Expedition- Summerlands

by Nathaniel Webb

  “Look, you should have heard him,” I said. “Turning gold into real money is nearly impossible. They have a whole system set up—the exchange rate—there’s taxes, and—and—the real money is in streaming! That’s what he said!”

  “And you went ahead and trusted him.” Cass’s lips were pulled back in a snarl, and she spoke between gritted teeth. “Just like that? I guess you’re party leader now, is that it? Did I miss the vote or did you just declare yourself queen for life? You obviously don’t have a problem bossing everyone around when a fight breaks out.”

  “I wouldn’t have to,” I snarled, “if you could do your damn job.”

  Cass took a step back as though I’d hit her. Her face was red, her hands shaking, and her mouth moved noiselessly as she searched for a comeback.

  “Okay, let’s just take a breath,” said Naila.

  “Emma,” said Noah.

  “Why don’t we just eat our soup?” said Magpie.

  “Emma,” Noah said again.

  “I don’t want soup!” Cass shouted.

  “Why does nobody ever listen to me?” Noah roared. His voice reverberated into a sudden silence in the restaurant as we all looked down at him, sitting with his hands on either side of his handheld, flat on the table. His face was red. He took a long, deep breath, and then he nodded to the handheld. “Linnaea,” he said. “When was the last time you turned your camera off?”

  “In the treasure room,” I said. “When Agony wanted to talk. He turned his off and asked me to do mine, so I did.”

  “So about four and a half days ago,” Noah said.

  “Yeah, why?” I picked up my chair and sat down.

  “For about twenty minutes before you turned it off, you were the number one feed in the world.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Shit.”

  “You topped out at three million, fourteen thousand, six hundred and eleven viewers,” Noah went on.

  “Emma,” said Cass, “I am very sorry I got mad at you.”

  “Now you’re sorry!” I coughed. “Now you—of course you…” I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend to hold a grudge, not now. I was laughing too hard, and I was sobbing, too. Everyone was laughing, even Naila, and it went on and on and on. I hugged Noah, and Magpie hugged me and kissed me on the cheek, and Cass hugged Naila, and everybody hugged everybody else. Our soup cooled, forgotten, on the table.

  “Congratulations,” said Naila, wiping away a tear. “That’s a really big damn deal.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Every nerd in the world must be watching you,” Cass said. “That must be it. People really wanted a boring stream about plants and art. You’re the hero they’ve been waiting for.”

  “I don’t think that’s it,” I said. “I mean, you’re right, you’re definitely right. That’s how it started, that’s what set us apart. But the numbers didn’t go crazy until we were in that dungeon, right?”

  Noah checked his handheld again, then nodded. “Right.”

  “So what?” Cass asked.

  “So, I had some viewers, not a lot, but some. Then we hit the dungeon and they were able to spread the word.” I shook my head. “You know how it works—somebody’s watching a stream, something exciting happens, word gets around, everybody hops on because nobody wants to miss it.”

  “And suddenly you’re number one,” said Cass.

  “Until Dr Agony convinces you to turn off your camera,” Naila put in.

  “He said we were being censored.” I blinked. “You think he knew?”

  Naila shrugged.

  “So what do we do?” said Magpie.

  “What else can we do?” I said. “Let’s give them what they want.”

  Uncharted Territory

  Give them what they want… easier said than done. We spent a day posted up on the sidewalk outside Open Seasoning, just talking through our plans. We tossed out any hope of getting the money we needed in treasure, big or small. We weren’t going to luck into another hoard like the one by Wyatt Falls, and even if we had, there was truth in Dr Agony’s patter about all the ways Expedition Games would cut out chunks from our winnings. If a massive pile of gold wouldn’t pay Keats’s medical bills, there was no way the handfuls of coppers and little art objects scattered throughout the wilds around Wellpoint would do it.

  Streaming, that’s where the money was. I needed a sponsorship that would put cash directly into my bank account, quickly. To do that, I needed to keep my numbers up. We talked it over all day, going in circles as we argued about the best way to leverage my sudden popularity.

  Cass thought we had to keep putting ourselves in danger, pointing out that our trips to Athan’s Rest and the dungeon by Wyatt Falls had been my best streams as well as our most nearly lethal adventures. Her favorite idea was to go get revenge on the harpies of the White Chasm by drawing them all into a huge fight.

  Magpie suggested that what fans really wanted was to see us succeed. In his view, people watched streams to imagine themselves in our boots, to live vicariously through our victories. He suggested we make up a schedule of sorties to well-trod adventure sites and rack up a string of easy wins.

