Istoria Online- Square One

by Vic Connor

  “Exactly. And that alone would explain why Juanita, being from Tlaxcala, never seems fond of Aztecs. They may speak the same language, pray to the same gods, and, to us, look like the same people, but I wouldn’t be surprised if in here those from Tlaxcala are second-rate citizens at best, and nearly slaves at worst.”

  “That doesn’t explain her blood-drinking habits, boss…”

  “I don’t remember their name in Nahuatl, but some witches from Tlaxcala were said to drink blood. Quite different from European vampires in that you wouldn’t pass it to others. They had none of the ‘a vampire bit me, so now I’ll transform into a vampire myself.’ It wasn’t a specific divine punishment, either. Basically, some girls just got unlucky and were born with the condition as a curse or a disease, depending how you want to look at it.”

  “In other words,” Svetlana clarified, “they suffered from a purely random disorder, by no fault of their own.”

  “You mean, just like me and my sister having Chediak-Higashi. Right?”

  She nodded while I pondered the implications of this. “I’m starting to see the pattern here, yes. At least I think I do,” I said.

  “That’s what our storytailoring algorithms do, boss. They use your mind’s content as raw material.”

  “As long as Miyu doesn’t leave us to take part in a naginata tournament…”

  She rubbed her chin, obviously confused.

  “Never mind,” I said quickly. “Just talking to myself. In short, Juanita is from Tlaxcala; I bet she has no love lost for the Aztecs, which fits the way she’s acted so far, like they are not her people. And she’s a blood-sucking witch, from what she’s said herself, but with an interesting twist: She’s capable of using that power to heal a child, rather than kill her.”

  “Were these witches able to shape-shift, like regular vampires do?”

  “Actually, they were,” I replied. “Heh… They had to detach their upper body from their legs and leave their lower half behind while they stalked their prey.”

  She grinned. “If you don’t mind me saying so, boss, you do seem to have a weird fixation with legs.”

  “I shall plead guilty as charged, Svetty dear. Although, in my defense, I have to say I’ve been made painfully aware, from personal experience, that they are the kind of thing you don’t value enough until you don’t have it anymore. Besides, scientists have firmly established legs are useful when it’s time to kick ass, so there’s that.”

  “Speaking of butt kicking, boss, what’s our next step here?”

  I glanced at the numbers on the wall: 43.7% of all players have already reached Multiplayer. “Having joined a day behind most,” I admitted, “I shouldn’t expect to sprint to the front of the pack. Still, I hoped that solving this quest would tell us what the main goal is supposed to be, but so far—” I brought up the Quests Screen “—going back to Duurstad so Hendricks can give the Mapmaker that box she wanted, so she gives us my father’s map… That’s all we’ve got.

  “Although, if we return to Duurstad before sunset today, I’ll get to choose one of those sweet schematics she promised as a bonus. It’s a safe bet that whatever we need to beat to win here will need a lot of shooting at it, so the more guns we pack, the merrier.”

  “You’ll need to wake your pirate friend from his nap for this, though,” Sveta reminded me. “They knocked him out good.”

  “Yes. Let’s hope it doesn’t turn into another side quest of its own, like ‘gather this, this, and this to craft something to force-feed Abe to heal him,’ or we’ll never get back to Duurstad before sundown.”

  “Perhaps Uitzli can heal him?” she suggested. “Although if she could, she might have already…”

  “Juanita said as much,” I replied. “Uitzli can close a bleeding wound; that’s basically what my Tetsoliui spell does, and she taught it to me. But she probably can’t replenish lost blood.”

  I glanced at the wall again: 43.8% now. “Damn it,” I grumbled, “it’s like Chinese water torture, seeing that number go slowly up.”

  “I can always turn it off, boss…”

  “Nah. It’s good to have a reminder that this isn’t just a game.”

  26

  Ol’ Abe’s veins

  With my luck, though, getting Abe up on his feet turns out to be a gathering mini-quest.

  “Weak as a sick child,” Kokumo diagnoses, “but with enough rest and food, your pirate friend will walk again in three days.”

  “We don’t have three days,” I say. “We should head back to Duurstad by noon today, or else we won’t get there before sunset.”

