“Wait, but…” I held out my arms as if to remind him that I had Vika, the paper…
“I’m not saying you should sleep with her; just have dinner,” Zimin explained gently. “Today, I’ll tell her… Wait, why me? Just call her and invite her to dinner on Wednesday around seven at Bacchus’ Barrel. We have our own area there already paid for, so you can sit, eat, talk… Wednesday morning, I’ll tell you what you should talk about. Sound good? Here, I just so happen to have her card in my pocket.”
“Spend time with a beautiful woman in an expensive restaurant on the company’s dime?” I grinned, taking the gold-colored rectangle with its attractive font from him. “Why not?”
“Excellent.” Zimin patted my shoulder. “Okay, I’m off. No need to walk me to the door.”
From the sixth edition of the Fayroll Times:
From the editor.
…and that’s exactly what we’ll strive to do. We want reading the paper to be as useful as it is interesting, since…
Alchemy: Tough, But Worth It
…but the hardest part isn’t getting the recipe, boosting skills, or locating an instructor. The hardest part is finding the chemical agents and, in particular, complex potions and powders…
Excerpts from the Fayroll Chronicle:
The Eyes of the Beast clan was disbanded. Its unsuccessful attempts to destroy Klatornakh led to a crisis of confidence in clan leadership on the part of its membership.
The You Respect Me, Right? And Children of the Caucasus clans will be holding their third annual young wine festival. As usual, it is being held in autumn, as the leaders claim it to be a sad time of year when people need a little cheering up.
Some new players visited a forest in Noobland, though their trip ended in mass panic. Their efforts to cut themselves clubs were met by an incredibly aggressive NPC. According to one witness, “Damn, he just went crazy on us. But that’s not the worst part. He wasn’t just a forester; it was Leo Tolstoy himself!” The game admin is reviewing the safeguards in place to keep players from logging into the game with alcohol or narcotics in their blood.
In the next edition:
Personal Transport: Expensive, But Oh, So Convenient
Chapter Four
In which the hero realizes that time is running short.
Some people hate making calls to anyone they don’t know or don’t know very well. They tense up, going over what they want to say in their head a hundred times, putting off making the call, and completely forgetting that on the other end of the line will most likely be someone just as sane and friendly as they are. At least, that’s often the case.
Thank God, that doesn’t describe me in the least. It would be strange if it did, given my profession. When it comes to chatting with women on the phone, I’m with the unforgettable Ostap Bender in that I prefer improvisation and inspiration. What’s the point of preparing for a talk with women? They’re too unpredictable and incomprehensible for that.
“Hi, Marina?” I didn’t want my tone to be too forward, though it needed to have some play to it. We weren’t good enough friends to add an intimate flair, though one of us owed the other, and, I hoped, that person hadn’t forgotten.
“Ah, my knight in shining armor, with the lance that brought me good luck,” she replied, her voice more than playful and, yes, letting me know that she remembered. “My” knight. That’s a good sign.
“I don’t know about a knight.” It was time to break out the jokes. “More Sancho Panza with the valiant von Richter.”
She giggled again. “Oh, aren’t you modest.” She’s keeping track of me if she knows who von Richter is. Although she could just be remembering him from the massacre on the beach—it’s hard to forget things like that. “So, how can this shy little virgin help the favorite of the gods?”
I had the feeling that if she and I ever got together, God forbid, I’d have to keep a close eye on all my body parts. Vika would have to take a trip somewhere on the other side of the Urals, too, since Marina would chew her up and spit her out if she sensed the least bit of competition. Marina was too smart by half and dangerous.
“Well, here’s the thing, I can’t eat or sleep,” I replied, my voice aged and cracked like Baba Yaga from any of the old movies.
“I didn’t offend you, did I?” Her crystal laughter floated into my ear once more.
“Not yet,” I said, this time respectfully and in my normal voice. “But you will if you turn down my dinner invitation.”
“That would bother you?”
