by Pirateaba
“Not bad. We don’t need it, but I can mention it to some [Scouts] I know.”
“You think they’d want it?”
Halrac raised his eyebrows.
“This? Oh yes. If they can move around with less clothing on, it’s less to carry and less noise. They’ll buy it.”
“Adventurers too. Anyone wearing armor in the snow will want this.”
Ulrien made a face as he swallowed. He pushed the jar over to Selys. The Drake raised her hands.
“I can get grandma—uh, the Guild to sell this. But I’m not drinking it.”
“Aw. Come on Selys, it’s not that bad. And it works! Just try it!”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No, Erin.”
“Pretty please?”
“No.”
“Well, okay. But wait until you see this potion! It makes your skin tough! Do you want to try it, Seborn?”
Sitting across the room, drinking some hot beef broth and wondering if she could get in on Erin’s business transaction, Octavia was just about to get up when a shadow blocked the light. She looked up and saw a Gnoll.
That wasn’t surprising around Liscor, Gnolls being a good percentage of the city’s population. But Octavia had met few Gnolls in Celum. She gulped as this one loomed over her. It—she—spoke in a deep, growling voice.
“Hrm. You are Octavia, yes?”
“Yes?”
Octavia squeaked. Krshia smiled, baring all of her teeth.
“I am Krshia. A [Shopkeeper]. I am told you may wish to let me sell your potions, yes? Let us talk business.”
“You? But I—did Erin—”
Octavia glanced helplessly towards Erin, but Krshia had already pulled out a seat. Octavia did her best to pull herself together. A customer was a customer, and she was a master at selling.
“Well, Miss, uh, Krshia, I’m one of the three best [Alchemists] in Celum. I don’t like to brag, but I’ve sold potions to Gold-rank adventurers and I get commissioned regularly to do research creating new potions. Now, my brews might not be the most standard, but I can assure you that my percentage is quite reasonable. A fifty percent cut of all profits is a good place to start, but I could—”
“Mm. What is your level?”
The [Alchemist] broke off nervously. Krshia was just staring at her, unblinkingly.
“My—my level? Well, I think that’s a personal issue, and as we all know, levels don’t always correspond to Skills of c—”
“I will sell your potions, but if they are lower quality, I must price them as such, yes? And then…well, we shall see. I have many levels in my class, and that must be weighed, yes? If I, a high-level [Shopkeeper], were to sell your potions, I should get a better cut, yes?”
“Well, yes, but no, but—let’s talk effort here. I’m brewing the potions—”
“But I sell them, yes? I must sell your potions. If I do not sell, no one will buy, yes? So which is more important?”
“Hold on—if I didn’t make potions—”
Octavia’s mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare take a sip from her cup. She was fighting for something far more important than her life. The battle for the bigger bottom line was fought quietly in one corner of the inn. Tears were shed, and a little bit of blood. But on the whole, Erin thought she’d done a good job, especially when she saw the look on Octavia’s face afterwards.
—-
“It’s a pain in the ass.”
Halrac was talking to Erin at a table late at night. She was trying to look as attentive as possible. She hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with him since she’d come back, and she knew the man wanted to talk with her, even if he wouldn’t say it.
That was how the night was going. Sit at a table and chat. But don’t sit too long, because someone else would want to speak with her. Erin’s eyes hurt. She wanted to close them, but her friends were more important.
“How’s it a pain? I mean, this is a dungeon so I know there’s lots of monsters…”
“Monsters we could handle. If it were a nest we’d deplete their numbers and destroy their home. But this is a magical dungeon, one where the rooms keep changing. A trap room we disarm one day might be gone the next, and in its place an entirely new trap, or a room full of monsters.”
“And the traps are really bad, right? I’ve heard stories from Relc.”
“They’re some of the worse I’ve seen.”
Halrac shook his head, looking grimmer than usual.
