Well Done

by Andrew Seiple

  “I don’t think they do that anymore,” Chase said, catching movement on one of the nearby rooftops. Whoever it was ducked out of sight before she could get a clear look at them, though. “Togas, I mean. The people that we’ve met so far are people that wouldn’t be too out of place in my hometown.”

  “Yeah. At least it’s still full of old gnomish stuff. Those clocks were around a millennia ago, that’s pretty amazing!”

  “I think it’s millennium.”

  “Yeah, at least a thousand years.”

  “Not exactly what I meant,” Chase started, but gave up. “Did Cagna have anything to say before she headed off?” She’d noticed the dog-woman dragging Bastien into another room before everyone split up, and heard some low conversation from behind the closed door. She hadn’t listened closely, in case... well...

  “She was just warning me about Speranza.” The Muscle Wizaard sighed. “Even though I didn’t need warning.”

  “She’s dangerous,” Chase said, glancing over to the rooftop across the way. Had that been more movement? Doubtful. But she was certain that they were being watched, now. “I can’t cure her madnesses permanently. They’re not her fault, but...”

  “...but we have to deal with the fact they exist and they might drive her to hurt us,” The Muscle Wizaard said. “Did you see that?”

  “We’ll be stopped in a few minutes, I think,” Chase nodded. “Probably once we get up to that narrow spot in the street. Did Cagna have anything else to say?”

  Eyes glittered under The Muscle Wizaard’s spectacles. “About what?”

  “You’ve got great charisma but you’re bad at playing innocent.” Chase smiled. “She likes you. As a man.”

  “No. She didn’t have anything to say on that front. Flex. Strong Pose.” He stretched as he walked, and as he did, his muscles writhed like serpents under a bedsheet. Stopping in the middle of the street he bent one knee, leaned forward, and twisted his arms up as his shoulders seemed to double in size. “Oooooh yeah! Almost time for the big show!”

  “No offense, but I’m thinking you two should just get together,” Chase said, ignoring the Wizaard’s buffs. “You’re good friends, and I’d like to see you happy.”

  The Muscle Wizaard almost fell over, but managed to refine his flailing into something like a set of workout steps. It was an impressive use of his charisma, that really showed off the practice he’d had with making physical motion look good. “I don’t... I mean...” he sighed. “She’s a beastkin.”

  “Oh,” Chase said, feeling her ears furl. “That’s a thing with you?” she had honestly thought better of her friend. But much to her relief, Bastien shook his head with frantic denial.

  “No! No no no, gods, no,” The Muscle Wizaard reaffirmed. “She’s lovely. We’re... compatible. Leave it at that. It’s just that Wizards and beastkin have a history.”

  “They do?” The end of the street was getting nearer, and Chase felt the tension rise in her throat. The conversation was helping keep her nerves under control. It distracted her mind from the possible trouble. First impressions are always the trickiest, she knew. “What sort of history?”

  “Once upon a time there was a Wizard named Eesop Moro. He dabbled in transmutation... an old style of magic that isn’t around anymore. Not with most Wizards, anyway. Thing is, he had some odd tastes and he was pretty vile. He captured people and experimented on them, found ways to mix in bits and pieces of animals. He ended up making beastkin. But the thing was, he didn’t do it for magical knowledge, or money, or anything like that. He did it because he really, really liked the idea of catgirls. And he didn’t really care if they liked him or not so long as they couldn’t stop him from having his... fun.”

  Chase stopped and stared. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying? They hang people for that here!”

  “Yeah. Which is why Moro was an exile with a big bounty on his head from the countries that neighbored his tower. But he was powerful and nobody could really stop him.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Just because nobody could really stop him didn’t mean people didn’t try,” The Muscle Wizaard smiled. “There were heroes even then. And eventually a group got past his magical defenses, and broke into his tower. Do you know what they found?”

  “If there’s any justice in the world, they found his corpse,” Chase frowned.