  Kokumo mumbles about hurry and haste being enemies of good health.

  “Can’t you do something?” I ask Juanita. “You gave him that brew that put him to sleep. Can’t you make, like, a counter brew to wake him up?”

  “I have done all the healing I can, my child,” she replies. “And I am exhausted. I should rest, too, so I am ready and useful whenever you decide we must leave.”

  Iku comes out of the kitchen; the fresh cuts he got from Miyu earlier today decorate his wide chest. Uitzli turns her head toward him, like a blind animal acting more on smell than sight. She reaches out with a hand and whispers, “Tetsoliui…”

  …Iku lowers his head and looks at his wounds and cuts as they fade like stars during sunrise, among a cloud of tiny, smoke-like tendrils…

  “…Tepatiki!” Uitzli smiles at me like a kid proud to have helped.

  Iku slides his fingertips over where his wounds used to be, nods appreciatively, and says, “Listen well-well, sir. I can do what your witch cannot.”

  My ears perk up. “And what’s that?”

  “A brew that the wounded warriors from my land would drink in battle,” he says. “The brew will invite blood-raged spirits to inhabit his body. It will make him stand, walk, and fight like a demon of war. No wahala, sir.”

  “I’m unconvinced this is the best idea, my friend,” I tell him. “Abe is enough of a loose cannon as it is. Letting a war demon pilot him like a Mech, I dunno…”

  “I have no clue what mechs and pilots are, sir. But my brew will get your man walking by noon, no wahala.”

  Kokumo whispers by my side, “The demon of war part is poetic exaggeration, boss. In our lands, ja-nee, men take this brew after drinking all night.”

  “Will it work?” I ask.

  “Not as well as letting time and rest do the healing,” Kokumo says. “But if you will not wait, boss, Iku’s brew may help.”

  He needs the ingredients for it, though.

  I shake Juanita’s shoulder, preventing her from falling asleep right where she sits. “Come on,” I announce. “It’s shopping time.”

  As we cross the plaza under the mid-morning sun, Juanita leans heavily on her staff. She walks even slower than I do on my crutches. Uitzli, wrapped in thick clothes to cover every inch of her fragile skin, helps the witch as best as she can. It’s a painful, slow process: Uitzli’s eyes seem to have trouble adjusting to the sun’s glare, and I suspect she’s nearly blind right now.

  Luckily, Axolotl has decided to aid us. Perhaps out of genuine sympathy, perhaps for some other motive, but he takes the lead. I had told Miyu and Hendriks to wait for us at the Inn’s entrance. While I’m sure Abe is in good hands with Kokumo, I’d rather play it safe and avoid someone sneaking into the inn while we’re busy haggling and bartering. The plaza is about eighty paces wide, so the gunslinger and the samurai should reach us in a few moments if needed.

  Yolotl the apothecary, her arms covered in golden bracelets, watches our plodding procession from the Durojaiye to her doorstep.

  “This is what we need.” I hand over a list of glyphs, where Juanita has transcribed Iku’s recipe.

  We soon learn that our recently earned status of Well-received Foreigners equates to exactly nothing when it comes to discounts from the apothecary. “These,” Yolotl explains, raising her left arm and shaking it so the golden snakes wrapped around her wrist clink against
each other, “are the only well-received foreigners in my shop.”

  Juanita sighs. “We have no gold. What shall we do, young Jake?”

  Is there any service we can provide to you in exchange for your wares, Mrs. Yolotl?

  Axolotl … can you help us here?

  Let’s see if the Muscovite wants to buy something else from us.

  [Pull Connections] (Cost: 2VP) – Meztli, the daughter of High Priest Tlaloc, is alive and well thanks to us.

  Normally, I’d be glad to jump into the quest-inside-quest rabbit hole and find out what service Yolotl may need—another FedEx side quest, I’d bet—but even if the clock wasn’t ticking down in the Lobby, I don’t think we have enough game time to solve yet another mini-quest and still get back to Duurstad before sunset.

  And 2VPs seems like too steep a price to speed things up.

  “Axolotl,” I say, “can you help us out here?”