  In the end, it was Noah who hit on the answer. He sat sipping a tall glass of clean, cold water as Magpie reiterated for the dozenth time that return trips never got ratings as good as the first time a party hit a new spot.

  “Doesn’t that mean you’re both wrong?” he said, wiping condensation from his lip.

  “What?” said Cass and Magpie in unison.

  “Magpie is right that viewership drops when parties go back to the same place,” Noah said. “Even if they have a new mission or have to rescue somebody or something. That’s just what the data says.”

  “So we go with my plan,” said Magpie with a nod.

  “Well, no,” said Noah. “Viewership also goes down if you go somewhere other parties have been.”

  “We got good numbers at the White Chasm,” Cass said.

  “At Athan’s Rest,” Noah persisted, “where nobody’s been in five years. Plus they were nowhere close to the numbers for the Wyatt Falls dungeon. Like not even on the same order of magnitude.”

  “So what, then?” said Magpie.

  “Novelty,” I said. Noah gave me a little smile that said thanks for translating.

  “Explain,” said Cass.

  “Fans want something new,” I said. “Our numbers at Athan’s Rest grew slowly while I was streaming my notes. You said it yourself, Cass, all the nerds on Earth were waiting for a feed like that. It was new. And then at Wyatt Falls, it was a brand-new dungeon and we were racing against Golden Apple. Head-to-head stuff like that is rare.”

  “So we need to do things nobody’s ever done before,” Magpie said.

  “Exactly.” I nodded. “Forget the White Chasm and the Battle Plains and all these places that have been picked over a thousand times. What around here hasn’t been explored? Noah?”

  “All the dangerous places,” he said.

  “Ha!” Cass slapped the table.

  “I mean, anywhere with a bad risk/reward,” Noah went on. “Places with lots of monsters and no treasure, like caves.”

  “We have to go to caves?” said Magpie.

  “Noah, make a list, please,” I said. “Anywhere around here that hasn’t been explored already. The flashier the better. Anywhere with a good story attached to it, like Athan’s Rest. Cass, we’ll go wherever you want from the list, okay?” I smiled at Magpie. “We can even make a schedule.”

  “What are you gonna do?” said Cass.

  “I have a lot of email to catch up on.”

  ***

  The first decision I made was that there was no way I could ever reply to everyone. I’d started at the very bottom of my inbox, the first few messages that had trickled in from fans picking up my earliest streams from the Near Plains. Even if I got back to each of them with just a few words of thanks, it would have been the work of days to clear out every one. How did the big streamers handl
e it? Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they had interns or something. I took a deep breath and told myself it was impossible.

  Scrolling up the list, I could see the meteoric growth of my popularity mirrored in my messages. They seemed to come in three basic categories: fan mail, trolls and weirdos, and sponsorship offers. The fan mail grew steadily. The crazies jumped up considerably around Wyatt Falls then fell off again; I guessed these were people who would harrass whoever was popular in the moment. The sponsor messages started at the same time, but they hadn’t stopped.

  I opened one at random, just to get a taste. For twenty bucks a day I could rent them my face for a line of acne cream. Annoyed and wondering whether I should be insulted, I deleted the message. Flicking through the others, they were all like that: small offers from small companies. If I’d had the time and inclination to handle them all, I could have built a decent little passive income, but that wouldn’t help Keats. We needed money fast, and a lot of it; twenty bucks a day wouldn’t cover his rent, let alone the surgeries that might let him walk again. The second decision I made was to ignore the little offers for now.

  I sighed. Just deleting them all would take an hour or more. My head was already hurting from staring at the little handheld for so long. I’d just made up my mind to put it all aside for later when the handheld dinged and a new message alert popped up, glowing a cheerful green.

  I recognized the sender immediately: Uncharted Territory, the biggest producer of Summerlands memorabilia after Expedition Games themselves. Their bestselling Spells You Don’t Know series had filled in many of the gaps from Dr Agony’s original Book of Elvish Magic. I tapped the alert.

  Linnaea –

  Big fan of your work so far. Looks like you’ve found an untapped market of fans. Want to work together? I’m thinking books, video lectures, a speaking tour back on Earth.

  A little bird tells me you have some money problems at home. I can make those go away.

  Let me know ASAP.

  Dave Davies

  Uncharted Territory

  A book of my own. I’d forgotten all about it. I set the handheld down, leaned back, and looked up at the sky, as wide and blue as ever. A few thin white clouds rolled across the sun. A few minutes passed as I watched them go by. When the sun was fully back in view, I picked up the handheld and hit REPLY.

