Fayroll [04] Gong and Chalice

by Andrey Vasilyev

  “What prince?” The fairy circled a finger around her temple. “Where?”

  I nodded at the blushing von Ostin. “Right here. The very one for you.”

  “I’m actually a margrave.” Von Ostin seemed to be every bit as faithful to the truth as my friend von Richter. “Though we do have a small fief and castle…”

  The fairy stared at me, her eyes betraying surprise and pity for someone as clearly touched in the head as I was.

  “What?” I asked, tapping my foot. “What else do you need? He’s a good-looking guy, he’s ruddy as an apple, his muscles are rock-hard, and he’s dressed head to toe in iron. He has a horse, maybe even a white one, and with him, you wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Take him with you into the forest so you can do some leveling-up. He’ll leave all the experience and loot for you. What’s the problem? All the other girls in the game will be jealous of you.”

  Something in Tren-Bren’s eyes changed, and her gaze shifted from me to the knight.

  “Laird, laird,” hissed von Ostin, who had just glanced inside. “Grandmaster Adalard and Brother Yur are coming down the stairs. Go say hi. I’m sure the grandmaster will be glad to see you.”

  Brother Yur, Brother Yur, I thought to myself as I took hold of the door knob. Why does that name sound familiar?

  Chapter Twenty

  In which the hero traverses the halls of power.

  Von Ostin practically shoved me into the building, less, I thought, out of a desire to do me a service and more looking to get some alone time with Tren-Bren. She was pragmatic to a degree that was uncharacteristic for fairies, had already figured out which way the wind was blowing, and was surveying the young knight’s clattering armor with relish.

  Everything in the mission spoke to the order’s asceticism, underlining the fact that its focus was war rather than peace. Hanging on the walls, were weapons, banners, and a few items that had me puzzled, to say the least. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why they had a lumberjack’s axe with the letter D burned into the handle.

  Two people were walking down the stairs, one of whom was clearly Adalard von Ditmar. His polished armor, enormous sword, and dashing mustache left me no room for doubt. The second, by process of elimination, had to be Brother Yur, there for some sort of inspection—though I still couldn’t place where I’d heard his name before. He was short, his black robe fell all the way to his feet, he sported leather patches over his elbows, and he had a head full of gray hair. That latter point was odd, considering that he didn’t look much older than forty. His half-smile was ironic, and his eyes shone with wisdom and life. The pair was conversing animatedly, though they contrasted strongly with one another. Adalard boomed out the points he was trying to make; Brother Yur replied quietly and with a small stammer.

  “I’m telling you, we don’t have any cost overruns. This is the capital, our expenses are sky-high, and we spend a fortune on hospitality,” von Ditmar said.

  “I u-understand that it’s the c-capital, but that d-doesn’t change the fact that y-you’re spending more money on w-wine regardless of the order l-leadership’s instructions for purchasing intangible assets,” Brother Yur replied gently, though with steel in his voice. “I d-don’t doubt that the wine w-was purchased using the extra m-money. I won’t ch-challenge that. But my question is, who d-drank it?”

  “Guests,” Adalard answered, armor clanging as he threw his arms out wide. “Guests of the order. They stop by all the time. There’s one now, in fact. My good pilgrim, would you like some wine after your journey? Don’t worry, make yourself at home!”

  The grandmaster noticed me and made a transparent attempt to hide the budget shortfall by demonstrating to the auditor how forthright he was being. Just then, I remembered where I’d heard that name. Old Gunther had mentioned Brother Yur, telling me that he was the order’s head accountant. It appeared that the order’s high command feared him more than any undead. I decided to throw von Ditmar a lifeline.

  “Why not, kind knight? That sounds wonderful,” I told the grandmaster gallantly.

  “So, what, my d-dear friend? You offer anyone who drops by a t-taste of the order’s wine cellars?” asked Brother Yur. “It’s s-starting to make sense why your m-mission always has a deficit at the e-end of the year.”

  “To be fair,” I noted, “I’m not just anyone. Quite a few knights in your illustrious order know me.”

