“You want for something for drink, milord?” a little girl asked. Roan took his eyes from the street long enough to give her a quick look. She was maybe seven. She had huge sea-grey eyes, dirty blonde hair, grit beneath her fingernails and was so skinny and small that her waitress uniform was pinned in six different places just to keep it from falling off of her.
“What’s good?” He didn’t trust the girl, the cafe or anything about the city. Still, he was thirsty and he knew he’d have to drink sometime.
“I like the rice wine.”
He had just turned to look at the street, however this statement brought him around. “You drink wine? That’s pathetic. Where’s your mother? Someone should give her a good slap.” The harsh words just seemed to leap out of his mouth and he regretted them, though why, he couldn’t quite grasp.
“My mom? She’s a happy-girl on K Street. Sometimes she gets slapped, but most of the time she doesn’t. She says that she does it right and I should learn to do it right, too.”
Roan sat back in astonishment. “Are you saying your mom is a prostitute? And-and she wants you to be a prostitute as well?”
“I don’t think so,” the girl replied with a shrug. One side of her dress slid off her thin shoulder revealing bruises. “I’m saying she’s a happy-girl, you see? I don’t know what a prostitute is. Is that when a…” At the bar a sickly man in a green shirt and brown vest clapped his hands twice and gestured hard toward Roan.
She bobbed her head and asked Roan a second time, “You want for something for drink, milord?”
Since he couldn’t sit there without ordering, he asked for white wine. “In a clean glass.”
“We don’t have no glass. We have a shiny copper mug if you’re feeling fancy, but Rinely will charge you an extra silver to use it.” He told her to bring him the copper mug. When she was gone, he went back to staring at the people in the street. He was probably no more than a mile from the spawn point and the crowds were much thinner. Most of the people in view were just plain townsfolk going about their business; a few were adventurers in small groups, and some were young toughs in gangs of five or six.
What he didn’t see were normal guards like he’d seen in every other Daggerland city he’d ever been to. It was too bad since the gangs strolling up and down the street seemed to throw a chill over everyone they passed. The shopkeepers would bow and the commoners would hurry out of their way.
“Your wine, milord.” It wasn’t the girl serving him, it was the pale man from the bar; Rinely, Roan supposed. He only half offered the wine to Roan, holding it close to his chest. “It’ll be four silvers.”
It was a bit steep in price and normally Roan would have paid it and simply not ordered another glass. “I’ll pay three or you can take it back.”
“I opened a new bottle just for you, milord. And no one pours wine back into a bottle.”
“Then drink it yourself.”
Rinely had a dagger thrust into his belt, but Roan wasn’t too concerned. He was a big, intimidating man and just at the moment, he had a strong desire for Rinely to touch the hilt of the dagger. It was almost like a hunger. A hunger to spill this insolent barkeep’s guts onto the floor—just to teach him a lesson.
It was an aura around Roan and Rinely must have felt it. “Of course, milord, I suppose three silvers is more than fair.” (Intimidation Successful XP +20) Rinely had been pushed around on the price but still didn’t set down the wine. He wanted payment first, which Roan, in his pauper-like noob clothes, could understand.
Roan placed a gold piece on the table. “Have the girl bring me my change.” He didn’t like Rinely and knew that if he had to put up with his presence much longer, he’d snatch the dagger from his belt and use it to swirl his guts around. When Rinely left, Roan shook his head and reached for the wine. He needed something to take the edge off his anger.
Luckily for Rinely, the wine wasn’t bad. Roan drank it quickly and was done before the little girl could show up with his change. “Here, milord. It’s seven silvers. You can count it if you wish.”
He handed four back to her. “Another glass.” She looked at the four and started to open her mouth. “The extra silver is for you,” he told her. “Buy yourself some candy or something.”
“Yes, milord,” she said and rushed away. She was back in a minute, carefully carrying the copper mug with two hands. When she set it down, she beamed at Roan, making him regret the tip he’d given her. Like feeding a stray cat, he was now sure he’d never get rid of her.
