by Dmitry Bilik
“Nah. It’s all right. In the village, you might have had problems. They’re so stupid and useless they’re no good for anything,” Bumpkin pondered from his languid cross-legged position on the floor, propping himself on one elbow and scratching his beard. He was the picture of Socrates if ever I’d seen one!
“Some folk might catch one and use it as a house lamp, but God forbid you let a whole swarm in.” he continued. “But that’s in the village,” he raised a meaningful finger. “It’s nice and quiet there. And this is a big city.”
“So what?”
“It’s so noisy! Something’s constantly rattling, clanging and screeching. And those little critters hate noise more than anything else in the world.”
As if in confirmation, I heard the wailing of an alarm outside. The rustling of the little wings stopped. I took a cautious look outside. Bumpkin had been right: the little fluorites were hurrying to leave my window pane and head elsewhere. In only a few seconds, they were all gone.
“They don’t normally live in cities,” Bumpkin said, climbing back to his feet. “They prefer woods and rivers.”
“Makes sense,” I said, pulling out my phone and checking the map. I tried to zoom it out but still couldn’t see much at all, so I switched on my laptop, opened the browser and zoomed out again.
That’s right. This was the place. My house was located right next to the Koposovo Oakwood nature reserve. Further on lay a couple of large lakes, followed by the majestic Volga River. Perfect breeding grounds for fluorites. That’s why they were so numerous here.
This was the answer to the question where exactly to look for the fluorite infestation. How to get rid of them was another problem entirely. Having said that...
I smiled at a new idea, original and quite funny. Should I do it?
I studied the map some more, seeking for spots which might suit my purposes, then singled out the one that looked the most interesting. It was far from the dormitory suburbs, right next to the heat exchange equipment factory.
I grinned, utterly pleased with myself. I stood up and had a good stretch. “So Bumpkin, what happened to your pies? I’m absolutely starving!”
Chapter 25
AS THE SAYING GOES, you need to sleep on it. A corny phrase which is normally employed in any situation, whether it really applies or not. The problem is, everybody sneers at it but nobody ever does it. Like, it’s an age-old wisdom, so what? But it really is. All you need to do is leave your problem well alone, go to bed and think about it the next morning when you’ll see it in a totally different light.
In a nutshell, I woke up a new man. Or rather, yesterday afternoon I had changed already, becoming someone different from who I used to be. And now I’d changed again. And schizophrenia had nothing to do with it. This was only a game reality burdened with all the problems I still had to solve, most of which involved two powerful Divine Avatars. To tell you the truth, I dreaded to think what was going to happen next.
Still, at the moment things weren’t so bad. I had a plan; my phone was absolutely bursting with Julia’s messages; and my apartment was awash with the aroma of Bumpkin’s cottage cheese patties. On my way to the bathroom, I noticed that he’d even sprinkled them with something that looked like vanilla sugar. Wherever had he procured it from? I’d never had it in my miserable excuse for a pantry.
“Master? We seem to be running low on vittles.”
I rinsed my mouth from toothpaste. “You mean, groceries?”
“That’s right. I’ve already made a tiny little list.”
I chuckled. A list! Probably a scrap of old parchment covered in his scribbles.
As it turned out, I wasn’t that far wrong. His “tiny little list” had a good hundred entries, if not more, which he’d jotted down on a scrap of the old wallpaper left after his redecoration exploits. He handed it to me with all due ceremony.
“Er, Bumpkin,” I said as I skimmed through it. “Where, pray tell, am I supposed to get you “a fine young boar” or a “catfish of no more than twenty pounds”?
The goblin shrugged. “That should be enough for us! It’s not as if we’re expecting company.”
I continued reading. “Five pounds of the best Beluga caviar; a sack of barley flour; two loaves of pandemain bread; a jug of Jersey clotted cream; a small sturgeon; a chicken stuffed with crayfish... Please don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I can’t afford it... But where am I supposed to get it all?”
“At street vendors! Any food peddler should have it.”
“Okay. I might get some of it at the farmers’ market, I suppose. Then again, how about caviar and a young boar? Where am I supposed to get that for you?”
Bumpkin’s eyes became the size of the Shrek cat’s. What would you do with him?
“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll check the market, anyway.”
“And there’s another thing, Master. This is what I found while I was cleaning out the closet,” he handed me a thick battered dog-eared notebook.
I opened it. My heart beat faster. This was my old Grandma’s handwriting, so familiar and so dear.
I turned a page.
Stuffed cabbages
2 heads of crunchy white cabbage, 2 pounds of ground beef, a cup of rice, three carrots, two small onions, tomato paste, salt and pepper.
I turned the page.
Honey pie
Flour, 2 cups. Vanilla sugar...