  He smiles. “Unlike the Incas, my friend, I am afraid our gods have not granted us the magicks to turn common metals into precious gold.”

  “But surely the services we have provided to a certain someone…”

  “Those may have the effect you seek,” he agrees. “But it will be you, not me, who brings that up.”

  “We’ll return shortly, with the sort of company you welcome,” I tell Yolotl.

  She nods and makes a spitting sound.

  “Let’s go, folks,” I tell my crew. “Let’s see if the Muscovite wants to buy something else from us.”

  We cross the plaza again. No foreign traders have come today to peddle their wares, at least not yet, and the few passersby we see coming and going from the southern and eastern gates are all Aztecs.

  Radimir twirls his bushy imperial moustache as we enter his shop. My pistols—well, the four pistols that were mine until yesterday—are on display in a corner. The Muscovite did a fine job of polishing the metal to a shiny glow: If the guns had a flat surface, they’d put my bathroom’s mirror to shame.

  He smiles wryly, following my gaze. “They are for sale, if you wish to buy them. For a fair price.”

  “What happened to the musket?”

  “I sold it at a fair price, too,” he says. “To a Spanish garment trader who did business yesterday. They were looking for something to make them feel safer on their way back to Villarica.” His smile becomes even more twisted. “Rumor has it some slaves have escaped from the foremost landlord among the Spaniards, and those slaves have found weapons.”

  “Aha?” I raise a non-committal eyebrow.

  “Aha indeed,” he replies. “And, while escaping, those armed savages shot down several of the landlord’s favorite dogs; purebred Alanos, if we’re to believe rumors.”

  “We might as well,” Axolotl intervenes, “for I’ve heard such rumors myself. But the slaves acted in self-defense, from what I’ve heard.”

  “I deal in metallic contraptions, not Spanish law,” Radimir says. “But I doubt the señores would allow slaves to do anything other than work until they die from exhaustion. Escaped slaves, doubly so.

  “At any rate, if rumors are true, the Spanish landlord has sworn untold punishments upon those dog-killing slaves, and has let loose the fiercest of his hounds, El Morisco, to track them all down.”

  Memory Unlocked…

  Failed!

  “That… Morisco?” I ask.

  “A rabid dog of a man.” Axolotl shudders as if trying to rid his mind of troubling memories. “May the Smoking Mirror keep your path and his untangled.”

  “May your mirror bring him to my doorstep soon.” Radimir caresses the scimitar of Damascus steel. “I can say this much about Morisco: he appreciates a good blade when he sees it, and he isn’t one to waste his time haggling for a small discount.” He looks at us. “Waste his time or mine.”

  “I doubt any of Barboza’s rabid dogs will be welcomed in our city any time soon,” Axolotl says.

  The Muscovite grins. “Customers always return to Radimir’s shop.”

  “Those Spanish traders you mentioned earlier,” I say. “They wanted extra firepower out of fear of running into the escaped slaves?”

  “Indeed!” he confirms. “And they were happy to buy the musket you sold me. Above all, since they had a clue about how to use that weapon.” He bites on one side of his bushy mustache. “After all, it was a Spanish musket.”

  “Such a lucky coincidence,” I say. “I guess the good fortune that followed them in their dealings yesterday has not ran out yet.”

  “As long as they don’t run into those dog-killing runaway slaves who steal Spanish weapons before the Moorish hound hunts them down…” He smiles wryly again. “But excuse me for delaying you with so much idle chatter, my friends. Have you come to buy today, or have you come again to sell?”

  We are short on funds, I’m afraid… I don’t suppose there’s a task you would need taken care of?

  Would you be willing to buy a couple extra pistols for a fair price?

  Let’s see if there’s something we can sell to one of the other merchants.

  I’ll feel naked if I part ways with two more guns… Then again, I don’t think we have time to run yet another side quest to solve this side quest. “Would you be willing,” I ask, in my most non-committal of tones, “to buy a couple of extra pistols for a fair price?”

  The mustache-twirling Muscovite can smell our desperation from a mile away, apparently. For the two guns, he offers less than a fifth of what he’d offered yesterday for four guns and a musket.