Still, she could have her uses. “Where’s the closest place that sells arms and armor?”
With a crooked arm she pointed up the street. “On R Street to the right, which is this way.” She pointed repeatedly, demonstrating which way right was. “But you don’t want to go there. That’s the territory of the K Street Killers and they’ll more ’n likely jump you just for crossing the boundary. Unless you bribe them not to and that might be up to a gold or more.”
Unarmed and weak as he was, Roan guessed that it would cost him more than that. “Okay, where would you suggest?”
She shrugged and went to ask Rinely. “He said to go that way.” She pointed back the way he had come, back towards where he had eluded the gang of thieves. “It’s Ghak territory, but they ain’t nothing, least ways that what he says. He says he friendly with the Ghak boss, but I don’t know about that.” This last she added in a whisper, her little hand covering her mouth. “He comes in for a drink every week but it’s only to collect his cut not cuz he likes Rinely or nothing.”
This was a lot of information to take in. Roan felt like his head was spinning so he set down the copper mug. “Are you saying that this city is run by different gangs?”
“Oh no, it’s run by the mafias and the cartels. Everyone knows that.”
Hookers, killers, mafia, cartels…Roan reached for the glass of wine once more and took a hefty swig. “I just don’t get people. This is supposed to be a game.” The girl opened her mouth. “Never mind. What about an inn? Do you know a place?”
“Rinely doesn’t let me near the inns. He says they’ll devalue me. ‘Sides they all have bed-bugs. But I know the cook-lady in back is looking to rent a room. Her son done run off and her man got killed ages ago.”
“Does she live close?”
The girl shrugged. “I think so. Hey, are you going to finish your wine?” Roan had stood and stretched, his back cracking. She was looking at the wine eagerly and with a shrug, he pushed the half-filled mug to her. It was wrong of him, but this city seemed to be filled with wrongs and this was the least among them.
2—
Roan went to the back of the cafe to where Rinely stood, a calculating look going on behind his watery eyes. Roan didn’t care for the look or the man wearing it. “You have a cook here who is looking to rent out a room. I would like to talk to her and if you tell me she’s busy, you’ll regret it.” Back home it had been after nine o’clock, here, it felt like three in the afternoon. The place was mostly empty. There were only a few other customers, sipping ale and eating what looked like sausage stew.
Rinely backed away from Roan, calling out, “Beckwen? You have a visitor.”
A woman of about thirty-six came from the rear of the cafe. She approached warily with shrewd eyes. Roan had expected a bit of an old hag, however the woman was far from ugly. All the same, she would have benefitted from make-up, a new wardrobe, and a hairstylist.
“I need a room,” Roan stated, not bothering with any preamble. “How much?”
She looked him up and down. “Fifteen silvers a month. Board will be extra if you wish it. Can you pay?”
The question rankled him. Who was this woman to ask him if he could pay a paltry fifteen…Roan forced himself to take a deep breath. “Let’s see it.”
With Rinely’s permission, Beckwen took Roan on an odd route to her apartment. They went through the kitchen to the back of the building, crossed an alley filled with dirt and trash to another buildin
g which had a staircase on the outside, reminding Roan of a fire escape.
They went up four floors and entered the building, moving through a mostly straight hall. There were dozens of doors on either side. A few were open giving Roan a glimpse into the home life of the people of Oberast. He expected squalor. Instead the apartments were invariably neat—a few pieces of furniture, two or three pictures hanging on the walls, a china cabinet with family heirlooms proudly displayed. Neat but decidedly poor.
Beckwen’s was no different. They crossed from one apartment building to the next via a rope footbridge that swayed four stories off the ground. The ropes looked ancient and the boards were warped and corroded by time and weather. The entire bridge sagged under Roan’s weight. Beckwen didn’t seem in the least bit worried to cross, while Roan had to pretend not to be.
