I squeezed out a couple drops and did as the old man instructed, barely holding back a scream. It really stung the cuts on my hand. Harold snorted in approval.
Then I poured water from a huge canister into an electric tea kettle as the old man instructed, plugged it into the wall and spent a long time looking for the button to make it boil. It did not obey voice commands, and had no cleaning or disinfection functions. That bothered me. As if it wasn't enough thinking about where the water in that canister came from...
While I figured out the antediluvian device, the geezer called out to someone:
"Yes, he's here. Come over for a cup of tea, you can meet him."
I got on guard, but Furtado raised a hand in reassurance:
"Everything is fine. It's a friend."
"A friend?" That didn’t calm me down one bit! "What friend?"
"You'll see," the geezer ambivalently rolled past and set up at a small folding table. "Get out your donuts."
"Here," I set the box on a disheveled and cut up tablecloth. "Do you have any way to heat them up? They've gone cold."
"They'll be fine like that," the old man waved a hand.
I didn't want to meet this "friend," especially because Trixie was liable to set something slip and that meant there was a chance my whole plan was about to go tits up.
"Sorry, I’ve gotta go, Mr. Furtado. My flying car is waiting. Say hi to Trixie for me."
"As you wish," he said, pouring something a small shabby porcelain kettle with a broken spout then filling it with boiling water. "Can you find your way back up?"
"Uh... Straight, left, straight, right?"
"That's what I'm saying. You'll never get out of the building like that. And it isn't so easy for me to shepherd you around. So wait for Trixie to climb out of the grave, or Hank will drop by. One of them can take you."
"What? Did you say 'Hank?'" that name meant nothing to me, and I got even more on guard.
"You know, the guy you met before. I mean, other than my boy. I don't understand what he wants with you, but as soon as Trixie said your name he just lit up," the geezer grumbled. I lifted the lid of the tea pot and took a sniff. "Oh, nice! Try as you might, you'll never find a nice tea for brewing. And the crap they sell costs so much you’d have to sell a kidney. And that powdered 'tea,'" he said as if spitting out the word, "you can keep it. Alright then, make yourself at home, take a seat. I'd bet my head that you've never tried something like this before!"
"I've drunk tea before!"
"He's drunk tea he says!" Furtado mumbled indignantly. "Tea isn't meant to be drunk, it is not water. Tea is to be enjoyed, savored, taken in tiny sips! Preferably with a lump of sugar. It's a shame there's no sugar, but these donuts will do just fine. Oh, with sprinkles!" he extended me a mug with brown lines under the rim. "Take this and drink a few tiny sips."
A sharp piercing sound rang out from the door. I shuddered and spilled a few drops on the table. If this was that Hank, I had no cause to expect anything good.
"Well, don’t you scare easy!" Furtado rolled back from the table in a fit of anger. "Drink the tea! What are you afraid of? That was the doorbell, someone's here. Go let them in!"
The old man was starting to get on my nerves. Who was he to be barking orders? Even my parents said "please" when they asked me for something. In the end, I flew across half a continent to see them, and came bearing gifts. What did he ever do for me?
I didn't say that out loud though and, getting up from the creaky stool, headed for the door. Thankfully it was just four steps. Well alright, seven. Respect for his age and disability made me hold back and do as he said. Although I could easily have told him off. Who was this guy? I didn’t know much, but he was a noncitizen, which meant he was basically a nonperson.
"Turn the lock three times, then undo the latch, but don't take off the chain. See who it is first."
That was all complete gibberish to me. But for some reason I didn't ask him to explain. I guess I didn't want to look like a bonehead. Acting on pure intuition, I turned everything there was to turn, clicked open the lock, moved the metal bolt aside and reached for the handle.
"Good day," I greeted the man standing at the door. "Alex-slash-Scyth I presume?"
"In the flesh. And you must be Hank."
"Yep. Hank friggin' Almeida. You gonna let me in?"
"Let him in, boy!" the geezer shouted. "He's a friend."
It was hard to tell how old this new guest was. He looked young, but there were spiderwebs of wrinkles around his eyes. Lean, veiny, with clear-cut shoulders. He had on track pants, running shoes and a black shirt. They didn't seem like the freshest clothes but everything in Cali Bottom looked past its prime.
Hank pulled up a nightstand and sat on it between me and old man Furtado. Then he reached for the tea pot like he owned it, splashed some in his mug and, without asking permission, pulled a donut from the box. Based on the old man's lack of reaction, Hank really was a friend.
"Nice to meet you, Alex," the guest said.
"What do you want from him, Hank? I’ve got some ideas," the old man said.
"I can't say it directly," Hank led his large hooked nose over the donut and drew in the aroma, but didn't take a bite. Then he carefully put it back in the box. "What a smell! I wanted insanely bad to have an apple pie a few years ago. Not like they serve in Dis, a real one made of dough and apples. Like grandma used to make..."
"Oh, don't remind me," Furtado sighed.