  No, this won’t do it. “This isn’t agreeable, I’m afraid,” I tell him. Radimir may be doing us a favor here, refusing to let me part ways with my guns: I’ll be of no use in a fight if I can’t shoot a few times at least.

  “Damn it,” I grumble. “We should have visited that guild hall back in Duurstad, the Compagnie, and checked for jobs there. Having no cash just sucks.”

  “Perhaps we should pace ourselves, young Jake?” Juanita asks. “I know you wish to return to Duurstad in time to claim the additional reward the Mapmaker promised you, but perhaps we are proceeding with too much haste?”

  I have nothing to say. No use telling an NPC that what really troubles me are things happening outside the world she lives in.

  Uitzli tugs on my arm and reaches out for a small metal box on display near my old pistols.

  “That’s a compass. I acquired it from a Florentine sailor.” The Muscovite opens the box, so we can see the spinning needle pointing north. “Do not get me wrong, but I doubt—”

  “Your doubts are well placed,” I interrupt. “No, we don’t have the funds to buy it, even if we were interested in it.”

  He gives me an understanding nod.

  “Let’s see if there’s something we can sell to one of the other merchants,” I say.

  We leave Radimir’s shop, the sun now not far from noon. Uitzli squints and raises her arm to shield her eyes from the glare; I offer her my wide-brimmed hat but there’s something about it she doesn’t like, and she pushes it away.

  “If it’s gold you need,” Axolotl suggests, “I may have heard of a task that the Priestess of She of the Jade Skirt would reward handsomely if—”

  “My fault, my friend,” I say. “You told me how to solve this quickly with the apothecary, so let’s bite the bullet and get this over with.”

  I lead the way now, swinging on my crutches with Axolotl in tow, while Uitzli and Juanita help each other to walk carefully behind us.

  Yolotl sneers at our approach, her eyes staring at where my pockets would bulge if I had any gold on me.

  “Let’s not waste more time,” I say.

  “Your purse has grown no fatter,” she replies.

  “But High Priest Tlaloc’s heart swells with gratitude for the deeds we’ve done,” I reply…

  Pull Connections:

  -2VPs

  “…because Meztli, his dear daughter, is today alive and well thanks to us.”

  Shrewdness and hesitation mix in h
er face like oil and water. “Is this true?” she asks Axolotl.

  “I’d never dare to pretend to know what inhabits High Priest Tlaloc’s heart,” he says. “But these two played no small role in removing the poison coursing through his dear daughter’s veins.” He gestures toward Juanita and Uitzli, who are approaching through the plaza. “And, perhaps more importantly, the man whose blood healed the High Priest’s daughter is the one your ingredients would help heal. He rests just there, inside Durojaiye.”

  Doubt doesn’t entirely leave Yolotl’s features.

  “If you require further proof of what my sunrise friend says is true,” Axolotl continues, “perhaps we should ask them?” He casually points at the Jaguar warriors stationed at the southern gate, about twenty paces from Yolotl’s shop. “Perhaps, if they were to give you their warrior’s word that High Priest Tlaloc’s gratitude is only matched by—”

  “Nothing matches the gratitude of such great a man,” Yolotl snaps. She extends her right hand, golden serpents sparkling. “Your list, sunrise man,” she says. “Give it to me, and you will have what you need.” She frowns at Axolotl. “As for gratitude, may the Five Winds spread word of what has happened here.”

  “I have faith they’ll do so, wise woman.”

  She spits in a way Abe would approve of, then moves between vessels and pots and jars collecting the reagents Iku needs to wake our pirate up.

  We return to the Inn carrying a few bunches of dried herbs, two tiny mud jars filled with strange powders, and a bowl of slushy, sticky goo that smells like it has been rotting inside a dead cow’s stomach for a really, really long time. Passersby move away, giggling or cursing as we walk past them, and I can’t help wondering if the reeking goo is something Iku really needs, or a prank Yolotl played on us for strong-arming her into giving us all this stuff for gratitude rather than gold.

  Miyu giggles, too, as we approach, her left hand covering her mask’s nose. Hendricks raises an eyebrow and declines to comment.