the room with slow, steady strides. It was the walk of an executioner. Martin and his wife continued to pray, their words growing louder as Juan Pablo drew nearer.

  A chuckle escaped his lips as he listened to the familiar refrain. Protect us from evil, save us from the darkness, we devote ourselves to you. He’d heard it a million times, spoken to thousands of different gods. The one thing all of his victims had in common was that their prayers were never answered.

  A cruel grin spread across Juan Pablo’s face. “Ask your god to save you, and we will see just how much you mean to them.” His dagger claimed her life first, then his. When it was all over, he felt the same as he had before it all started.

  Empty.

  Why would it be any different this time? Shrugging, Juan Pablo cleaned off his dagger and looked around. Not seeing anything of value, he pulled the curtain into place and headed the way he’d come.

  The Mary Lou didn’t look right covered in Lady Briarthorn’s men like ants on a fallen bit of toast. Those bastards were scurrying over the decks, taking away their hard-earned plunder. Don Diego wouldn’t have gone down without a fight, which meant he was probably dead. If the captain was dead, he was stuck in Promethia. What in the fuck was he going to do?

  Jepsom.

  It wasn’t as if he could call the man a friend, but he was the only person he knew. He’d probably have to humble himself to the bastard. Men like Jepsom never felt respected unless you groveled, as if a few words said while kneeling changed the way a man thought about you. But he would play the part; he had to.

  He was a survivor.

  Juan Pablo turned away from the ship that had been his home for the last twenty years and strolled down the docks with the same casual stride he entered. There was no reason to hurry. He found that when the future was uncertain, it was always better to take your time.

  Let the rabbits run their race, the tortoise always wins.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “That was a good day’s work, lad.” Ironbeard tossed Tim a silver coin.

  Still trying to catch his breath from working the bellows, Tim mumbled, “Days’ worth?”

  Tim stood up. It would have been more impressive if he could have stopped his chest from heaving like the bellows he pushed all day. Hell, after eight hours of pumping the dwarf’s forge, he would have settled for just one normal breath.

  “I think that was more like a weeks’ worth of work.” Tim eyed Ironbeard and tried to stand taller.

  The dwarf’s massive shoulders rose and fell as he laughed. “You want extra time off, you’re really going to have to impress me. As for saving me the trouble of having to hire another guy, well, that’s what the coin is for.”

  “You want time off to cavort with your new lady friend, you are going to have to work harder.” Ironbeard raised one bushy eyebrow. “Otherwise, you can canoodle after work.” Laughing, he slapped Tim on the back on his way to the front of his shop. “If you have the energy.”

  “That’s low, and how did you know I had a lady in my life?” Tim looked at the dwarf, appraising him with a new eye. The man was shrewder than he let on.

  “It’s written all over your face, kid. Only those who are stupidly in love get that look.” Ironbeard peered into the barrels of metal they’d collected that day. “My guess is you didn’t get a whole lot of sleep last night.”

  “Does Mrs. Ironbeard know you like to daydream about my love life?”

  The smithy smiled. “Mr. Ironbeard seems to enjoy my impure thoughts very much.” He poked Tim in the chest with one stubby finger. “Those thoughts never include you. I like a man with a little more beard and a whole lot more meat on his bones.
”

  “Maybe on one of these extra days off you give me, we could take you and the Mr. out for dinner.” Ironbeard hadn’t exactly promised him any time off. In fact, the dwarf had said no, but that didn’t stop Tim from trying. The weekend seemed so far away.

  “Nice try, kid.” The smithy shooed him toward the door. “Isn’t there a lady waiting for you somewhere out there?”

  Tim slipped the coin into his inventory and wondered what he had to do for a vacation day. “So if working the bellows, helping you secure more silver and gold than any of your competitors, and finding a way to eliminate cleaning said rings doesn’t earn me a day off, what’s it going to take?”

  “Sure, you’ve made a few improvements since you arrived, but this is a ‘what can you do for me now’ world.” Ironbeard looked at his shop and back to Tim. “But you’ve done more than any apprentice I’ve had, so that has to be worth something.”