I paused, staring at the pages covered in her large legible handwriting. A recipe book! Even my mother didn’t have one anymore. The Internet had made them redundant. These days, there were tons of recipes on any cooking site, to suit any taste and wallet. But nothing like this.
I closed the notebook and heaved a sigh.
Your Axiology skill has increased to level 1.
What was that now? Did this new skill have any connection with the notebook? It might do. I may have to borrow a couple of books off Litius and see what happens.
“Do you want me to dump it in the trash?” Bumpkin asked, trying to retrieve the notebook from me. “There’re two recipes there that aren’t right.”
“Don’t you dare! It’s a memento from my Grandma.”
I stashed the notebook in my inventory, got my phone and scrolled through Julia’s texts. In a nutshell, all she said was, “I’m on my way home, there was no signal, I’m missing you.” I wrote her a long and rather soppy epistle, thinking that if I’d ever seen something like it on somebody else’s phone, I’d have ridiculed them mercilessly.
There was also a text from my Mom, reminding me of tonight’s dinner. Yeah, right. How could I ever forget.
I dialed Arts but she was out of range. Which meant that she was in the Community, most likely. And that’s where I should be heading as soon as I finished my daily practice. This was going to be one hell of a day, I could see that.
Hunter was already waiting for me in the foundation pit, one of his feet leaning on a small hillock. He nodded, activated the Repelling Stone and stood opposite it.
The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood…
The moment I accepted, he lunged at me, whipping a long fat cane out of thin air. What a weird weapon.
As soon as I thought about it, I sensed a burning pain in my arm. I rolled back, rubbing the bruise. Judging by the fact that the fight was still on, Hunter hadn’t drawn any blood. A bruise, so what! I could live with that.
“You went to see the Oracle.”
“How do you-”
Your Unarmored Combat skill has increased to level 8.
His next lunge got me in the leg. I screamed. What did he think he was doing? This way I’d be black and blue all over by the time this was finished.
[ ∞ ]
“You went to see the Oracle.”
I jumped to the side and counterattacked with my Katzbalger but missed. Despite my best efforts, I received another whack from his cane.
Your Unarmored Combat skill has increased to level 8.
“Shit!” I
let slip without actually intending to cuss.
“That’s not an answer,” he said, giving me another taste of his cane.
End of combat.
The Seeker is inviting you to compete Until First Blood…
Yeah right. Can’t wait. “How about telling me why you’re so angry about it?”
“You could have told me where you were going.”
Without even realizing it, I was already back on my feet directly opposite him, staring him out. “Am I supposed to tell you whenever I go somewhere?”
“You’ve no idea of the value of your life,” he said grimly.
“Okay! How about telling me what makes it so valuable, then? What’s so important about it? Why did the Chorul have to sacrifice his own life just so that I could become a Player? Come on, out with it! Everybody else seems to know! I’m the only one who’s wandering about in the dark like a blind kitten in search of his mother’s titties!”
My pent-up resentment had finally found itself a release valve. I spouted the words without pausing to think what they meant, my brain barely capable of processing them. I only stopped when I’d spat out everything I had to say, knowing full well I’d said some things I was going to regret.
“You’ll find out soon enough. Very soon. Our training session’s over for today.”
He left dramatically, his shadow flitting away across the expanse of snow.
I was a real asshole, wasn’t I? Why did I have to scream at him like that? It was pretty clear that he knew something that I didn’t. He had all the cards in his hand so he knew what to do next.
Then again, his idea of what to do next could be diametrically opposed to my own. In which case, what was I supposed to do?
One thing I did realize was that when Morbian came, Hunter wasn’t going to be around. I simply wouldn’t tell him. Firstly, because it really wasn’t his war. And secondly, because I still couldn’t forget the Oracle’s curse. The old Oracle, I mean, the real one. And I’d no wish to be responsible for Hunter’s death.
In that case, there was only one option: find out what was going to happen to Traug and Litius. Admittedly, their absence in Oliverio’s visions worried me quite a bit. My name had been associated with death a bit too often just lately. I had to find them and try to do everything to keep them out of harm’s way. I might send them to Purgator or maybe even to Traug’s homeland. Let them sit there for a couple of days until it all blew over.
I climbed out of the foundation pit and dialed a cab, telling them to pick me up at the supermarket. While I was waiting, I took a better look at the welt on my arm. This was going to be the mother of all bruises. To make things worse, my every movement hurt like hell. Never mind. I’d have to soldier on until Bumpkin could heal it in the evening.
A battered old Opel pulled up nearby. I jumped in, buckled up and repeated the address to the cabbie. Some taxi drivers had this remarkable ability to ask you really stupid questions. So what if I didn’t want to shoot the breeze with him? I took out my cell, ticked in a quick message, then put the phone away and stared out the window.
