by D. Rus
Yeah. Never mind. So what's with the lack of soft furnishings?
Allow me to explain. The castle generates three hundred universal points an hour. You can spend them on restoration, building works or upgrading the existing facilities, including interior design. At the moment, six universal points are available. This will only be enough for the simplest of all devices meant to support a human body in a seated position.
A chair, I presume? I don't need a fancy one, just something to rest my backside on. Go ahead and generate it.
I'd suggest you wait another seven minutes. That would allow you to order a Gothic Chair #52 from the Miserly Knight collection I have just finished downloading.
It sounded a bit suspect. I frowned, "Don't tell me it was a pop-up ad. You're not going to hang the castle walls with banners and promote panty liners via the intercom? I hope not. And please, none of those oak chairs with high straight backs. Let the designers themselves get numb bums from them. I personally prefer ergonomic soft furniture. Now, where's my chair?"
The emotion the Castle AI sent me was the mental equivalent of a shrug. The air quivered with a snap and I realized I should have waited. On the floor stood a handmade stool, rough and wobbly. Oh, well. Haste makes waste. Now I had to keep this contraption out of principle to make sure I didn't forget that particular old adage again. I crouched gingerly and swayed on it trying to balance myself. At least I wouldn't fall asleep on it. I had too many things to take care of.
"AI, do you hear me? Is there a master suite in the donjon?"
Yes, there is. The entire sixth level.
"How much time would it take to restore it to a medium comfort level?
Castle AI paused for a moment. Approximately ten to fourteen days depending on the chosen design.
Too long. "How about guest rooms, then?"
Yes, Master. Fourth level. Six detached suites.
"Excellent. I want you to restore one every couple of days. Just a bed, a table, a chair or two and a fireplace. Look up a few ready-made designs and send them to me, I'll choose one. You think you can do it?"
Yes, Master. I will start now.
Excellent. That would give him something to do. In the meantime, Master—myself, that is—would get busy cashing in on his skills and statuses.
I opened the auction and checked my auto buy's anonymity settings. Full-blast paranoia, that's my boy. The vendor is only known by his number, all correspondence redirected, no way to identify him. So—what did we have to offer the world?
I opened a new window and generated a new auction. A few minutes later, I entered the first lot:
A unique raid buff for sale. Effect: +25% to all kinds of magic resistance, +10% to physical damage resistance. Duration: 12 hrs.
The success or failure of your raid is in your hands!
Offered on condition that the buff will not be used in raids targeting worshippers of the Fallen One, their clans or castles.
Price: 30,000 gold
Not too expensive, especially considering the price of the Spark. Still, this was a reusable offer so it should generate a trickle of steady money my way.
Next one:
A unique offer! A raid portal to Inferno! Hurry before your rivals beat you to the ancient castles of their demon lords!
The offer includes a one-way group portal. Return is done under one's own steam, via respawning or teleporting.
Price: one-week's public auction, bids start with 1 gold.
Good! What next?
Only a perma player can appreciate the choice of Macaria as their patron deity. Unique offer: her priest will personally consecrate you to the Goddess of Blissful Death.
Potential buyers are invited to teleport to the point given by the vendor. The consecration rite is 100% anonymous.
Price: 10,000 gold
The next lot—or rather, my pack of trump aces:
A unique offer for big clans or connoisseurs: the First Priest will ordain you as a Dark Priest. Bring your clan under the protection of the Fallen One and secure your people's immortality.
Price: 1,000,000
I reread it and paused, thinking. Was it the right thing to do, really? The price was high, but in all honesty I could add another zero and still our oligarchs would cringe and pay it. And what was I supposed to do with that clique of professional schemers with their security services, analytics departments and cellars full of gold? How sure was I they wouldn't cut me out and start their own game that wouldn't do any favors to the name of the Fallen One, his religion or his First Priest? Those gentlemen were the opposite of cute and cuddly: those were sharks who'd survived the Second Depression, the Dictatorship of the State and the New NEP. They'd swallow me whole without even noticing.
That wasn't the way to do it. Hadn't I said myself just lately that cadres were key? And was I really going to apply the trial and error approach to this crucial step? Next thing I knew, I'd have a quiet modest man sitting in one of the Temple rooms under a sign, First Secretary Comrade Stalin who would start placing his own men in all key posts. Before I knew it, he'd hold a re-election campaign which would demote me to the post of junior carpet sweeper. No. I had to think it over, then think again and again some more. I blinked, sending the finished description into the Recycle Bin and made a mental note to deal with it later.
Next. Deactivating a castle shield. The altar's help allowed me to cast a High Spell while the Shadow of the Fallen One secured my anonymity. Still, I wasn't going to auction off something that scandalous. I'd have to look for potential buyers myself.
I opened the long-forgotten news feed, the section of war conflicts. Most clans were constantly in a state of smoldering vendetta with each other. I was sure I could find someone interested enough.
The OMON clan has besieged two central castles belonging to the Gold Net trade clan. The latter have hired large mercenary units which makes the outcome rather unclear. If you remember, OMON members have taken and resold three standalone castles in the last few months, all belonging to second-division clans.