  “Then you’ll be happy to know there is. They found his lab wrecked, his place looted, and his gnawed bones buried in a latrine. There was nobody and nothing else there. In the years that followed, beastkin started turning up in the neighboring lands. And they’ve been around ever since. But... most of them are very, very wary around Wizards. So you can see that it presents difficulties.”

  “Why?” Chase frowned. “It’s not like you’re a real—”

  She shut her mouth with an audible snap.

  Chase had almost told him he wasn’t a real Wizard. She’d almost said that to a man who had spent most of his conscious life trying to be a Wizard.

  WIS+1

  “What was that now?” Bastien asked, and there was something in his voice, just an undertone that told her she’d almost done a horrible, horrible thing to one of her best friends.

  “It’s not like you’re evil. Because Moro certainly was. You’re one of the best humans I know, and you’d make her happy. I know it,” Chase said.

  “Perhaps,” he said, lifting his head to study the large stone arch they were about to cross under. “But the first move is hers. If I push her she’ll withdraw, so until and unless she makes it clear she wants more from me, I’ll wait and see.”

  Chase was just about to use her Foresight, when someone spoke from above. “Halt! Who goes there?”

  And instantly Chase felt her nerves settle.

  You didn’t say Halt who goes there if you were planning violence. That was the sort of thing that you only said when you were worried about violence. Someone who halted people was far more likely to talk things out, and that was what Chase had come here to do.

  Mind you, there would be violence if things worked out. Sort of.

  “That’s your cue,” The Muscle Wizaard whispered. “Remember how to do it?”

  “Just like we discussed!” Chase whispered back, feeling a grin creep across her face. Then she pulled her mask down and got to work.

  “LAAAAAADIIIIEEEES AND GEEEEEENTLEMEN! IN THIS CORNER, PLEASE WELCOME THE NEW CHALLENGER!”

  Her voice bounced and echoed out of the archway, into the court beyond, and down the empty streets like thunder in the mountains. It faded, and as it did, she could hear doors and windows opening.

  Whoever was up top coughed. “Er... ah.... what?”

  “HE’S THE MASTER OF MAGIC! THE SORCEROR OF SMITE! THE ARCANE AAAAAAANNNNNNNIIIIHIIIIILAAAAATOOOOORRRRR! AND HE’S HERE TO ROCK! YOUR!! WORLD!”

  Oh yeah, there they came.

  For days the people had been huddled in their homes, waiting for the dragon to burn them out. Rioters had swept through their streets, survival had become their first priority, and their neighborhood had been co-opted by a prophet of doom. But that wasn’t the worst part of it.

  The worst part of it, Chase knew, was the boredom.

  Chase knew people. Knew them well enough that she knew sitting around doing nothing was absolute anathema to most, and this lot had been forced into doing just that for far too long.

  And that gave Chase and Bastien an in.

  “Did Portia put you up to this?” The person up top was definitely a man, and definitely very confused. “You’re having a go at me, aren’t you?”

  “Theme Song,” Bastien said, and strolled forward as brassy, glorious string music pealed out through the air, an invisible orchestra timed to his steps as he moved, boots crunching in the layer of ash below. He sauntered right through the archway, hopped up onto a long-dry fountain, and stretched, making his muscles dance. “OOOOOOooooooh yeah!” he bellowed. “Let’s spell it up! I’m here to prove that my wre
stling wizardry is superior!”

  Someone cleared his throat behind her. “Excuse me?”

  Chase flinched, and looked around to find a robed figure with several more behind her. All had faces smeared with ash in patterns that looked deliberate.

  The effect was a bit sinister, and thoroughly spoiled by the thoroughly gobsmacked expression on the robed woman’s face. “Excuse me? Is he lost? Or crazy? I mean, madness is understandable...”

  “Mad? No!” The woman flinched back as Chase yelled, and the rest of the robed figures moved in...

  “Silent Activation, Foresight,” Chase mouthed, and smiled as she saw things unfold without lethality. She darted ahead of them, raising her voice even more. “He’s not mad; he’s magical! The Muscle Wizaard has descended from his tower to dispense magery most mighty! He’s got a magical mandate with a sweet silvery surprise for the daring and dexterous doer of deeds who can win in a fearsome and frantic fight to the first fall! Do you dare risk the awesomeness of the arcane annihilator?”

