“You could let me leave?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Eve sighed. “Alright then, another question. You mentioned ‘players.’ Who are they and what are they playing?”
Agatha smiled. “You’re catching on. It’s a game of power and a game of survival. The rules are simple: amass as much wealth and influence as you can without waging open war or otherwise jeopardizing the survival of civilization.”
“It sounds like a bunch of bored high-levels squabbling against each other.”
Agatha’s smile widened as she let out a sharp, salacious laugh. “That’s more accurate than you know.” She leaned back to reach into an open drawer on the other side of the desk, withdrawing a folded parchment. “To that end, I have a job offer for you.”
Eve raised an eyebrow as a particularly loud moan of ecstasy rang out from the floors below. “Not here you don’t.”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid you wouldn’t last a day in this line of work. I have a much more interesting path lined up for you.”
Eve told her the same thing she told the man of the mists, “I’m not leaving my friends.”
“I should hope not. You’ll need them. What do you think of this?” She handed over the parchment.
“This is guild paperwork,” Eve noted as she scanned the details. “Why not just go through them?”
“So that impolite friend of yours can’t interfere. You’ll find she’s a diligent one.”
Eve nodded, failing to remember a time when the rude clerk wasn’t at her desk. She didn’t mention that spending all day behind a desk left little time for whatever schemes the madam seemed to expect. “I’ll bring it to my companions, but I can’t make any promises. Eight hundred silver is a lot of money, but most of them are still flush from the last job.”
Agatha smiled. “Of course. What more could I ask?”
“Is that all?”
“That’s all I have for now. You may go, if you wish.”
Eve refolded the parchment and slipped it into her pocket, turning away from the desk towards a leather-cushioned door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, craning her neck back to the strange madam. “Actually, I have one more question, if you don’t mind. Why are you dressed like that? You’re clearly gorgeous, but that dress just…”
Agatha blinked. “My, my. Brave of you to ask a question like that.” She gestured down to the hideous dress. “I’ll have you know this used to be the height of fashion. I’d say when, but you know a true lady never reveals her age.” She scowled. “Then again, a true lady doesn’t ask questions out of turn.”
Eve opened her mouth to apologize, but the madam beat her to it. “Consider it a favor. I’ll ask that question you owe me when next we meet. Whenever that may be.” She raised a hand. “Now, please, return to your friends. We wouldn’t want them worrying after you.”
“I—of course not.” Eve turned the handle, swinging open the door to admit yet more overdramatic cries of passion from downstairs.
As the Striker moved to exit the ornate office, Agatha called after her. “Oh, and Eve? This could be a wonderful opportunity to prove you’re worth that token in your pocket.”
Eve froze, stopping herself from asking how she knew about that. She’d already asked one question out of turn. Instead she swallowed and grit her teeth and stepped out into the staircase, shutting the office door behind her.
She wondered, as she passed all manner of sweet boys and working women, whether Agatha had spoken with the man of the mists or simply rifled through her pockets while she was unconscious. As she stepped through a dark common room filled with scantily clad barmen and waitresses, Eve averted her eyes from the tempting display. She’d not be spending a coin here.
The former Messenger Girl shook her head, dismissing all speculation as she stepped back out into the night. She had no interest in this high-level bullshit. In fact, after her experience trying to purchase that loaf of bread, Eve decided she’d just about had enough of trying to decipher cryptic messages and strange quests.
For now she could just be an adventurer of the guild, and that was okay. No grand plots, no mysterious games, and no bloody heroism. Agatha could go fuck herself.
Still, Eve reached into her pocket to feel the folded parchment beside her copper coins and ivory knight. Even split four ways, eight hundred silver was a lot of money.
Come to think of it, she could really use a nice set of armor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Comfiest Sweater Ever Known
“SO YOU’RE SAYING a Unique high-level had you grabbed, drugged, and kidnapped so she could send us on a bounty?”
Incredulous—and a bit rude—as she was, Alex made for a welcome sight pacing around the common room of the adventurer’s guild. Sure, an official team meeting wasn’t the same as actually socializing with the rest of them, but Eve would take what she could get.
“Pretty much,” she replied through a mouthful of stew. A collage of spices danced across her tongue as pieces of meat and potato melted in her mouth. She swallowed. “It’s a lot of money.”
Preston sat up. “You can’t seriously want to take it?”
“I don’t know,” Wes said. “We do need money. Eve is basically broke, and I’m still trying to save up for tuition to attend the mage’s college.”
Alex froze. Preston gaped.
“What?”
“God’s below.” Alex rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I forgot you two grew up in the middle of nowhere.”
Eve furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”
Preston’s face softened as he placed a hand on Wes’s shoulder. “The mage’s college isn’t a school. It’s not that kind of college. It’s more… um… a loose association of high-level mage types.”
“And/or a powerful cabal that runs the government,” Alex added. “There’s about a dozen companies like that that run the higher-risk jobs. Tier fours and fives pretty much; the adventurer’s guild feeds right into them.”
Eve jerked a finger towards the clerk where she sat at her desk across the room. “Is that how we got stuck with her, then? Hit tier four and decided not to join one of these companies?”