  The dwarf tapped a finger on his chin. “Maybe it’s time I taught you something useful. Any fool with strong arms can pump the bellows, but not everyone can shape metal to their will.”

  Ironbeard ran his fingers through the mountain of iron rings. “Tomorrow, we’re going to melt this down and make bars.” He glanced at Tim skeptically. “Think you can handle it?”

  “Handle it? It’s the reason I’m here.” Tim gave the air a wild fist-pump. “All I want to do is learn how to make something cool.” Tim looked at the smithy’s shop, thinking about the future. Learning how to craft things from metal would be a great way to supplement his income.

  Ironbeard looked at him with a wisp of a smile tugging at his craggy cheeks. “Maybe there is a hint of steel in your veins. We’ll find out tomorrow.” The dwarf dropped his voice. “And don’t be late.”

  “It was only one time.” Tim kicked himself mentally. It wasn’t like he chose to be late. He had been kind of dead at the time. The dwarf thought that excuse was worth about as much as the horse shit mushed between the cobbles on the street outside.

  “Death is no excuse for being late,” Ironbeard said, shaking his head at the ridiculous excuses his apprentices came up with. Death was a new one, of course, because you couldn’t really use that for a night off.

  “Being late is also inconsiderate.” The dwarf’s voice dropped into the familiar pattern he used when he needed to berate his students at the academy. “One should always strive to be early, especially when keeping their job is important to them.” He pointed at the door. “I don’t want to see your ugly mug until tomorrow.”

  Tim started walking toward the exit, but he couldn’t resist taking one last parting shot at his boss. “Says the guy with more hair on his face than on his head.” He kept moving, but a smile formed on his mouth as Ironbeard’s laughter filled the shop behind him.

  One of these days, the dwarf was going to count on him. Maybe Tim could even help him expand his business. Paying top rate might mean Ironbeard had more rings than he knew what to do with. Maybe with a few more forges and apprentices, the surly little bastard could grow this place. With the right plan, they could do some amazing things. They were well on their way to cornering the metal trade already.

  Didn’t the day always feel better when it was time to punch out? It didn’t matter what you did for a living. When the clock hit time to get the fuck out of here, it was always the best part of the day. Nothing made work seem worth it like putting your feet up at the end of the day and relaxing with a good meal.

  Plus, if you were young and lucky enough, you might even work a really great shift. People always hated the one in the afternoon until nine at night shift, but he loved it. Whatever he needed to do, he could get done in the morning. Normally that was studying his ass off so he could work all night, but it also let him catch the parties as they were getting good and gave him a little pocket money.

  He could worry about flexible work hours some other time. Right now seemed like the perfect time to check in with Lady Briarthorn. ShadowLily was off doing something until later and sitting at the inn waiting for her didn’t sound very appealing. Plus, he wanted to find out how much his share of the plunder was.

  Tim had no idea what was on the ship, but if Jepsom had been stealing artifacts from the temple, they had to be worth a lot. At the very least, it should be enough to start fixing up the healing shack and to get one of his pet projects started. How much money he had would determine what he could accomplish, but anything he did to start improving the slums would lay the foundation for more good things to come.

  Eventually, the slums would become a desirable location. Before he could make that happen, Tim had to find out what was going on at the inn. He couldn’t make his central hub inside of the building unless he knew Ernie and Gaston weren’t criminals.

  Relatively speaking.

  They were a thief and an assassin, after all. If everything was on the up and up, all of them would be in jail, Tim included. Or maybe they didn’t put people in jail for murders here. Promethia seemed more like the kind of place they’d execute their problems.

  Tim was starting to learn that the world wasn’t really so black and white. Right and wrong were fluid concepts normally decided by the winners of the conflict. In the real world, things were different, but not by much. When a soldier killed another soldier in a battle, it didn’t make them a bad person, and neither should completing his quest.

  At least, he didn’t feel like a bad person.