“I’d never get over it.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Where are we going? You can forget about chebureki[2].” She sounded prissy and spoiled, and hearing her say the word “chebureki” in that voice made me chuckle. Vezhleva was obviously testing me.
“Chebureki? You think I have that kind of money? No, we’re going out for pelmeni—much cheaper than chebureki.”
“Ah, then my stomach should be fine. And if you buy me a cup of coffee with condensed milk, it’ll really make my week.”
“Coffee? Hmm…” I sat silently for a second before jingling a few coins I hurriedly pulled out of my pocket. “Well, I guess we can do that. Next Wednesday I’ll pick you up in front of your office. Let’s say, around seven.”
“I hope you have a strong bike. Will it hold both of us?” The concern in Marina’s voice was so sincere that it took me aback.
“I’ll pump up the tires and check the frame,” I assured her.
“Then I’ll see you next Wednesday. Are you sure I’ll recognize you?”
“I’ll be the one wearing felt boots and holding a flower.”
She hung up. Ah, that’s no woman. She’s suicide, an extreme sport, and the fondest dream of any pimply high school senior all wrapped up in one. Smart, beautiful, experienced, successful, and dangerous—though she was dangerous first and foremost.
“I’m not a big fan of pelmeni; they wreak havoc on your figure. And I haven’t seen any felt boots at home, so you should probably go buy some,” I heard a voice behind me say. Turning, I saw a pale Vika with resolutely pursed lips.
“I don’t like them either—for a while now, in fact,” I assured her. “I’ve had more than enough in the past few years to never touch them again.”
“But you’re going out for some with somebody next Wednesday, no?”
“Come on, we were teasing each other. There won’t be any pelmeni, obviously.”
“And dinner? You were setting something up.”
“Of course there will be a dinner,” I replied openly. “Vika, let’s say this—I’m not going to hide the fact that I may go out from time to time with different people, including women. But you need to understand that there’s a difference between going out for a business dinner and living together—a big difference, in fact. Yes, Vezhleva and I are having dinner together, but it’s just a dinner. Let’s agree right now that we’re always going to trust each other. Otherwise, things will turn ugly. And I definitely don’t need that. I’m surprised I have to explain this to you, in fact, seeing as how you’re a grown woman.”
Vika nodded and walked out of my office. Her self-control was on point, I should add. Not a word was said the whole way home, and nothing else was added at home either. Maybe she really doesn’t care about the whole thing? Or maybe she understood me, and we’re done with it?
***
I couldn’t help but note that logging into the game always meant leaving real-world problems behind me. The whole thing was intriguing—was it the developers playing with my psyche or was it my reflexes automatically switching over to whichever problems were most relevant to where I currently was?
There was no way of knowing for sure. One thing was true, as soon as I found myself on the parade ground, all thoughts of glum Vika (who’d run off to work before the break of dawn with suspiciously red eye makeup), Vezhleva (a woman with grace, beauty, and the disposition of a viper), and Zimin (complete with his own set of problems) flew out
of my head. Instead, all I could think about was that I’d be finding out what my last quest was that day. At least, I hope it’s the last one.
The barracks were just as empty as I’d hoped. Lane lay on his cot, and Ur sharpened his large battle axe, but there was no one else there.
“Hi, guys,” I said with a wave. “Bored?”
“Hey!” Ur looked at me with his child-like smile. “What’s there to do? I don’t have any money since I spent it all on girls last time. I even had to borrow from Torn, so I’ll be paying him back in two weeks.”
Lane didn’t say anything.
“Well, guys, I have a way for you to make some money,” I said insinuatingly.
“What’s up?” Lane asked. Ur put his axe down.
“Nothing much, although there’s definitely some risk. But before I tell you, this needs to stay between us.”
“You’re in luck.” Lane jumped down from his bunk. “We’re the two least-talkative people in the squad. Out with it.”
“Remember that village we protected from the turtles yesterday? The ones that ran like horses?”