"No promises Harold, but I'll try," said Hank. "I started dreaming about the flavor of apple pie! Basically, I couldn't stop myself. I friggin’ lost it! I scrimped and saved everything I earned, then flew into town for flour and apples. I walked into a supermarket, got a cart and choked on my spit! Real food! Ham! Meat! Pasta! Real live vegetables fresh from the farm! And the smells! Nether, the memories are so vivid..." his stomach gave a distinct burble. "Sorry ‘bout that. The store, by the way, was called Pherax... You ever heard of that, Alex?"
Pherax? So that was what this was all about... If Hank controlled the final boss in the Tristad Jail, he’d have seen everything! Nether!
I gave a short nod, letting him know he'd gotten his point across. He continued:
"Anyway, I just walked and walked... I was looking for cheaper flour and egg powder. First I thought I'd get real eggs, but the prices... were a bit beyond my budget. You feel me?"
"Yes," I swallowed, figuring he was going to try and blackmail me. And honestly, better if he was. He could just be turning me over to some preventers.
"And I was overcome with such anger!" He sipped the tea, savoring it. "Why do they pay us so little? Why is there no work? I could do so much with these two hands!" Hank showed his palms. "So why do I, a healthy guy with a sound mind have to earn money in an imaginary world?"
"Who were you angry at?"
"Everyone!" he said, pounding on the table in a fit of rage. Trixie's grandpa cringed in disapproval. "Why does my family have to eat these synthetic blends? I've had it up to my neck with these damned UNBs! They make me want to barf! If you ask me, even rubber tastes better! And that shit is all we got to eat. My whole family! My parents, me, my wife and kid, my brother, his family. Every last one of us! And all of us except the kids spend days on end lying in these graves mining imaginary resources for a half phoenix a day!"
"So, did you make the pie?"
"Yeah, I did," Hank said, tired. "And I swear on my life it was worth it! You should have seen the look on Casey's face. My little girl Casey! It was hard on her stomach though; it wasn't used to solid food. And every blessed day since then, she remembers that pie and asks when we can make another one. And I always wonder what I should tell her. I mean, her mother and I would have to spend whole days locked in our capsules after that! And who would watch the girl?"
"Maybe you could take a couple of these donuts for little Casey?" I suggested. "I assume Trixie and Mr. Furtado won't be opposed."
"Harold?" the guest raised his head.
>
"Of course, Hank," the old man nodded. "Take a whole box, give half to your brother."
"Thanks!" he replied, sincerely grateful.
"Thanks to him for taking Trixie on," Furtado answered.
"Taking him on where?" I asked.
"As a miner in the quarries," the old man said with a shrug. "I don't know why my grandson did it. He lost out monetarily, but a lot depends performance. After he levels his mining skill, he might get lucky and find something more valuable than stone and copper."
"So that means he's there until evening? I know miners have a full work schedule."
"Yes, Alex," the old man said, calling me by the name for the first time. "Sorry I had to trick you to keep you here. Hank just really wanted to meet you. I've been looking out since this morning. Trix asked me not to miss you, but the weather... I had to sit at the window and watch for a flying car. To tell you the truth, he was hoping you'd show up later, after work."
"I saw everything," said Hank, aka draconid boss Pherax. "What made me tell the story about the supermarket... Well that was when I started hating all of you, the citizens. To be honest, I didn't especially care for you before but when I made sure with my own eyes that you live in the lap of luxury while we don’t even dare hope for something better... I saw a boy like you there, Alex. He had his whole cart filled with ice cream! Why did he need that much ice cream? Is he eating whole containers of it at a time?"
"Uh... Sounds like it," I said, embarrassed at my memories of eating whole bags of chips. "For us it isn't that expensive."
"That's what I'm saying! Who gave those mooks at the top the authority to decide who’s worthy of citizenship," he puckered up like he just ate a lemon, "and who isn't? What the hell is going on with this world, huh?"
"Hank, Hank..." the old man put a hand on his guest's shoulder, calming him. "What does this have to do with the boy?"
"I’m getting there," the man said, now calm. "Alex, I'm gonna tell it to you straight. I decided to sell you out. As soon as the battle ended, I left Dis. Thankfully my shift was over anyway. And I went straight to the forums. I was gonna write a quick message to a couple preventer clans and sell to the highest bidder. I could already see myself taking my wife and daughter to the supermarket for real groceries!"
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, drenched in cold sweat and thinking that Hank was about to ruin all my life plans right now over one basket of groceries.
"What? You don't get it?" he laughed. "Nothin’ gets past you, kid! But I'm no fool myself!"
"Clayton said such nice things about him," old Furtado noted, as if in passing. "My grandson also sees something in him..."
"And clearly there was good reason," Hank said. "But I'm going to end this story so you know what's what. Basically, I climbed out of my pod to wet my whistle, and my older brother was over. And wouldn’t you know it, he told me the craziest story!"
"What was it?"