The Pratz clan has been besieging a private castle on the border of No Man's Land without success. The point of their activity is dubious as they don't seem to have the potential to breach the shield.
The Korean farm alliance has completed a raid on the human city of Humas. Within the last twenty-four hours, they have taken and destroyed four nearby castles and a dozen mansions. The persistent Koreans seem to be quite happy with the twenty percent profits paid out for destroyed property. Insurance companies are said to have raised their premiums.
Last night, a blitz operation carried out by the Ninja Looters resulted in the taking of Silver Citadel, a strategic point covering access to the mines of the same name. An anonymous source claims the success of the operation was the result of treachery by a senior guard officer who had apparently leaked the portal access codes to the attackers. Reportedly, the officer in question is a professional spy specializing in this kind of one-off operation. It had taken him over a year to prepare the mission. Having joined the clan after a period of express leveling, he excelled in his duties, enjoying a quick career growth which culminated in a lump sum of over a million gold for the valuable intelligence. Consequently, he deleted the character concerned.
Oh. I scratched my head. These guys played big. The Looters now had a half-a-million dollar castle. And the patient spy, a hundred grand for a year in the game. Now he'd go to the Maldives for a well-deserved month in the sun before registering a new character. So how were we supposed to protect ourselves against his type?
I remembered the incident with the tobacco smoke turning into soap bubbles, giving away the nondescript individual who'd been trying to worm his way into the Vet's clan. Wonder if my invention had saved the Veterans that day from professional infiltration like the one above?
I had gleaned something, anyway. Now I had some idea of the prices people were prepared to offer for breaching a castle's defenses. In all honesty, I didn't feel like offering my services to an
y of the clans involved in current military actions. I had an idea, though. It looked as if most of the OMON forces were drawn to the besieged castles. What if I offered their victims the possibility to counterattack? I could remove any shield from any of the castles mentioned by the vendors. All they needed to do was assault it which would probably allow them to alter the situation and save their property, making a nice few bucks on the side. I could also make a similar offer to the ex-owners of the Silver Citadel. I had a funny feeling they wouldn't say no to the opportunity to bring it back under their control.
Very well. A quick search brought me the names of clan leaders of both Gold Net and Minediggers. I created an anonymous mail address and sent them my offer. They could forward their payment via official middlemen who, for a mere two percent, would make sure that all parties respected the fine print. All I had to do was remove the dome shield of a specific castle at a specified time. Price quoted: one million. That was it. Now I could sit back and watch the sharks and whales swarm into my net.
A double clink of gold informed me of the first bite. Sold: one dedication to Macaria and one raid offer. I was forty grand richer. Things were moving!
Clink, clink! Another bite!
Chapter Fourteen
I spent the following three hours networking non-stop, sifting through the messages that were pouring into the anonymous box. While the bulk of the letters were from the doubting and the curious and didn't merit immediate attention, those from serious buyers I had to answer on the spot as I tried to come up with the logistics of the impending operation. It looked as if it was going to be something truly extraordinary. Already I had over a hundred fifty people on the dedication list and more kept coming every minute. When two messages were dropped almost simultaneously into my inbox—two leading clans wanting to know the details—I finally realized I was losing my grip on the situation.
I closed the virtual keyboard and, forgetting, tried to lean back, losing my balance on the wobbly stool. Damn their cabinet makers!
AI's soft voice resounded in my head. Master, I've taken the liberty of saving 29 American dollars. May I offer you something to replace this sorry excuse for a chair with an ergonomic six-setting adjustable recliner bed?
What was it he'd blabbered about his emotions having been removed? His voice was rife with sleek sarcasm. I should have taught him a lesson of course, by refusing his offer and leaving myself to suffer in silence. But my heart was craving some comfort.
"Deal, you smooth operator. Where's your chair now?"
Name the desired color, please.
"Fucking purple!"
What kind of upholstery would you prefer?
"Whatever! Suede!" My annoyance started to affect my struggle with the stool's four uneven legs. Why would anyone make something like that?
The closest local analog would be the skin of a sand lizard. Unfortunately, it will increase the price of the desir-
"Chair—now!" I snapped. I didn't care anymore.
The air parted, materializing this marvel of modern design and medieval technology. With a yelp, I plonked myself onto its suede cushions and groaned with delight.
"Well done! As a reward please accept your new name: Lurch! I hereby allow you to use one percent of all the units generated for your own needs, on the condition that your activity doesn't hurt me or the castle's functions. Use it as you see fit. You could get yourself a gold weathercock or some fancy railing, you get the idea.
AI paused. Finally he spoke, his voice shaking with emotion. Thank you, Master. You've no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.
"You're welcome, Lurch. How about a bit of celebration? Some lemon tea, how about that? No chance of any cookies, I suppose? What's the situation on the kitchen front?"
AI's voice was filled with drama and regret. "The kitchen unit is status orange making it impossible to prepare dishes of over 80 difficulty. But that's not the problem. We're completely devoid of kitchen staff. Unfortunately, I don't have access to the kitchen interface. I would recommend hiring eleven sentient beings as castle staff in order to secure a bare minimum of habitability."