  The pair took a closer look at me, and Adalard suddenly broke out in a roar.

  “Laird Hagen, I’ve heard so much about you! My nephew, Gunther von Richter, told me how the two of you killed a witch in our parts. I’m so glad you decided to drop by!”

  “It’s n-nice to meet you, Laird,” Brother Yur added with a bow. “I’ve h-heard of you, as well. Eight portal scrolls and t-twenty thousand gold spent saving a girl. Of c-course, I remember you.”

  “Gunther was supposed to return both of them,” I replied hastily. I felt bad throwing him under the bus, but there was no way I was getting in trouble with accounting.

  “He did, he d-did,” Brother Yur said, nodding. “Though he s-still hasn’t written up the r-report for me. I suppose w-we’ll have to forgive him.”

  “So what are you doing in Aegan?” Von Ditmar walked over to me. “Are you on business or here just to get some rest?”

  “No rest for the weary,” I replied sadly. “I’m here on business. It’s not going well, however, and I thought my friends in the order might be able to help.”

  “We’ll do everything we can,” Adalard assured me quickly.

  Brother Yur said nothing, and his silence told me everything I needed to know. He’d be happy to provide any service I needed, though I’d be better off if it didn’t come with a price tag.

  “Please join me in my office.” Von Ditmar took me by the arm before bellowing out an order. “Der Leebe, bring us the best wine and three—”

  “None for me, I still need to inspect the barracks,” Brother Yur cut in quickly.

  “Then two goblets,” von Ditmar finished.

  “Brother Yur, I would greatly appreciate it if you kept us company,” I said to the black-robed man. “I could really use your knowledge and experience.”

  “It w-would be an honor,” he replied unwillingly.

  There’s someone who knows that time is money.

  Adalard’s office looked like some kind of armory, what with the extensive array of deadly steel on the walls.

  “Impressed?” the grandmaster asked proudly.

  “And how!”

  “What is that?” Brother Yur asked, his gaze caught by a large flamberge. “Where is the i-inventory label? Is it included in your b-balance?”

  “These are my personal trophies won in battle,” the grandmaster said with a reproachful frown. He quickly followed that up with a clarification for good measure. “So, they’re my personal property.”

  “Y-yes?” Brother Yur looked at him dubiously. “Okay then.”

  “So, what kind of problem could this friend of the order, and my nephew, have?” Adalard stopped in front of me. “And how can we help?”

  One thing I liked about NPCs is that you didn’t have to lie to them. You could and were supposed to tell them the truth. Five minutes later, the giant knight and treasurer were filled in on how I’d been rebuffed at the Academy of Wisdom.

  “Well, what’s there to say? It makes perfect sense. If you hadn’t mentioned the Departed Gods…” Adalard stroked his mustache and looked over at Brother Yur.

  “What’s wrong with the gods?” I asked.

  “Everything.” Von Ditmar took a sip of wine from his large goblet. “Back when the gods were still in Fayroll, it was the Academy of Wisdom that was their biggest opponent. The Academy, in fact, took over for them when they left, and it did its best to make sure that happened by directing the demiurges’ ire toward the gods and getting their hands on everything the gods had created.”

  “That’s o-one version, and it hasn’t been confirm
ed,” noted Brother Yur. “The Academy of W-wisdom itself claims that it’s f-false.”

  “And they erased all mention of the gods from all the chronicles!” Adalard shot back with a laugh.

  “Regardless, y-you definitely won’t learn anything from them.” Brother Yur settled into his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “N-nobody will tell you a thing.”

  “True,” von Ditmar said, gesturing toward the treasurer in agreement. “Not a chance.”

  “Well, that’s no good,” I replied, discouraged. “So what am I supposed to do?”

  “I’m talking p-primarily about the official channels they h-have for obtaining information,” Brother Yur said vaguely as he rocked his leg. “There are a-alternative routes, though they c-cost money.”

  “Yes?” I looked at him with interest.

  “Put it this w-way.” Brother Yur found an interesting spot on the ceiling and stared at it. “I h-happen to know the Academy’s t-treasurer. We studied together, and h-he might be able to help…”

  “How much?” I asked concisely.