Much to Roan’s growing annoyance, they went down through the bowels of this second building and crossed another alley before going up into a third. He grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip after the second flight of stairs. “What’s the deal, Bec? Are we going to your place or what? It feels like you’re just running me in circles. Are you trying to set me up?”
“No, milord. This is not the fastest way to my home, it’s the safest. I don’t mean to judge, but you have no weapons and you seem new to the city. This is a dangerous place for those who don’t understand its inner workings.”
Roan studied her, searching her eyes for a lie. As far as he could tell, she was being truthful. “Fine. Lead on, but if we just happen to run into an ambush, I will snap your neck.”
She froze for a moment, her breath caught up in her throat. She then nodded and went on up the stairs, leaving Roan, who was listening to the echo of his own terrible words run through his head. He had sounded like every sadist that he had ever had the pleasure of locking up. “It’s just a game,” he said under his breath. It was a game and it felt like he was losing. It felt as though he were changing on an unhealthy level.
Vowing to himself that he wouldn’t be evil unless he was forced to be, he made himself smile though it felt foreign on his lips and followed after her. They traveled to the sixth floor and crossed through the building to another footbridge. There were people on it: two teenage boys, sitting halfway along it, dangling their feet, and an old man carrying a load of watermelons evenly distributed on a shoulder yoke.
Beckwen didn’t hesitate and marched out onto the bridge. Roan’s smile disappeared in a second. “She’s crazy,” he muttered, before edging onto the bridge, holding the two guide ropes with white knuckled hands and wondering how they were going to pass the old man. In his heart he knew it would be easier and safer just to pitch him over the side.
He thrust the thought away and moved along the swaying bridge, watching as Beckwen and the old man performed a quick dance move, exchanging places without any pre-communication. Roan and the old man passed each other awkwardly, making the bridge wobble and eliciting a couple of snickers from the teenagers. Roan wanted to bash their heads together; he held off partially because Beckwen was watching. He moved around them without looking down, certain that if he saw even a smirk on their faces he’d fly into a rage.
The building at the far side of the bridge was where his guide lived. They went down two flights of stairs to the fourth floor and went along the center hall to the very end next to another set of stairs.
“This is it,” she said, eyeing Roan nervously. “I don’t allow any disrespect in my home. You will not have female guests or male guests for that matter. You will pay your first month’s rent up front and you will pay every month on time or you will be asked to leave. Is this clear?”
“Your place, your rules.”
She nodded and unlocked the door. Her place was even more sparsely decorated and furnished than the few other apartments he’d seen. The front room held only two chairs and a side table which was set between them. The walls were barren but clean. She showed him to the kitchen where a squat, coal-burning stove sat next to the sole window in the room. A pipe from the stove jutted up through the window.
The kitchen held a single, rough table that had been marred by a thousand nicks from cutting knives. Beside the table was a heavy metal box; an ice box, Roan guessed. There was a counter with cabinets beneath and a sink without running water.
Including the one from the front room, four doors led from the kitchen. She gestured to the one on the left, closest to the stove. “This will be your room, milord…” She was waiting on his name and he was suddenly embarrassed that he had chosen “Ratchet.” He had wanted his name to sound intimidating without being altogether goofy.
“Milord will do for now,” he said, exchanging being intimidating for being pompous. He poked his head into his room. It was so small there was no need to go further. A lumpy looking bed, a wardrobe that leaned to one side and a writing desk without an accompanying chair was all that was in the room.
“Did you get robbed?”
He thought it was a legitimate question, however Beckwen grew angry. “Do you want the room or not?”
In answer he pulled two gold coins from his heavy pouch. She traded a key for the coins, her eyes lingering for a moment on the full pouch. “If you need anything, I will be at Rinely’s Cafe. If you come by, I recommend the pigeon casserole. Good day, milord.”