“Of course,” replied Lane.
“Two or three hours from there is a grove with incredibly beautiful flowers. I want to pick some.”
Ur blinked, trying to figure out what use I could possibly have for flowers, and especially flowers from that particular grove. Lane squinted at me thoughtfully.
“Flowers, you say,” he replied slowly. “And why from there?”
“Just on a whim. The flowers there are completely unique, and I want to give some to this one girl I like.”
Lane didn’t believe a word I said, and I could see him trying to figure out if he should tell me to screw myself or hear me out. I, obviously, knew the whole thing was nonsense, though I also knew the pair needed a formal reason to take money from me. And why not that one?
“I’ll give you 600 gold each,” I said quickly.
“Six hundred?” boomed Ur. “Lane, who cares why he needs the flowers? It’s only 10, and we’ll have time to get to Maykong for drinks and girls after we get back.”
“I’ll even give you a portal scroll,” I said, pushing them hard. “Once we get to the grove, you can use it to get to Maykong.”
“You’re not telling the whole story, my friend,” Lane said with a crooked smile. “But we don’t pry into other people’s secrets in the Borderlands, especially when those people pay well. So I don’t really care. If you’re really willing to pay us that much, I’m in.”
“Me, too.” Ur got up from his chair. “No questions asked.”
“Speaking of questions, I have a big favor to ask,” I continued, taking them by the shoulders. “Nobody can know where we’re going or why we’re going there. Let’s just say that we never went anywhere in the first place. If people ask about the money, just say you borrowed it from me. And tell me if anyone starts asking questions, please. Okay?”
Lane nodded; Ur grunted. The pair started hurriedly getting ready, pulling on equipment and tightening belts.
“Do you know how to get there?” Lane asked me incidentally.
“I know the direction. Have you been in that area?”
“It’s all the same around here. Jungles, savanna, snakes, crocodiles,” Lane observed complacently as he made sure his sword was in its sheath. “Don’t worry, we’ll get there.”
“If there’s anyone who can get you there, it’s him,” Ur assured me. “Lane’s a tracker, one of the best. He can sense enemies and danger from a mile away. They’re all like that in the Borderlands, but even there, he’s special. And that makes sense, since—”
“Ur, do you have your knife?” Lane interrupted him.
Ur stopped short, looking at Lane guiltily before going back to checking the weapons in his belt.
Hmm, who is Lane?
“We’re ready.” Lane wasn’t about to comment on what the Northerner said, preferring to pretend that he hadn’t said anything at all. “But I’d rather see the money up front. If you’re killed—and death in the jungle is lightning-fast and unpredictable—we won’t get anything, which wouldn’t be fair. If we’re killed, you can just take it back, and I don’t imagine we’ll mind.”
I nodded and pulled the gold out of my bag.
***
Life was peaceful in the village, and nobody paid us any attention. When they were in trouble, certainly, they were the first to ask us for help, but they couldn’t be bothered to give us so much as a drink of water when everything was calm.
“Where to?” asked Lane, all business.
I pulled up my map and pointed west.
“Follow me. You don’t have to be right on top of me, but don’t fall too far behind. If I put my hand up, stop; when I drop it, we move on.” Lane gave his orders with the voice of someone used to being obeyed without question or complaint. Ur and I listened and nodded. “Every ten minutes we’ll check to make sure we’re going in the right direction; I don’t want to waste any time. And if we have to cross swords with someone, well, that’s what we’ll do. All right, let’s move.”
Lane slipped into the wall of leaves.
“There’s a tracker for you,” Ur boomed in respect before following him in. I took a deep breath and quickly jumped in behind them—it looked incredibly easy to lose the nimble Lane in the web of vines and bushes.
To be honest, I didn’t like the South. As I walked behind Ur’s broad shoulders, I wistfully recalled the hills and plains of the North, its grayish-blue skies, and the waves washing in from the cold sea. I got so lost in my thoughts that I missed Lane raising his hand and walked smack into Ur, banging my nose on his cuirass.