“I’ve seen deadlier—the one that got your friends is probably worse than most of the ones in this dungeon. But there are so many that we can’t make any headway. And when we come back the next day…”
“They’ve changed.”
Erin whistled quietly and Halrac nodded. He took a sip of the drink Erin had made especially for him. There was just a drop of the faerie flower nectar in it, enough to take the edge of the day off.
“So far, a lot of kids have gotten killed and the others are making no headway. We’re the only group that’s gone in, and we have nothing to show for it.”
“Is there any hope? Or do you just…have to get lucky?”
Halrac shrugged.
“Right now we’re trying to identify all the rooms on rotation. If we can figure out the trick behind most of them, we might be able to break through to the next area. Then it’s just a matter of anchoring ourselves at that point. There are ways to stop a magical dungeon from changing. But it’s the crevasse the Mrsha child found that interests me. It goes straight down into another part of the dungeon.”
“And that’s good, right?”
“Maybe.”
The [Scout] seemed incapable of optimism. For good reason, as he explained to Erin.
“The problem with that is if we go down there, we’re walking into an attack on all sides. Multiple traps with wide ranges might come at us, and there are plenty of strong monsters down there. The dungeon is infested. When we went down to save the child, we ran into eight different species, some of which were fighting each other. If we hadn’t all been high-level, we wouldn’t have made it out.”
“Thank you for doing that, Halrac.”
“It was nothing. You should thank Zel Shivertail instead. He was the one who killed the most monsters.”
“Do you think he’d like to go into the dungeon with you guys?”
Erin saw Halrac smile, just once. She smiled too; her mission was partly accomplished.
“Him? He’s no adventurer. I wouldn’t have ever expected to fight beside him, but it was…good to see. But he wouldn’t risk his neck down there. It’ll be us.”
“And it’s worth doing?”
“Who knows?”
Halrac raised his eyebrows.
“There could be nothing down there, or an artifact beyond our wildest imagination. But we’re going to look anyways, because that’s what adventurers do.”
“Well, you can stay as long as you like. And I’ll have good food and a warm bed for you—and I want to see if Pisces really can rig up some kind of emergency teleport stone. If he does…I want you to all have one.”
Halrac smiled.
“You’re an odd [Innkeeper], Miss Solstice.”
“I know!”
“Thank you. It’s…pleasant being here.”
Erin smiled at him, and felt her eyes threatening to close.
“That’s all I want to hear. Would you like a refill?”
—-
And then it was night time. Somehow, everyone had vanished, leaving Erin alone in her inn. She sat at a table, head resting against the wall. It was dark. Snow was falling. Everyone had gone.
And Erin was beyond tired. She was so tired she had passed into that special realm where she was too tired to sleep. She stared out the window as the snow fell and made to bury the world. One last hurrah, before the weather turned and the world slowly began to warm.
“It’s going to be very, very deep tomorrow…I’ll have to shovel it…can’t open the door
I bet…”
Erin murmured dreamily to herself, slurring the words. They were just fragments of thought, things she had to do. She had so much to do.
“I forgot to get a Christmas tree. Oh well. I guess I can try tomorrow…”
One day to get everyone to buy presents. She had to figure out who would get what first—probably before she talked to anyone. So now or before dawn. And Erin had to get presents herself, get ready for the party—buy more food, figure out traditional Christmasy foods, decorate the inn…
If she pushed the date back she’d have more time. But Christmas came before the New Year’s, didn’t it? And the winter solstice was…well, as close to a New Year as this world had. The Frost Faeries probably only cared about the solstice, anyways.
“Solstice.”
Erin stared out the window. She breathed and the glass fogged up. Erin wiped away the condensation and stared into the snowy landscape.
So tired. But she’d done good, hadn’t she? She’d brought a game to this world, talked with everyone, helped Krshia, Octavia…but she was tired.
So tired. She’d wake up in a few hours. Before dawn. She had a lot to do. So Erin should sleep. She knew that. But she was too tired for that. She just wanted—well, she wanted so many things. But right now she just wanted to sleep.