"Well it ain’t news to you. He said the guys at the quarry were losing it after something that happened in the Bubbling Flagon! I think you know who I’m talkin’ about, Alex."
"Who? Your brother?"
"Yep," Hank said with a broad smile. "His name’s Manny. My asshole older brother is named Manuel Almeida, Manny for short. And you know what? I'd have to be a real douche bag to do anything that might hurt you now!"
Chapter Thirty-One. Conflict of Interest
ON MY WAY back from Cali Bottom, I thought about how lucky I'd gotten. Lucky that Manny Almeida was brothers with Hank, and lucky that he was in charge of the right wing of Tristad Jail. And I tried not to think about what I did that time in the Bubbling Flagon. It was really stupid to put my fate on the line like that.
We spent around an hour talking. And without delving into the details, I told them about me and my plans. Harold and Hank meanwhile just clicked their tongues when I mentioned space. For them it was something extremely distant.
"I see why Clay liked you so much," said old man Furtado. "You got kindred spirits."
"I don't think that's all," Hank disagreed. "Alex has a big heart. And he's no wuss. I mean, come on. This kid went against one of his people to protect one of us!"
By then I was well and truly embarrassed. After all, I felt I was simply repaying a debt to Clayton. But I didn't explain that and shifted the conversation to Hank's role as dungeon boss.
He wouldn’t answer directly but, from his confusing and veiled explanations, I understood that no one controlled Pherax other than him. So when Hank was not in Dis, control over the draconid was transferred to an artificial intelligence, a neural network which adopted the behavioral patterns of the “prime HCMO[3]“ as Snowstorm cleverly named Hank's position.
Of course, they had all failed their citizenship tests: all of Hank's family and Harold and Trixie Furtado, whose parents were alcoholics and had burned down their cubby in a drunken fit while their son was visiting his grandpa.
Hank had even tried again two times by saving up, but every time he was missing something. Society had no need for low-skilled labor, Hank had little aptitude for creative thought and the test showed that he didn’t even come close to having enough intellect points to get a scholarship. And intellect points, by the way, were not the outdated IQ. They were the result of complex analysis and testing. And your score could be improved, but the self-taught very rarely achieved the kinds of results that university graduates could get. And they quite literally had intellect "acceleration" available to them, because expensive modern technologies could be used to enhance brainpower.
I flew the flying car back manually. That was either because of talking with the noncitizens, or I just missed the feeling of control. At any rate, I took a roundabout way home, avoiding the airways and enjoying the views of the turbulent but beautiful ocean. I landed near the California coast to get lunch from a taco stand on the beach and, squinting in the sun, ate my dinner. And that must have been my best half hour in recent memory, not counting last night with Tissa.
I came home late that evening and the flight lasted long enough that I was hungry again. So I had to eat a "Basic Dinner №9," which our culinary oven could make from liquid concentrate. I had a long night of Disgardium ahead of me, and it was better to go in with a full stomach.
It was very lonely without my parents. I missed them and couldn't imagine how I'd live alone, after I moved out. At least I had the purring AT to keep my company, curled up on my lap in cat form.
I had big plans for the evening and night: from levelling Cooking to completing all the quests I'd picked up in the jail. If there were no witnesses, I could kill local bosses in one hit, then collect the reward from the jail warden. But that would take preparation. I'd have to spend time filling up my plague energy bar after tripping Curse of the Undead.
Loading...
I appeared next to the Bubbling Flagon, where I had discussed tactics for passing the bosses from Evil from the Depths with Ed and the crew the night before.
Going through the back door into the tavern, I entered my personal room and unloaded all my goodies. My rare blue ingredients were there waiting to be sold. I also had the Skeleton Club and Lynx Paws from my first battle in Gloomwood, a Daredevil Blindfold from a normal pack in the Jail and the loot I'd kept from the bosses – the Two-Handed Mechanic's Wrench and the Silent Boots of the Assassin. The shoes and weapons were not unique but, due to their bonuses, I kept them all. I still didn't know what class I might get at level ten. I would of course have a say in the matter, but the gods would limit me to three options based on my previous acts, gameplay and style of battle.
I also had the quest locket and Whistle of Summoning for the legendary spectral wolf. So I now had just one free slot in my chest. And that fact made me think long and hard. In the last few days I had been walking on the edge of a steep precipice, not considering what was around the bend. But for the first time in a while I had a minute to think.
I opened my profile and judged my progress i
n cold hard numbers:
Scyth, level-6 human
Real name: Alex Sheppard.
Real age: 15.
Class: not selected.
Main attributes:
Strength: 10.
Perception: 12.
Endurance: 5.
Charisma: 2.
Intelligence: 7.
Agility: 2.
Luck: 2.
Secondary attributes:
Health points: 280/280.
Mana points: 17/17.
Plague energy points: 10000/10000.
Recovery speed: 15 health points per minute.
Movement speed bonus: 2%.
Class-A Threat (Disgardium Book #1) LitRPG Series Page 28