Roan had managed to keep a straight face when she mentioned the casserole. When she was gone, he shook his head. “Pigeon, jeeze.” He went to the wardrobe and tried to tilt it back to square; the second he let go, it slipped back to its canted state. “Maybe it’s the whole building. Why the hell am I here?”
He had almost a thousand gold in his pouch. With that much he could stay pretty much anywhere he wanted, and yet this crappy lifestyle seemed to suit him at the moment. It helped to define him.
“Time to go suit up,” he told himself. A thousand gold wasn’t needed for a rogue to outfit himself. He counted out a stack of two hundred and fifty coins and set them aside. It made sense to hide the rest, only his room was so empty that there wasn’t a good place to hide it. Nor was there a place in the front room or the kitchen.
The bathroom wasn’t any better. It was a strange little room. From the ceiling hung an all-purpose hose which was the rooms only water source. With it, he could shower, wash his hands in the sink, or flush the toilet. From each of the drains came a foul odor. There was no way he was going to hide his money in there.
He had to settle for scraping away some of the ash in the stove and stacking the coins in it. To him it was a dreadfully obvious spot.
He stuck the now mostly deflated pouch down the front of his baggy trousers and untucked his pauper’s shirt to cover the slight bulge. He then left the apartment. His sense of direction was such that he didn’t need to go back to the cafe to get his bearings. Taking the stairs just outside his apartment door, he went down to the alley, keeping his eye open and his wits about him, ready to run at the first inkling of danger.
At first, he was nervous about being jumped by one of the gangs of thieves that roamed the area, then he remembered something obvious, “Hell, I’m a thief, too.”
Somehow this mind-set, set him apart from the other people on the street. Suddenly they became targets. They were prey, while he was the hunter. He even began swaggering, right up until he saw one of the gangs approaching. They wore either leather or hide armor and had green armbands tied across their biceps. Two carried short swords while the other two carried thin rapiers, and they all had that thug look on their faces that Roan knew so well.
They wanted to hurt someone.
Chapter 6
Oberast, Daggerland
Roan slipped out of sight behind a vendor’s cart. The cart was strewn and layered with a hundred different colored scarves. The woman who owned the cart raised a furious eyebrow as he crouched down behind it.
“Get away, you retch!”
“A silver to hold your tongue,” Roan whispered. Her scowl turned into a grin at the prospect of e
asy money. She stepped to the side of her cart to better hide Roan.
As the gang passed, she made a show of her scarves to further distract them. “Something for your pretty girlfriends? Handsome gents like you must have pretty girls hanging on your arms.” The young men weren’t interested and moved on. Roan waited until they were down the block before he slipped the woman a silver.
She thanked him and then added, “Something for your pretty girlfriend? A handsome gent like you must have pretty girls hanging on your arms.”
The dull repetition of her sales pitch reminded Roan that he was in a game and that the woman was an NPC. It suddenly made the minor bribe seem like a waste of a silver piece. He was halfway convinced that he should snatch his money back when green letters crossed his vision (Bribe Successful XP +15).
“No, thank you,” he said, absently to the woman as the letters faded away. He continued up the street, staying on the west side so the growing shadows of the early evening would help to hide the fact that he was a complete noob.
The arms dealer had the most crowded shop on the street; it also attracted a fair number of ruffians, who were gathered nearby. They tried to blend in with the crowd, but Roan spotted first one, then a second and a third. He hung back, counting twenty of them, and as he finished a scuffle broke out. Six of the ruffians attacked a man in noob clothes. They killed him, stripped him of his belongings and hauled his body off in a matter of seconds.
“What the hell?” Roan said as the crowd briefly parted and then, seconds later, went back about their business. The ruffians were using the mindless NPCs as cover. It would make getting into the arms store difficult, even for a thief. What he needed was a distraction: a fire or a fight or…just then Roan spotted another noob heading for the store. With the happy look of man just starting his adventure, he was a prime mark.
Infinite Assassins: Daggerland Online Novel 2 A LITRPG Adventure Page 5