Was today a bad day? No, it was good. Then why did Erin feel hollow inside? Miserable? Why would she feel like that?
If you’re sad, just smile. Had someone told Erin that once? Or was it just something she’d grown up knowing?
Her lips twitched. Erin smiled, and then let it fade. She stared out of the window, resting her head against the wall. Not crying. Not smiling. Just staring.
She felt just a little bit tired.
At some point, Erin fell asleep. But she wasn’t quite asleep. She hovered between waking and slumber, so that reality became a dream, but she was still thinking.
Smiles. She’d seen them today. That was what she’d set out to collect, like Santa getting his presents or the tooth faerie flying from bed to bed. They were such brief things, smiles. But they were so valuable. And Erin had collected so many…
A smile from Krshia. Brunkr’s bared teeth, determined, hopeful. Mrsha’s big smile as she licked honey off a paw. Lyonette’s mischievous grin as she fed Revi mushrooms. Relc happily eating the apple. Octavia and her gold. Jasi, performing. Bird, eating bees…
Fragments. In her dream, Erin reached out and gathered the glowing shards to her. They were the one light in a dark world filled with snow. But when she touched them, they melted and dripped from her hand. They fell down into the blackness and became stars. Erin looked down and found herself staring up into the sky. The clouds were gone, and the stars shone down. She smiled then, and she was smiling when Lyonette found her asleep the next day.
And the word that spread through the city, through two cities, was simple. It was a word never heard in this world before, a word that would not topple kings from their thrones or start revolutions. But it was a special word, nonetheless. It was something new, something that might be important, or might not. It was as important as people thought it was. But it was special to the girl who lay sleeping in her inn, too tired to lie down. It meant happiness. It was a word for joy, a word for the season. A word of power. A word from home.
A memory.
Christmas.
3.40
When Ryoka left the Mage’s Guild she found Reynold waiting for her. The young woman was not surprised; she let the [Butler] fall into step beside her as she walked slowly down the street.
Reynold was not smiling. Not that he was usually beaming; but he normally carried himself with professional impartiality. Right now he was not smiling and it was quite clear he was also not happy.
“Miss Ryoka. I trust your visit to the Mage’s Guild was eventful?”
“You tell me.”
“I trust I conveyed Lady Reinhart’s wishes to you earlier? My duty is to accompany you as an escort—”
“Yeah. But I’ll just bet that I had other people watching me while you were busy with Laken. Stop glaring, Reynold. I’m not in a good mood right now.”
Reynold glared, but he decided to shut his mouth after a second of wavering. Ryoka saw him glancing at her face. In truth, she wasn’t angry. She was more tired. No; tired wasn’t the right word.
Valceif Godfrey was dead. It felt like no one in the world knew or cared. But Ryoka did. She cared, but she had to finish her job here. Then she could go back and—tell everyone. Tell Erin, and Hawk, at least.
“How’d it go in the Merchant’s Guild?”
Ryoka frowned at the sky as she spoke. It was quite dark, although it shouldn’t have been so early. The clouds had completely obscured the sun and snow was beginning to fall. A lot of snow.
The [Butler]’s voice was testy as he replied.
“Mister Laken has concluded most of his business to his satisfaction. A shipment of goods and food has been paid for—and two adventuring teams have been contacted. If all goes well, they should be ready to begin transport this very night.”
“Good. Thanks for helping him.”
“It was my pleasure, Miss Ryoka. It is my privilege to serve others in need of my assistance…whether I like it or not, apparently.”
“Hah. You’re a lot more fun when you’re upset, Reynold.”
Ryoka half-smiled as she turned to look at him. Then she looked up again. Ryoka frowned and prodded at her belt pouch.
“Ivolethe? Hey, Ivolethe. What’s with all this crap floating down? We’re already up to our knees in the snow; why do we need more?”
