by Dmitry Bilik
The thing was, I did understand all this — the problem was putting it all into practice. I started by getting off the bus at a totally different stop. Ever since I’d discovered the second exit from the Community, I’d kept thinking about it — both as an escape route as well as a potentially interesting place. And I wasn’t mistaken.
A tiny old lady was sitting by the entrance to a courtyard selling second-hand junk which was laid out on a makeshift table set on a stool. According to my calculations, that was exactly where the second exit should be. It would have been perfectly fine — but this old dear who looked as if she’d stepped straight out of a Soviet-era postcard was actually a Player. The name tag hovering above her head proudly stated,
Weaver
“Is there something you like, son?”
I stared at the heap of junk that most people would have discarded without a second thought. How could one possibly find anything useful between two old electric irons, a few dog-eared murder mysteries of questionable quality, an array of gas wrenches and other such garbage? I suppose you could, considering this was a Player who sported such a curious specialization.
“You don’t have any underwear, by any chance? Like socks, underpants, that sort of thing. Not normal, I mean, but something suitable for one of us.”
She nodded. “I have just the thing.”
She produced said objects straight out of thin air. Some light-colored socks you might wear on honeymoon and an ugly pair of baggy floral-patterned boxers that might have been all the rage in her home village when she’d been younger. “They’re high-quality cotton. I made them myself. And these are linen.”
I felt them. “No stats?”
“I don’t subscribe to all that nonsense. Underpants should be underpants. No point stuffing them with all those stats and things.”
“You’ve got a point there. How much?”
“The socks are six grams a pair, the underpants nine.”
“So!” I whistled my surprise, remembering the derisory prices I’d paid for my second-hand gear.
“Yes, but all these undies are hand made! You won’t find this quality anywhere else!”
I had a funny feeling she was fleecing me shamelessly, but the problem of my underwear had to be resolved pronto. I had the money, anyway. And judging by what Arts had said, Traug had also sold his share of eggs.
“I’d like four pairs of each, please. But I’ll give you fifty for the whole lot.”
“What do you mean, fifty? Spare another couple for an old lady.”
“A couple, then,” I nodded, handing her fifty-two grams.
Your Bargaining skill has increased to level 4.
Somehow I didn’t think she was hard done by. I watched her packing my purchases into a plastic bag from one of the local supermarkets, thinking: there you were, living your whole life until retirement, entering God’s waiting room, as bureaucrats would put it. And one day, Bang! — you joined the Game, simply because someone had killed a Seeker nearby, thus forcing you to take his place.
And that was it. Life as you knew it was over. You had to learn and adapt. She might not have even been able to weave before becoming a Player.
“Are you all right, son? Just take it!”
I put the plastic bag into my inventory, thanked her and headed for the Syndicate. I came across a few Guards in their inevitable masks as well as a couple of Players. Rumis was busy smoking on the porch of his magic emporium. I nodded to him and he returned my greeting.
One of the Seekers was busy sweeping snow off the Syndicate building’s steps. I decided to wait, which was why I heard Traug before I saw him.
“The next round’s on me… hic! But none of that Ullum crap that you pour down your neck, Litius — no offence meant, hic! Hey, Bourtok! Bring us some of that Archaeth ale!”
Traug was standing in the middle of the room, waving his arms like a nutty orchestra conductor. Arts was trying in vain to calm him down while Litius was sitting at the table resting his hairy head on his hands, looking completely disengaged.
“What’s all that noise about?” I said by way of greeting.
“You’ll see in a moment,” Arts said through clenched teeth. “If he doesn’t calm down soon, he’ll get a dose of my staff.”
Traug stopped showing off and turned back to her. “I’d rather you gave me a taste of something sweeter than that.”
A knee in the groin quickly put paid to his ardor.
I grinned. “Please sit down, gentlemen… and lady. Traug, stop your groaning. If it hurts so much, just jump on your heels, it’s supposed to help. So — tell me.”
“Bourtok! Another jug of ale!” Traug shouted as he landed on a chair next to me, still clutching his manhood. “Hi, Sergei. You can’t imagine what I just pulled off, and she hasn’t got a kind word to say to me.”
“I would have, had you not started spouting off about it left, right and center. All you did was draw attention to us.”
That was true. There were currently about fifteen or sixteen players sitting there drinking, not counting the servers, and all eyes were upon us — some openly, others furtively.
Bourtok, the Purg bartender, set the jug down in front of us and gave Traug an ingratiating look. “Does it still stand, your offer of paying the next round?”
“It does. Traug of Keralon always keeps his word. Everybody knows that.”