  Maybe that said more about him than he wanted to look into, but this was a game. No one in the real world died when he slaughtered lines of code. Sure the characters all felt real, but they weren’t. Although the longer he stayed inside of the game, the harder it was to tell the difference. The real world seemed like a dream from another life.

  Tim couldn’t help his family if he didn’t find a way to be successful. Working for Lady Briarthorn was certainly helping him level. Despite his conflicted feelings over the tasks she assigned him, Tim was pretty happy with where he was in the game. He was making progress, and it felt like things were falling into place.

  Tim ducked into the market as part of his normal routine. He moved around the stalls and changed outfits from his casual pants and shirt to his assassin’s garb from Gaston. People made room for him as he pushed his way deeper into the crowded thoroughfare. Maybe his all-black outfit was a look he should save for when he was prowling at night. More attention was the last thing Tim wanted right now. But when you looked this good…

  Garnering a little attention was inevitable.

  Laughing, Tim continued perusing the market. There wasn’t a person on the planet that would laugh at his own jokes as much as he would. No one could make him feel special like himself. He wondered what a psychologist would say about his behavior. It was probably some deeply rooted serial-killer-type character flaw. Or maybe this was more like him trying to diagnose himself on WebMD. Didn’t matter what you looked up, you were dying from cancer every fucking time.

  Got too many farts, dead of cancer in three months.

  That was the kind of panic he was trying to avoid. Outside of Juan Pablo and Martin still being on the loose, everything was fine. Better than fine, really. Being with ShadowLily kind of made him feel like he had only been watching the world go by in black and white and now it was in color. She was that amazing, and she was all his.

  Tim kept replaying last night’s in-room adventures in his head. He was so distracted by the replay in his mind, he almost walked right past Lady Briarthorn’s manor. Her house was even more impressive in the afternoon light. The sun glinted off the high stained-glass windows, and the wooden shingles gave the home texture you didn’t find on the exterior of many modern homes.

  The door opened as Tim walked up the stairs, and Reginald stepped out to greet him. “It’s good to see you again, Timberino.”

  “Right back at you, Reggie.” Tim grinned as the man slapped him on the back and led him inside.

  Last night must have been even more profitable than I th
ought if Reginald is treating me like a long-lost friend.

  Lady Briarthorn was waiting for them in the study. She stood up, walking around her desk. “It’s good to see you again, Tim.”

  Her gown was made of white silk and blue flowers, and it was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. It was like stepping onto the Hollywood red carpet and seeing your biggest crush. Or maybe it was because of the lady inside of it?

  Tim’s mouth fell open. He forced his jaw closed as he moved his eyes up to hers. There was something he should be doing right now, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was. He wondered why she didn’t wear a gown like this every day, and then he realized he hadn’t even said hello. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, but it wouldn’t come out.

  She’d rendered him speechless.

  Tim closed his eyes, and a half-elven face with a lustful smile and a twinkle in her eyes came into focus. Seeing the woman he really cared about was all he needed to come back to his senses. He gave a slight bow as he took Lady Briarthorn’s extended hand in his own. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”

  “So, kind of you to say.” She shook his hand and moved back around her desk to sit.

  Tim wasn’t sure what to do, so he took a seat across from her and watched as she gathered her papers on the desk. It seemed rude to interrupt her while she was clearly gathering her thoughts. Tim hoped this wasn’t like when his parents gave him bad news. They always fidgeted around first. Sometimes it’s better to say something and get it over with.

  Just rip the fucking band-aid off.

  Lady Briarthorn set the papers aside and focused on Tim. “First, I want to thank you for the work you did last night. Your actions helped save many of my men’s lives. We also recovered all the holy artifacts Jepsom stole to fund his revolution.”

  She leaned back in her chair, looking apprehensive. “I know we promised you fifteen percent of what we recovered, but some of the items are priceless holy artifacts that can’t be sold. I’ve come up with a number that is by no means close to what you were promised, but will make you very rich, and let us keep the items in the temple where they belong.”