  “I don’t know r-right now; I’d have to speak with Master V-vitold. We h-haven’t seen each other in forever,” Brother Yur replied, still being evasive. “Oh, and another th-thing, von Ditmar. Your reports say that you had some r-repairs done in this building, including that you h-had the ceilings painted. But this o-one doesn’t look like a painter has touched it for a g-good ten years. Would you care to explain yourself?”

  “Brother Yur, what do ceilings have to do with anything?” von Ditmar replied hotly, his face turning scarlet. “Our friend needs help, and that’s what’s most important right now.”

  “Yes?” Brother Yur looked him over suspiciously, lips pursed. “That’s f-fine, though I’ll be expecting an explanation f-from you: who did the repairs, what w-was repaired, and how m-much it cost. The laird and I are going to be gone f-for a bit, and you can put together the paperwork while w-we’re gone.”

  Von Ditmar, flustered, could only gesture to Brother Yur as if to say that everything would be fine just so long as he left for a little while. Brother Yur got up and ambled toward the stairs.

  “Laird, keep him busy for an hour if you can,” Adalard hissed in my ear. “That’ll give me time to think of something.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I replied as I headed off after Brother Yur.

  No quest for that? Something like Embezzler’s Assistant…

  The picture on the porch was idyllic: the happy fairy fluttered around the equally happy, though red-faced knight, the sun was shining, and the sky was a deep blue.

  “G-great weather we’re having,” Brother Yur said before calling over to von Ostin. “Hey, warrior!”

  Von Ostin turned toward us and came to attention. “C-come with us to the Academy of W-wisdom,” Brother Yur said to him, not even waiting for an answer before stepping down off the porch.

  “Hey, what about me?” Tren-Bren yelled indignantly. “This is my knight!”

  Brother Yur glanced at the fairy, fluttering in mid-air with her arms akimbo.

  “This m-mission really is going to the d-dogs,” he said to me. “Misappropriated funds, alcoholics, winged women… What a-are you screaming about, flying lady? I’m just taking him for a little while; n-not forever. H-he’ll be back, of course. I just don’t like weapons, and plenty of people out there like to pick on financiers. That’s why I need a bodyguard.”

  “Yes?” Tren-Bren thought for a second before agreeing. “Then it’s okay with me, so long as it isn’t for long.”

  “Thank y-you and your good heart, my lady,” Brother Yuri replied sarcastically. We headed off toward the Academy of Wisdom.

  “By the way, Laird,” Brother Yur said to me as we walked, “how much money do you have on you, and how much do you plan on s-spending to get the i-information you’re looking for?”

  “I’m not sure,” I replied with a shrug. “I have ten thousand with me, and I can spend it all—getting results is all I care about.”

  “No, no, no,” Brother Yuri said. “And here I thought you were a s-serious, intelligent young man. Be careful about mismanaging your m-money like that; you h-have to care! You all make sure your swords shine like the sun, but you t-treat money like some trash to throw away. That d-doesn’t befit a knight! M-money is a weapon, too, and it’s much more dangerous, effective, and d-deadly. Respect m-money, y-young m-man, r-respect it. And r-remember, if you i-ignore your money, i-it will be sure to ignore you.”

  I was stunned. He was an easy person to talk to, and, apparently, a very smart guy. Our conversation took us all the way to the Academy of Wisdom, where I was about to walk back into the main entrance. Brother Yur shook his head at me.

  “W-we’re not going that way. W-we’re going this way. Wait on the other side, warrior, and don’t let anyone by.”

  He quickly jumped through a nearly invisible door hidden by ivy. I followed him and found myself in a small courtyard, in which were a stone bench, a gazebo, and a door leading to the Academy. That has to be a back door. Brother Yur walked over and rapped out a rhythm on it.

  The door creaked open, and someone with a quill pen behind his ear stuck out his head. I had to assume he was a clerk or a scribe.

  “Young man, p-please tell Vitold that Brother Y-yur from the order is here to see him.”

  “Oh, we all know who you are, good sir,” the head answered with deep respect before disappearing back behind the door.