“In that case, I’ll serve everyone.”
The bartender scurried off, finally leaving the four of us alone. Litius was still sitting there calmly, resting his head on his hands. Arts was glaring daggers while Traug looked at me with the sad eyes of a puppy. Just wait a second, man. First we’ll sort everything out and then you’ll get your drink.
“So, tell me all about it!”
“There’s nothing to tell. I sold almost all the eggs, and that’s it end of story.”
“Yeah right. God’s own salesman,” Arts said sarcastically.
“Could you expand on that?” I asked.
“I have an uncle back in Noggle,” Traug began. “To be honest, he’s quite an old fox. But he knows how to do business. Recently he received the title of baron and the post of majordomo. The previous majordomo had had to purvey some rachnaid eggs for a Royal feast. But he failed the task, even though he’d already hired some mercenaries to help him. You know where he was going to procure them?
A lightbulb lit up in my head. “In Purgator.”
“How do you know?” Traug asked in surprise.
“The murder of a Queen in Purgator does affect the distribution of royal court positions in Noggle,” I repeated the words which had imprinted themselves on the back of my mind. “That’s what the Chorul told me when I was about to die.”
“You never told us,” Arts interrupted.
I motioned her to stop. “Then it does make sense. The murder of a Queen in Purgator affects the distribution of royal court positions in Noggle. And the disappearance of a stone in Cesspit might change the direction of a trade route in Elysium. That’s what he told me.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know yet. But seeing as the first part of his prediction came true, so should the second one. We only have to find out how.”
Chapter 16
YOUNGER GENERATIONS are always impatient. We don’t have the time to finish listening if we think we already know what the speaker is driving at. We don’t recognize authority, believing ourselves to be much smarter. We often make mistakes on an emotional impulse which we later live to regret.
Why on earth hadn’t I kept my mouth shut, listened and waited for the Chorul to finish? The disappearance of a stone in Cesspit might change the direction of a trade route in Elysium. The murder of a Queen in Purgator does affect the distribution of royal court positions in Noggle. And something as petty as a mechanoid’s rusty joint might-
I’d never found out quite what “a mechanoid’s rusty joint” might cause. Simply because I’d interrupted the Chorul.
All I can say in my defense is that at the time, I had other things to worry about than indulging in any Machiavellian intrigues. I had a sword sticking out of my guts, for crissakes, while hovering in some weird location between worlds, if you know what I mean.
Still, It didn’t make me feel any better now. I was pacing the tiny room like a caged animal, thinking about this new riddle.
“Here,” Litius appeared in the doorway with two more jugs of ale.
Traug hurried toward him. Arts was sitting on the bed with her nose in her sketchbook, casting disapproving glances at the two boozers. We’d prudently decided to stop tempting providence and moved our butts from the Syndicate to a more private location — but as it turned out, we hadn’t bought enough alcohol to go. Which was why Litius had had to make a booze run: we just hadn’t dared let Traug go out on his own.
“Sergei, will you please calm yourself and sit down?” Arts said. “We can’t think of anything right now, anyway.”
“There’s nothing to think of,” Litius interrupted her, watching greedily as Traug filled the dirty glasses. “First, we need to find out more about the trade routes from here for Elysium and see which ones have recently been rerouted. Then we need to find the Seeker who asked for the change of course. And finally, we need to find out more about your mysterious stone. Easy.”
Arts chuckled. “Well, do it then, if you think you’re so smart.”
“It’s only a question of time,” the beastman shrugged, “similar to growing a spell crystal or visiting the Oracle once you reach the age of maturity.”
“Talking about which,” I sat up, “I think I’m mature enough already. How about I make an appointment with this Oracle?”
Arts raised an eyebrow. “What, you haven’t done it yet?”
She wasn’t the only one acting surprised. Traug stopped pouring out the drinks and stared at me. Litius nervously twitched his ears.
“You really should,” Traug took a large swig of his drink. “He does help us Players. What a shame you can only ask him one question.”
“A lot of folk have noticed a dramatic improvement in their development after speaking with him,” Arts agreed.
“Okay, okay, don’t get so worked up!” I protested. “I know I should! I had lots of other things on my plate, in case you hadn’t noticed. Too busy getting you guys out of trouble.”
“Sergei’s right,” Litius took my side. “In any case, he needs to think of a question first before seeking advice from such a powerful Player.”
“Thank God for that! At least Litius understands me. Have you been to see the Oracle?”
“Yes, I have,” my feline friend replied calmly. “I saw him on my second day in Cesspit. He answered my question — but by doing so, he also replied to a gazillion others that I had. As I’ve just said, you need to think of the right question to ask him.”