The warrior shrugged. “Probably.” She turned back to Wes. “Either way, you don’t need tuition money. Tier two Rare like you? They’ll be chomping at the bit to recruit you once you hit fifty.”
Wes put a thoughtful hand over his mouth and chin. “What about the rest of you?”
“I don’t know, Wes. Preston and I will be fine; tier three Rare is good enough, and healers are always in demand. Eve though? Unless her level fifty promotion actually Appraises correctly, she might have a hard time.”
The Striker shook her head. “We’re getting sidetracked. We can worry about what comes after the guild…” She gestured wildly as she struggled to find the right words before settling on, “after the guild.”
“Alright, fine,” Alex said. “I still vote we don’t take this job.”
“But you don’t even know what it is!” Eve protested.
“Whatever it is, it’s shady. If this Agatha lady were legitimate, she would’ve gone through the guild like everybody else.”
“But she doesn’t want to because she thinks the clerk is up to something.” Eve paused, setting down her spoon. “Look, there’s a drake somewhere east of here that’s disrupting trade. This is exactly the kind of thing adventurers should be doing, and Agatha is paying more than double what a bounty like this normally goes for.”
“Maybe there’s a reason for that.”
Eve shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. Maybe that reason is that she’s a bajillion years old and is going senile.”
“Could be,” Preston said. “My grandpa used to think the seamstress next door was plotting to murder him. Old age can mess you up.”
Alex counted on her fingers. “So either she’s senile and paranoid, or the clerk really is up to something, or she’s lying about the whole thing for s
ome ineffable reason.”
Wes stepped in, “Maybe she’s just so rich she doesn’t know what jobs like this normally pay.”
“Yeah, the Lady of Whispers doesn’t know basic commission pricing.”
Eve let them argue as she lifted the bowl to her mouth to wolf down the rest of her stew, more intent on eating while it was hot than asserting her point one way or the other. There would always be another job. As she returned the wooden dish to its place on the table, the Striker noticed a familiar pale glow shining upon it.
Gods-damnit, already? she cursed, reaching a hand for the hilt of a dagger. That was fast. She winced as the frigid inferno scorched her veins on its way out, the jagged lines disappearing from her skin as her Mana pool hit zero once more.
Eve returned her attention to the conversation at hand just in time for Wes to slam the parchment onto the table.
“I say we do it. The paperwork looks official enough, and if the old lady wants to pay a premium to avoid dealing with the witch behind the counter, I’m not going to get in her way.”
“He’s not wrong,” Preston added, tracing a finger over the guild seal. “Besides, it’s only a drake. It’s not like she’s having us break any laws or anything.”
Eve nodded. “We can at least travel out there and see what there is to see. Worst case I take a look around and Charge! out if it looks too dangerous. Hells, it’s a guild-approved job so we don’t even have to find Agatha to get paid.”
“I don’t know,” Alex said. “It’s a risk, no matter how you slice it.”
“Adventuring is a risk.” Eve smiled. “And don’t tell me you aren’t dying to try out that fancy new spear of yours.”
“It has got over a hundred Mana stored in it,” the warrior admitted.
“It’s settled then.” Eve pushed herself to her feet. “Meet up tomorrow morning at the usual place?”
A chorus of nods gave her her answer, including a reluctant one from Alex. “I’ll see you then.”
Meeting adjourned, Eve turned to vacate the common room, eliciting a question from a curious Preston. “Where are you off to?”
“I’ve got four silvers to my name,” she answered, “and I’m gonna spend them. I’ve gotta have something to hold all my loot. It’s high time Wes wasn’t the only one with an actual pack.”
The mage’s eyes shot open. “If you’re willing to start carrying your own supplies, I’ll buy you a pack myself.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she called from the doorway. “After this job, three silver will be nothing.”
“Try not to get mugged on your way back!”
“C’mon, what’re the odds I get jumped twice in two days?” Eve left the common room with a smile on her face, practically skipping as she weaved through the late-afternoon foot traffic.
Visions of herself decked out in form-fitting leather armor inscribed with all manner of powerful enchantments danced through her mind. She could afford it with two hundred silver. Hells, with that kind of money she could even pick up a blunt weapon to complement her daggers.
As she approached the general goods store, Eve’s daydreams shifted towards calculating just how many strawberry scones she could buy with the reward for Agatha’s drake. She settled on ‘a lot.’ Of course, she’d have a hard time buying them if she couldn’t step foot in a bakery.
Maybe if I don’t try to buy bread, fate will let me into a bakery, she thought. Or I just have to find one that’s already sold out of bread but still has scones. In the end she decided to have Wes handle her scone-buying for the foreseeable future.
To her chagrin, the first shop Eve visited only sold handmade artisanal leather bags for triple the price any reasonable customer would ever pay. After a few minutes wasted on a failed attempt at haggling, she moved on to a second, slightly seedier establishment.
She walked away with a pre-used shoulder-pack of rough canvas. Its seams frayed in a few places, and the iron clasp took a bit of force to latch into place, but it would serve its purpose. Though a rusty brown bloodstain spattered across the bag’s back spoke to the ill end of its previous owner, Eve knew well enough she’d soon coat the item in stains of her own. Given the fate of her old clothes, dirt was an inevitability.