  Brother Yur turned to me. “L-laird, you sit here with y-your money ready. I’ll come back out and t-tell you how much it will cost, and I th-think you’ll get your information quickly if you’re w-willing to pay right away.”

  The door creaked open again. “Brother Yur? You can come in.”

  The treasurer disappeared inside, leaving me alone in the courtyard. I sat down on the bench and thought about how much work the game’s creators must have put into the shadowy side of life. How many players will even get to see it? But it was still completely realistic, and much more realistic than all the knights and witches. On the other side of the door, people were making money, and a quick bribe was going to get me the information I needed—and Brother Yur, presumably, would be getting a cut. It was more a reality show than an MMORPG…

  The door opened to release Brother Yur, who came over to me. “I got you the b-best bargain I could, though Vitold i-is good with money and an excellent t-trader. The d-deal I got you was seven th-thousand gold right away or ten in installments. I-I wouldn’t recommend the latter option, what with the interest…”

  “Thanks, Brother Yur!” I just about hugged the gray-haired man. “Who should I pay?”

  “They’ll t-tell you in there.” Brother Yur beckoned to someone, and the scribe with the quill pen walked over. “D-don’t forget to g-get a receipt; that’s important. And m-make sure it includes the e-exact amount of money y-you p-paid them, and f-for what. Okay, I n-need to head back before Adalard burns a-all the papers he h-has.”

  “Brother Yur,” I said, completely unsure of myself. “For you…should I…”

  “Don’t b-be silly. Words spoken foolishly end u-up costing you the most,” he replied, clapping me on the shoulder. “And n-nothing’s a good investment that c-costs that much. It was n-nice to meet you.”

  The treasurer walked out the ivy-covered door, leaving me to follow the scribe. I was led down nooks and crannies, past rooms where scribes scratched away at parchment, I heard someone yell something about Fladridge’s paperwork for the previous year, and a few people loitered in the hallway telling each other jokes. In other words, it was an office. Finally, I found myself in a room with a thin man wearing a doublet. He had a smart-looking nose and hair parted in the middle.

  “My friend and classmate told me that you need information about a certain object and that you’re prepared to pay for that information right now,” he started off, wasting no time on greetings.

  “Correct,” I replied.

  “Then name th
e object, pay eight thousand gold, and in ten minutes you’ll know everything we know,” he said with a smile spreading across his face.

  “Happily,” I nodded, “though it’s seven thousand, not eight, and please write up a receipt with the amount, the recipient, and the service while you’re getting the information.”

  “Spoken like an excellent student of Yur’s,” he said, nodding. “About the service, you won’t get anything about that on the receipt; I’m not yet crazy enough to sign my own death warrant. Everything else sounds good. There’s no need to waste time, so pay and let me know what the item is that interests you.”

  I dumped a pile of gold on the table. “The Chalice of Memory, part of the heritage left by the Departed Gods.”

  “I should have named a higher price,” he said matter-of-factly, after which he whispered something to his clerk. The latter ran off. They wouldn’t just kill me here, would they?

  Twenty minutes later, the clerk was back with a scroll and a whisper for Vitold (he hadn’t introduced himself, though it had to be him). He left with a few extra coins jingling in his pocket.

  “Well, young man, you now have what we have.” Vitold unrolled the scroll. “Yes… The Chalice of Memory doesn’t really have any magical properties, it’s made of an unknown metal, it’s worthless in war and for business, and it was handed over to the treasury of the Western Crown, where it carried the inventory number XPE-143322. It is referred to as the ‘Chalice made by the mountain masters during the First War of the Skeletons.’ That’s it.”

  “And it’s definitely there?” I asked apprehensively.

  “Definitely.” Vitold waved the scroll at me. “The scroll is magical, and it would note the new location, were the item to be moved.”

  “Where is the treasury?”

  Vitold looked at me as if I were a child. “In King Federik’s palace. Where else would it be?”

  I was starting to realize that I was close to a dead end, if not facing one already. “How much will it cost to get the chalice out of the treasury? If anyone knows, it’s you.”