“Very well,” I said. “If this is all we have left to discuss, let’s get back to the eggs.”
“About time,” Arts said, climbing back to her feet.
Traug walked over to the table next to a tiny window and swept its contents onto the floor. A large mass of dust materialized out of thin air and thumped to the tabletop. It looked rather like sand but finer and yellower — what they call dandelion color. It seemed to mesmerize all of us.
I greedily licked my lips, struggling to tear my gaze off its riches. “How much is there?”
“Eleven kilograms three hundred and forty grams,” Traug replied proudly, “or exactly twenty-five pounds. I had to knock the wholesale price down to thirty grams per egg. But it’s still not bad, is it?”
Arts punched him in the chest. “You idiot!”
Traug staggered, staring incomprehensively at her, then turned to me, seeking protection. “What’s wrong with her?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Arts snapped before I got the chance to reply. “You just don’t attract attention to yourself when you have this kind of money on you. And this idiot started ordering rounds! What a dipstick!”
“Hey, hey, guys,” I said. “You have to admit there’s nothing better than counting your chickens after they’re hatched. Or eggs, as the case may be. And seeing as our team has shrunk to four members — after Jan’s sad but inevitable departure — the loot is now divisible by four.”
“Plus my extra five percent,” Arts added.
I gave her a grim look. “How can I ever forget.”
Litius effortlessly divided the heap of dust into four uneven smaller bunches — uneven because my share was the smallest.
I swept 1,768K into my bag, leaving five hundred grams on the table. “Litius, this it what I owe you,” I said, nodding at it. “Thank you. And here’s another seventeen — it’s seventeen, isn’t it? — of Traug’s. Take it.”
Traug nodded, adding the measly pinch of dust to his share.
I looked at the two kilo-plus I now had in my bag and smiled. I’d never had this kind of money before in my life. The rest of the team didn’t look too unhappy, either.
“How many eggs do we have left?” I asked.
“Two hundred and three,” Arts replied, “but we should really hold on to them. Oh, and about that spear of yours. I contacted the guy’s family, they’d like to buy it off you. They’re coming to Cesspit to discuss it with you.”
“Excellent. What are you planning on doing now?”
“Get drunk,” Traug happily raised the jug and took a few gulps.
“And I’m gonna find out about any changes to Cesspit — Elysium trade routes,” Litius said seriously without taking his eyes off the other jug. “As soon as I hear something, I’ll let you know.”
Arts motioned me aside. “Can I have a word?”
We went out. The other two didn’t even notice, too busy drinking themselves into a stupor. Would Traug be able to pace himself or would he only stop once he’d boozed all his gains away?
“You’re obliged to go to the Oracle, now,” the girl said under her breath.
“I’m not obliged to do anything.”
“Cut it, will ya? You know very well what I mean. I have a very bad feeling about it. Something’s gonna happen. It feels like the lull before a storm.”
She did look anxious, for some reason, so I decided to humor her. “I know I should. As soon as I have some time...”
“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow what?”
“I’m going to Crete tomorrow. That’s where the Oracle lives. You can come with me, if you wish.”
“No, wait a second. I’m just not buying all this altruistic shit. Five minutes ago you demanded your five percent without even thinking who it was who’d rescued you from captivity. And now all of a sudden you’ve decided to chaperone me for free?”
“Firstly, I do owe you, I know. And secondly, I didn’t say I had no invested interest in it.”
“Will you please elaborate?”
“Do you remember that harpy mission issued by the Oracle? I need to complete it.”
“So you want me to believe that you’re quite prepared to travel all the way to Crete just to smoke a few harpies for a measly two hundred grams?”
Her face turned crimson. She scratched her burning cheeks and wiped the perspiration from her brow, apparently oblivious to the subzero temperature. “The mission is bullshit. No one wants it. What I need is the harpies’ claws. They’re quite valuable. Somebody hired me to get some for them.”
“Arts, lets be honest: what do you need so much money for? We’ve just earned 2K dust each — more, in your case. But first you have these fishy dealings with Pull and now...”
“You’re right,” she said. “I need dust. A whole lot of it. It’s not for me even but for...” she paused as if wondering if she should tell me the whole story but apparently reconsidered. “So basically, I just need money. That’s the extent of it. If it all pans out, I might tell you about it. But at the moment, I’m just offering you a hand. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Yo
u help me with the harpies if needs be and I’ll take you to see the Oracle. Otherwise you might spend several days on the island looking for him.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Please do. I need the answer before tonight.”