“Sh-h.” Lane glared at me, motioning me closer.
Treading as silently as I could, I sidled up to him and whispered cautiously.
“What?”
Lane nodded to the left without saying a word. I looked in that direction. There was a path a dozen steps away from us, and along it walked a squad of terrifying-looking people. They were dressed in ragged clothing, their bodies were a swarthy gray color, they were holding an assortment of weapons, and their faces were painted with white skulls. Not a sound, word, joke, or song came from them as they walked, and they swayed oddly on their way. They were just walking—that was all. I assumed the one in the lead was their commander, and he looked to be a fighter. His head was hidden under a dirty gray bandage, and blood was smeared all along his sleeve. I couldn’t tell if the blood was his or not, though the trail of drops he left told me there was an open wound somewhere.
One of them turned toward us, and I shuddered. His eyes were cloudy, pupil-less, and terrifying; his nostrils were torn and shredded; and the teeth in his mouth were rotted to needle-sharp points. His ravaged nose sniffed, and I could feel Lane tense.
The gray-skinned person stood there for a second swaying back and forth before continuing on his way. Ur exhaled, and Lane relaxed his grip on his sword.
I’ll be honest, I was more scared there than when we saw the dark dwarves in the caves. The gray creatures did it for me. A minute or two later, the terrifying squad had disappeared behind a bend, leaving me with a whispered question for Lane.
“Who was that?”
“That? Maybe sumesi, maybe canaani. I can’t really tell the difference,” he replied laconically.
“Lane, that’s a good answer, but I still don’t understand anything. I just got to the South.” I could tell the tracker was putting me on, giving me the shortest answer he considered good enough.
“There are a lot of different tribes in this part of the South. Almost all of them are peaceful, tillers and herdsmen, people and otherwise, but they don’t enjoy fighting. They don’t care about war, blood, fire, and all the rest of the fun stuff we men like. But there are, or rather were, a few tribes that did always have a penchant for fighting. They never liked working the soil. Instead, they fought with anyone they could find, no matter the cause. Once, a very long time ago, they hacked apart yet another p
eaceful tribe, though that time, one of the peace-loving local gods had enough. It could have been kind Narat or maybe compassionate Felosteya. Whoever it was, the god cursed all the warlike tribes in the South, even going so far as to strip them of their souls. Now, everyone who’s left wanders around the trails of the South somewhere between dead and alive, with little to no chance of finding shelter or deliverance from the curse. They walk and walk, day and night, with no rest. And if you come across them, you’re a dead man; living creatures are like a red flag to their bull.”
“I heard they eat you and then take your soul,” hissed Ur cautiously.
“Lies,” Lane shot back. “What do they need your soul for when they don’t even have one of their own? Sure, they’ll eat you—I’ve heard that, too. Okay, let’s go before something else happens along.”
“So, they only walk the paths? Or do they wander the jungle, too?” I asked Lane.
“I’ve only seen them on the jungle paths,” he answered after taking a second to think. “But there’s no end to what you can find around here. It’s an ancient land with very old terrors.”
My estimate of two or three hours was mistaken. The sun had already started to ease toward the west when we saw the copse we were looking for. It wasn’t exactly a copse—just a few dozen palms and a bunch of grass. But that was definitely it unless the map was lying, of course.
Thank the heavens we hadn’t had to pull out our swords once. The jungle was dead quiet, and all we’d come across was the natural environment. I thought it was strange, but I really had no reason to think it should be otherwise.
“Okay, here we are,” I said to Lane. “Here’s the scroll I promised you. You know how to use it, right?”
Lane smiled skeptically and quickly unrolled the scroll.
“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” he asked. Ur nodded to show his support for the question.
“I’m sure,” I replied. “Just remember, we never went anywhere together, and you didn’t even see me today.”
Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice Page 5