Bummer. More expenses. Still, he had a point. He might be a bit greedy but a castle needed some staff. I fiddled with the settings, and after five minutes the room filled with voices. First thing I hired three human chambermaids with cute faces and random-generated characters. It was more fun that way. I didn't quite get why a pretty face cost five hundred a month while the same character with the same functions but looking like an old hag was two hundred. I just hoped Taali didn't find out that I'd had choice, or she'd demand I replace all supermodel types with helpful old ladies.
Next I created a corpulent cook with +500 Culinary skill. She cost me more than all the chambermaid chicks put together, but once I'd studied the list of her skills, I gulped in expectation and pressed Confirm double quick. The portly lady's bloodline counted at least five different races endowing her with all the secrets of the numerous Elven, Dwarven, and human cuisines as well as some special meat recipes à la Orc. She also had direct access to the ingredients auction and her own bank balance which was the first thing I filled when I'd created her. Now that I had the food department out of the way, I told her to get some tea ready and went back to my work.
The incoming messages had been flashing at me for ages. I opened my inbox and hiccupped with astonishment. The auto broker balance had already exceeded three million, the number of those willing to surrender themselves into Macaria's gentle hands had reached two hundred eighty. But what made my day was the letter from the Vets where General Frag personally was asking the anonymous priest about the terms of having a seven hundred-strong clan dedicated. The General put it plainly that seven million was a bit thick and that two million would do the job nicely plus the dubious addition of their gratitude. The Vets didn't change, did they? They were still not averse to trading their friendship and pressurizing everyone with their authority. Two more similar letters from other clan leaders were still awaiting my answer.
That wasn't all. There was also a flagged letter from the auction admins informing me they had temporarily blocked the assets in my account until I fulfilled all commitments to my customers. They had assigned me a personal manager as a controller who'd just sent me another letter, introducing himself and asking about the time and place of the upcoming ritual. I clutched at my head, groaning. I needed more staff! I wasn't made of steel. Having one head had also proved pretty inadequate. But I had to make do with whatever I had at hand.
I concentrated, trying to remember my bind point. It had to be the Vet's portal hall. I sent a message to my mini-clan (Cryl and Lena, that was the extent of it) telling them to meet me in my apartment. Then I wrote to Frag asking him for an urgent meeting of paramount importance to the Vets, ideally in the East Castle. Two minutes later, the General replied saying he was expecting me in his office and that I had better be quick as 'it's like Israel and the end times here; the arrival of the Fallen One has changed the lay of the land and the clan is delirious with excitement'.
Clear enough. I looked around, checking if everything was under control, and wistfully canceled the tea break. I was about to teleport when something in my newly-acquired environment caught my eye. I gave the room another scanning glance. The unhappy cook, purse-lipped, was placing her pretty china teapots and cookie plates back onto their tray; one of the chambermaids fussed about arching her back and darting her vibrant eyes as she polished the newly-materialized table with a pristine white cloth brushing away the non-existent crumbs. Crumbs. Fragments. That was it! Yes! I needed to hire a hundred cleaners to sweep the entire space inside the inner wall, collect all the scrap mithril and pile it into neat little piles.
In my mind's eye, I reached for the charm on my neck, activating the castle control menu. I scanned through the unfolding submenus until I got to recruiting. Non-combat staff, cleaning services. Chimneysweeps, plumbers, various moppers and sweepers. The latter were exactly what we needed,
including their foreman. His wages were three times those of his workers but he allowed me to delegate the task of running his brush brotherhood. In total, they cost mere peanuts even though they admittedly took up a lot of staff positions.
A troop of little goblins filled the room, armed with brooms, dustpans, buckets and some totally arcane cleaning tools. Immediately I realized quite a few of the mistakes I'd made. Firstly, I didn't really need to hire this cartload of chimpanzees for a month. I should have paid ten percent more and just kept them for five to seven days. My second mistake was ticking the 'character: random' box. Already those green monsters were making a sparrow-like racket, pushing and shoving each other, a few of them rolling on the floor in disagreement.
"Out, everyone! Out into the court! Line up!" I yelled, confirming my command with an almighty kick that sent flying the two goblins who were fighting over some especially good broom.
I hurriedly summoned their foreman, ran through his options and increased his strength, aggression, diligence and desire to please his patron. That was another fifty gold a month gone, but I had to be sure he was able to run his menagerie with an iron hand.
The ash gray goblin was middle-aged and covered in old scars. His stance commanded respect. He studied the surroundings and stroked the bamboo stick he carried as weapon.
"What can I do for you, Master?" he lowered his head.
I glanced at his stick. "You'll be Harlequin," I said remembering the Italian commedia dell'arte character whose job was meting out blows to the ever-sad clown Pierrot.
The goblin stood up straight. His eyes glistened, his back bending lower in a bow. "Thank you, Master."
They all seemed to have funny reactions to the name-giving procedure. Could it have something to do with the divine spark the Fallen One had mentioned? When we singled someone out, raising them over the homogenous faceless crowd by giving them a name, were we not breathing life into them? I really had to find out my Hell Hound's moniker or present her with one.