  The group at her back paused. Now people were pouring out of the nearby buildings, assembling at the edges of the ring, their excitement palpable. Dread was draining, replaced by curiosity and anticipation.

  And to Chase’s joy, she saw a few people at the fringe of the forming crowd pause, assess things with the hard eyes of capitalistic gain, and run back inside to grab wares. In short order, there were Merchants hawking food, drinks, and chairs for the spectacle to come.

  “One pouch of silver if you can pin me!” boomed The Muscle Wizaard. “Who wants to try to break the wall of force that I’ll bring down on their heads like minute meteors! I’ll lock you tighter than a web spell and bring you to the ground so fast you’ll think you’ve been greased!”

  The robed people at her back gave up on questions and joined the crowd, and Chase set to hyping them up further. This was what Thomasi had done for Bastien. This was what the player had taught him, when Bastien became The Muscle Wizaard; how to set crowds up, how to get butts in seats, and how to make’em ‘pop’.

  And soon enough a big guy got pushed forward. Probably a local laborer or brawler or something of the sort. Chase ran up to him smiling and he flinched, as she took his hand and pushed it upward. “THEEEEE FIRRRRSSSST CHALLLENGEEER!” she yelled. Then in a lower tone, under the roar of the crowd, she said “Hey, welcome! What’s your name?”

  “Uh, what?”

  “Your name, man! I’ll say it so that it sounds great and people will cheer!” They were already cheering and shouting encouragement, but the man’s doughy, scarred face brightened a bit.

  “M’name’s Guido.”

  “GIVE IT UP FOR GIIIINORRRMOUS GUUUUIIIIIDDDOOOOO!”

  And they did.

  Guido’s face broke into a huge grin as he turned and held up both hands, not just the one she’d pushed up. He basked in the adoration of the crowd, doing a few turns back and forth.

  Chase actually had to tug at his shirt to get him to turn back to her. “Okay, strip down a bit and go wrestle! Don’t worry about holding back. The Muscle Wizaard will make you look good, whatever you do!”

  And he did.

  Guido came in swinging, and The Muscle Wizaard dodged around, taking hits on his arms and occasionally letting one through. But Chase had seen him fight in earnest, and she knew that his grunts of pain were faked, that his exaggerated winces were simply that. The crowd ate it up... and then they got into the clinches, and Chase could just manage to see the Wizaard’s beard twitch around his mouth as he whispered instructions to Guido. Red numbers flew and rolled, and Chase grinned ear to ear.

  “Excuse me?” Someone whispered behind her, and she turned to see a small line forming behind a shifty-looking man. “Is it okay if... er... well, we’d like to bet on the fight. Do you handle that? Are you the person to talk to?”

  Chase’s grin grew until it hurt her face.

  Honestly, the hardest part about it all was keeping things straight. She finally dug into her pack and pulled out paper, tearing it up for makeshift tickets while keeping a weather eye on the bout. She needn’t have bothered, really. Bastien had things under control.

  Until finally, it was done. “Magic missile!” thundered the Wizaard and hurled Guido out into a nearby patch of darkness. There was a solid THUD, some very big red numbers, and a groaning Guido.

  The plaza held their collective breath.

  “It’s all right! He’s alive!” called out the robed woman who had accosted Chase earlier.

  “Time to settle bets!” Chase announced. “Ten minute break, then we’ll move on to the next challenger!” And there would be a next challenger. She could already see the line forming. In the center of the ring, sweat glistening on his body and forming a blackish-gray paste with the ash, The Muscle Wizaard stood triumphant.

  And after the bets were settled, Chase got a very, very pleasant surprise.

  You are now a level 3 Gambler!

  LUCK+5

  PER+5

  You are now a level 4 Gambler!

  LUCK+5

  PER+5

  “So that’s how I can raise it!” she burst out. Chase had been wondering how to get more out of that job, wondering why it didn’t level no matter how often she practiced throwing with her cards, or using the skills.