We’d already left my neighborhood when a mischievous thought crossed my mind. Inconspicuously I pulled out the whistle, waited for the right moment and blew it.
We were just waiting at the crossroads for the lights to change. Predictably, the cabbie hadn’t noticed anything, he just poked his finger in his ear. The fluorites, though, weren’t long in coming. Today though they were far fewer compared to last night. It must have had something to do with the fact that their swarm was now quite far away.
“What the hell’s he doing?” the cabbie cussed. “Has he got his headlights on beam?”
I nodded. “Looks like it. In any case, the lights are green, we can go.”
The cabbie pulled away. Only some of the fluorites managed to keep up with us, and after a hundred feet or so, even they were left behind. Not because of the speed, of course. Apparently, they just couldn’t decide who to latch on to through the overwhelming noise. And for me it was a valuable piece of intel which I might have to use pretty soon.
The rest of our trip was uneventful. After we’d passed the bridge, we got stuck in traffic for a while due to an accident — but the cabbie masterfully changed lanes, followed by the exquisite cussing of a Volkswagen driver whom he’d cut up. The cabbie even had the cheek to give him a flash in thanks for “letting him through”. As we parted, he asked me for a five-star review. I quite liked him. He was funny.
As I watched him disappear in traffic, I mechanically reached into my pocket and was very surprised not to find any cigarettes. Some people had phantom pains — and I must have had phantom habits. So much time had passed that I’d almost stopped thinking of those so-called “little soldiers of death”, and here I go again. Then again, could it be just something in my head rather than nicotine addiction? Because I really didn’t feel like going to the Community. I didn’t even want to contemplate what could happen to Traug and Litius. I hated to lie to them — but I hated to tell them the truth even more. And it’s common knowledge that a smoker uses downtime as an excuse for a smoke, especially in moments of anxiety.
Never mind. This wasn’t an option anymore.
The Community continued with its daily routine, even though it wasn’t quite as busy. I saw a couple of truly wondrous creatures: one a mechanoid beastman, his long crocodile’s nose and the right half of his head the only rudiments of his organic nature. The rest of him, including his limbs and all the joints, were metallic parts made of various alloys. And what was the most interesting, he didn’t even make an effort to conceal them with layers of clothing. The only thing he was wearing was a piece of fabric covering his chest whose function remained unclear to me.
The other being — who made up part of the mechanoid beastman’s retinue — was striking in his beauty. Long chestnut hair, bronze skin, a thin nose and incredible poise for his seven-foot height. His gait was strange: the creature moved in short bouts, as if resting after every step. The gem-studded skirts of his luxurious brocade robe trailed across the snow, leaving a trail behind him. His every movement and gesture were breathtaking.
I was so taken by the sight that I didn’t immediately think to check the tags above their heads. The beautiful stranger turned out to be a Kirraket, whatever that was supposed to mean, while the mechanoid was a Manager of the Fourth Order.
They’d clearly arrived just recently, judging by the fact that their group (which also included several mechanoid bodyguards only slightly less robotized than their boss) was moving away from the Gatehouse. Still, they surprised me yet again when, instead of going to the Sachem’s, they headed straight for the market. Somehow I didn’t think they’d come out to the sticks just to do a bit of shopping. In any case, I had my own agenda to take care of.
Arts was sitting at her usual place at the table, with one leg tucked up beneath her. Her bad leg, which had only recently been broken and healed, was sticking out and blocking the passage. She was busy drawing, all but poking her tongue out with the effort.
Before everything else, I went and got myself a beer, even though drinking the local brew after the Czech ambrosia was a real sacrilege. But honestly, I was thirsty — and I hadn’t yet been spoiled by the good stuff. So I grabbed an Oettinger and sat next to Arts.
“Hi.”
“Hi. On the day you stop drinking it’s gonna rain frogs.”
“It’s just we always meet at the wrong time.”
“Sure. I’ve been waiting for you, actually.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it’s not the kind of thing you discuss over the phone. I’ve got some buyers for the spear. They’re in town but they can’t come to the Community. For a number of reasons.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Wait, there’s more. They insist that the person who obtained the spear is present at the deal.”
“Now I don’t like it at all.”
“But the
money they offer is astronomical. It’s two kilos.”
“How much did you get for the claws?”
“A kilo two hundred grams.”
I just shook my head in amazement. I seemed to be doing it all wrong. Here I was, busting my ass to complete a bunch of stupid missions when all I’d had to do was relieve a few harpies of their manicure. The girl was raking it in!
I froze as it dawned on me. “Wait a sec. If we sell the spear and you get the money, does that mean that you’ll be able to finally sort out your money problems?”
She paused, then gave a suspiciously humble nod. “I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”