She saw the pouch at her belt rustling, and then Ivolethe poked her head out. The Frost Faerie grinned as she spread her arms wide at the dark, snowy sky.
“Ah, you see it? Do you see your doom, floating down from above? Prepare for wrack and ruin, ye mortals! This snowstorm will be the greatest in a century, nay, in ten thousand years! The snow will cover the earth and leave none alive! This is the dawn of a new age of ice and woe! Alack! Despair!”
Ryoka stared down at Ivolethe with narrowed eyes. The faerie stared back, blinking innocently.
“What does ah, Miss Ivolethe have to say, Miss Ryoka?”
“She says we’re all doomed.”
“Oh.”
“Yep.”
The two Humans didn’t react the way Ivolethe was hoping for. She scowled, and then answered in a sulky tone of voice.
“A blizzard comes. You will see it become strongest by nightfall. It will last two…nay, three days at most. If you hide in your small huts of wood and stone, you should be fine.”
“Thanks for the weather update. Buh-bye.”
Ryoka closed the lid on her belt pouch. Ivolethe made a sound of pure outrage; Ryoka winced as her pouch instantly frosted over. The faerie pushed the lid open as Ryoka turned to Reynold.
“Is Laken still at the Guild? I want to speak with him.”
“I believe he has retired to his lodgings for the moment, Miss Ryoka.”
“Okay. Where are they?”
“I regret to say that he did not inform me.”
“Okay. Where are they?”
Ryoka stopped and turned to face Reynold. She folded her arms and scowled at him.
“Don’t play games, Reynold. I know that someone followed them.”
He just shook his head, stepping to one side to allow a group of laughing Gnolls to pass him by.
“Miss Ryoka, you assume that other servants under Lady Reinhart’s employ would be following you. I regret to inform you that this is not the case. There are a finite number of people who serve her, and it is hardly useful to send a [Maid] or a [Waiter] to follow someone.”
Ryoka rolled her eyes.
“Look, Reynold. I don’t have to see someone to know they’re there. I know Magnolia’s type. Someone’s following me, and probably Laken as well by now. Now, we can wander around while you pretend you have no idea where Laken is, or we can skip that and just
ask your friends.”
“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Miss Griffin.”
“Right. In that case—Ivolethe? Where’s the nearest spy?”
The Frost Faerie, who’s been poking her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch, brightened up. She smiled wickedly at Reynold. He was shaking his head almost imperceptibly at her. But Ivolethe ignored that as she gleefully pointed a finger into the crowd of pedestrians.
“There!”
Ryoka turned her head and saw an old man with a horrible skin condition—some kind of puffy warts on the right side of his face—slowly moving down the other side of the street. She ignored Reynold as he tried to block her and strode right for the man.
“Hey, you.”
The old man didn’t notice Ryoka at first, but he eventually stopped when she stepped in front of him and blocked his way. He swayed back, staring uncertainly at her—and then avidly at her breasts. He looked confused as Ryoka stared at him.
“Eh? What do you want, Miss?”
The young woman ignored the scrutiny. She stared down at the elderly man as Reynold hurried to her side, looking anxious.
“Where is Laken Godart?”
“Who? I don’t know who that is. What do you want?”
He tried to move past Ryoka. She blocked his way again. Now the old man was looking anxious. He looked exactly like an old guy – he even smelled old, if old was a smell. Nonenal, Ryoka thought it was called. She glanced down at her belt pouch, suddenly not entirely certain.
“Ivolethe, I swear, if you’re messing with me I’ll be really pissed.”
“I’m not!”
“Miss Ryoka, please—”
Ryoka turned to glare at the [Butler].
“Shut up, Reynold. Look, I know you’re in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. Are you going to give up the act, or do I have to make a scene?”
Ryoka stared down at the old man, not quite making a fist with hers. The old man glanced at Reynold. The [Butler] spread his arms helplessly behind Ryoka’s back. After a second, the old man sighed. He reached for a ring on one of his gnarled fingers and twisted—