On her way back to the guild for the night, Eve stopped at the message depot she’d visited all those days ago. It took nearly thirty minutes of waiting in line and another twenty of tapping her foot while the Courier behind the counter searched for any letters with the name ‘Evelia Greene’ on them, but the paper-wrapped package he handed over was well worth it.
She stopped just outside the depot, leaning against the stone wall as she ripped open the attached note.
My dearest Evelia,
I can’t overstate the relief I felt upon receiving your letter. It’s a mother’s lot to worry, especially after her daughter doesn’t come home from a simple errand. I’m excited to hear things are going well in Lynthia; I’m sure with your Rare class you’ve become quite popular. I’m so happy you’re getting your chance to travel.
I wish you the greatest of luck, and I want you to know you’re always in my heart. Stay safe out there.
Love,
Ma
P.S. As it turns out, you departing on your quest has somewhat rekindled my enthusiasm for my own. You’ll find my latest attempt enclosed. I hope you like it.
Warmth—of a purely nonmagical variety—flooded Eve’s chest as she read and reread the letter. Sure enough, tearing through the remaining paper revealed a red woolen sweater, expertly knit as were all Martha’s creations. Eve held the garment to her face, reveling in the soft caress of the fabric.
It smelled like home.
Wafting scents of Mrs. Yir’s pastries and Mr. Ilan’s famous roast pig and Mr. Potts’ well-tended rose garden sent Eve on a journey in her mind. She clutched the sweater tight in her bare hands, holding on to each and every memory it provoked. Happy as she was to spend her days adventuring with the wonderful friends she’d made, Nowherested would always keep a special place in her heart. How could it not?
That feeling of love and the smile that came with it stuck with the Striker as she made her way through the stretching shadows of twilight to find her bed.
She was two blocks away when she saw him.
A boy, no more than eleven, sat alone in a dark alley. His face was scared and dirt-stained, his skin only protected by a shirt and pants he’d long outgrown. Only the wretched nature of his malnourished frame allowed the clothes to fit at all.
Eve froze as she watched him shiver in the evening chill, the warmth of summer already fading to the ghost of coming autumn. She swallowed.
She had no food to give, no alms to bestow. The Striker rubbed a hand across the soft wool of the sweater, heart already aching at the situation before her. She knew what she had to do before she even stepped into the alley.
“Here,” she said, kneeling down before the urchin, “you need this more than I do.”
The boy hugged his knees to his chest, looking up at the stranger with fearful eyes.
“I—um—I’m sorry I don’t have anything else to give,” Eve managed.
He didn’t move.
Taking one final moment to reminisce in the softness of her mother’s work, Eve placed the sweater on the stone between them. “I’ll just… leave this here.”
She stood, clenching her jaw in resolution as she moved to vacate the alleyway. Eve paused before stepping back into the street as the sound of rustling fabric rang out behind her. She smiled.
Eve knew it wasn’t much, that it wouldn’t keep him fed or protect him from the dangers of the streets, but at least this lonesome child in a cold world might once again feel the shadow of a mother’s embrace.
As Evelia Greene returned to her warm bed at the adventurer’s guild with a bittersweet joy tugging at her chest, another Greene woman tucked herself beneath three layers of quilts miles away.
Martha sipped at her nightly hot cocoa, soothing herself the
way she always had when worrying after her adventurous daughter. She managed to spill some all over her nightgown when the notification popped up.
Life Quest Complete: Knit the comfiest sweater ever known.
She didn’t even bother to read the experience bonus or level up notifications or her quest reward. None of that mattered. All Martha cared about, and indeed all she needed to know, was the message itself and the truth it implied.
More than her skill as a Seamstress or expertise with a knitting needle, it celebrated one simple, incredible, wonderful fact.
Eve was okay.
Martha slept better than she ever had that night, the comfort of her bed or the warmth of her cocoa no match for that of the love in her heart.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
There's a Drake in my Boot
A WARRIOR, A mage, a healer, and a rather strange rogue walked together through a set of familiar hills. Not too long ago, this same quartet had made the journey here to do battle with a troll, an experience at least one of them would’ve preferred to forget. She had no such luck.
“I wonder if there’s still an Eve-shaped imprint in the grass somewhere around here.”
“Give me a moment and there’ll be a Wes-shaped one,” she snapped back.
“Woah there.” He held up his hands. “Violent today, aren’t we?”
“Well, we are on our way to kill something,” Preston chimed in.
Eve rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, I—um—didn’t sleep well last night.”
Wes’s voice turned gentle. “Would this have something to do with you showing up at the guild practically in tears?”
“Wait, what?” Preston gaped. He smacked Wes on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He turned to Eve, his expression immediately softening. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she insisted. “It’s just… I sent a letter to my ma a while back, and yesterday she replied with one of her sweaters. I gave it to this little orphan boy because he wouldn’t stop shivering and he was just so thin and…” she sighed. “Is it wrong that I kind of wish I’d kept it?”
This Quest is Broken! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 1) Page 22