  You had to be involved in actual gambling. That was the trick of it. Or maybe you actually had to have something on the line? This whole ploy HAD been risky.

  Then she blinked, as her sharpened perception caught a few things she’d missed the first time around. Like how the robed woman was standing back and talking with the rest of the robed group, and the body language that the others were showing toward her. How the crowd cast nervous glances at the woman every now and then, probably seeking her approval of the spectacle.

  She didn’t look like much, not really. Like a middle-aged housewife, her hair tucked back in a bun that made the cowl of her robe puff up a bit. A soft body that had probably borne a few children. No one special, not some heroine out of the stories.

  And Chase gasped in realization as the woman caught her looking and muttered “Foresight.”

  Chase nodded in satisfaction, knowing that she had about ten seconds to act. She marched forward...

  ...and stuck up her hand. “Hi! I’m Chase. I work for Hoon. You?”

  “Corinthia. I ah... Nebs chose me, I guess.” The woman shook it, without hesitation. Her face showed endless relief. “I’m glad you’re here to help. I barely know what I’m doing, and we don’t have much time.”

  “Time? What’s going to happen when time runs out?”

  “The dragon’s going to end the world.”

  CHAPTER 11: AFTERNOON TEA

  Corinthia did not live in an insula. Corinthia’s house was small but had its own courtyard, tucked back in among a row of houses just like it or close enough as to make no difference. She had a neatly kept little garden with lawn humans around them, tiny statues of people fishing or farming or doing other typical human things such as engaging in conquest or being needlessly anxious.

  “It’s just me now,” Corinthia said, leaving the rest of the robed bunch outside and ushering Chase in through a brightly-painted door.

  Inside, piles of dolls easily half Chase’s height filled the sitting room, bundles of herbs next to the windows rustled in the wind, and the smell of camphor and soap drifted over it all.

  It was cozy, in a way that Chase hadn’t seen since she’d left Bothernot and it hit her with an unexpected longing. She was far, far from home. That was more of a good thing than a bad thing, but still.... but still...

  “My husband passed on four years ago. I’m not sure why. He was so young, so healthy...” Corinthia’s eyes tightened. The skin around them was worn and tight, wrinkles showing the hard life she’d had. “I dwelled on it, sought out answers. Not all of the ways I went looking were legal. I suppose that’s what brought me to the goddess’ attention.” She sighed and shifted aside a porcelain doll. “Please, s
it. Would you care for tea?”

  “I would and thank you,” Chase said, as her belly rumbled. Food was tight, and she had been hungry since the moment she’d woken. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll see him again.” Corinthia’s face smoothed out, as she looked down and smiled. “That’s what she told me, the last time we met.”

  “I’m going to guess you spoke to Nebs twice, then? I think that’s how the rules go.”

  “Once before we gain the job. Once during. And once... well, after. You know. I’ve had two. And soon it might be three.” Corinthia hung her robe on a nearby hook, next to a dirty apron and a pair of heavy canvas gloves hanging from a string. “Let me see about that tea.”

  Chase settled in the clear spot that the widow had made, absently patting the head of a nearby doll as the cushion she sat on flexed, and dropped it into her lap. Someone else might find it creepy, she supposed, but she and Corinthia shared an uncommon job. There was a sort of kinship there, an understanding that people without it couldn’t achieve. It was why she had left Bastien to his own devices and accepted the woman’s invitation to her home without worrying about ambush or some other betrayal.

  Corinthia was curious about Chase.

  That gave her room to work. And she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about Corinthia herself. Oracle was a rare trade. She’d never met anyone else who followed that path.

  “What’s Nebs like?” she asked when Corinthia returned with a steaming pot and a tray of biscuits.

  “Busy,” Corinthia said, and Chase snorted laughter. Nebs was the goddess of death, of course she was busy. Corinthia continued; “She seemed surprised to see me, then told me that I could be helpful. She said that in thirty days a great dragon would arrive in Gnome, and her shadow would grow to corrupt and destroy the world.”

  “What?” Chase stared in amazement. “That’s very precise. I can’t believe you got that accurate a prophecy!”