  Mr Davies,

  Thanks for reaching out. I’d love to work with Uncharted Territory. How did you know about our money problems?

  Best,

  Linnaea

  I sighed, stood up and stuck the handheld in my belt pouch, where it promptly dinged again. To my surprise, Davies had already gotten back to me.

  Linnaea-

  Don’t take it personally. We keep tabs on everyone in the Summerlands. Listen, my bosses give me a lot of leeway to make deals, but they want proof that you can deliver. So here’s the offer: we’ll do the books and everything and as an advance on future earnings, we’ll pay all Mr Keats’s medical bills. But first you need to get your feed to #1 again. Just say yes and I’ll get you a contract.

  Dave

  I blinked away tears as I tapped REPLY.

  Yes.

  Linnaea

  ***

  My next stop was the Red Wizards’ Guild Hall. I was proud of myself for pulling off Dr Agony’s paralysis spell, but I’d come up short when it counted and I didn’t want that happening again. It was high time that I got my money’s worth as far as my Guild dues.

  The interior of the Guild Hall was as dim and clubby as ever and as crowded. The patrons who sat reading, practicing, or quietly chatting weren’t invisible this time. A few of them, including a pale young man I recognized as Kronos from a group called Question Cross, nodded or lifted a greeting hand to me.

  Belphegor met me by the glowing crystal bar. His face wore deep lines and his mismatched eyes darted around the room as though he expected something to be watching him from the shadows beyond the reach of the hearth. He raised a hand to cut me off before I could speak. His lank brown hair fell over his eyes as he dug into a pouch at his belt. He pulled out a silver coin, which he tossed on the bar.

  “Here, that’s your dues for the last week. Take it and go.”

  “What?” I pushed the coin back towards him. “No, I need to learn.”

  “You can’t do it here,” Belphegor insisted. “I’m sorry, but we cannot allow you as a member.”

  I looked around the common room. The other wizards all had their eyes locked doggedly on their reading, the fire, or the floor. Finally, I turned back to Belphegor, who stood eyeing the silver piece. “This is about Dr Agony, isn’t it?”

  “He is—” Belphegor cleared his throat. “He is the head of the Guild, after all.”

  “Fine,” I said. The coin clicked as I snatched it off the bar. “Tell Agony thanks for the free lesson.”

  ***

  My next stop was Dan Seidenberg’s potion shop on Coin Street. He hurried his few customers out as I wandered the aisles, pretending to read the labels on various oils and salves. Soon we were alone and he shut and locked the door while I double-checked that my camera was off.

  “I was expecting you,” he said.

  “Can you teach red magic?” I said. “Or do you know someone who can? Agony kicked me out of the Guild.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Seidenberg replied. He peered up at me from his wheelchair, eyes narrow. “White magic is easy to keep quiet. If you can hide an injury until you get it healed, it’s like it was never there. Red magic tends to be a lot noisier.”

  “Is that a no?” I asked.

  “It’s a maybe. What do you need to learn?”

  “Well,” I hedged, “I’m not sure.”

  “Then why are you so hellbent on bothering me?” Seidenberg turned away with the spin of a wheel.

  “Because I know your secret,” I said. He stopped, but didn’t turned back, didn’t speak. “You’re a white wizard, a healer. You could regrow your leg any time you want, couldn’t you?” In the shadows of the shop, Seidenberg’s back became hunched and tight. “But you don’t. The question is why. So I thought about it, and I realized that if you did, it would be obvious pretty quickly that you’d used illegal magic. There’s no hiding a new leg. And then you’d be kicked out… which means that however much you’d love to walk again, you love the Summerlands even more.”

  “You’re too damn sharp by half,” muttered Seidenberg. “But what’s that got to do with you?”

  “I’m the same way,” I said. “Look, I don’t know why you came here originally. Maybe you thought you’d get your leg back and leave. But this place… it’s special. People like Dr Agony want to hoard it all for themselves. He’s holding onto magic like it’s money, which I guess it is. But he obviously thinks that he weakens himself by sharing it. I don’t agree. If we ever want someone else to take Agony’s spot as king of the hill, people need to be empowered.”

  “So what’s your plan, then, kid?” Seidenberg turned back to me, with a look on his face that I’d never seen before.

  “Me?” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m going to start a lecture series.”

  ***

  And that’s exactly what I did. While Magpie, Cass, and Noah worked out an adventure schedule, I set up the Summerlands’ first lecture series under the shockingly creative title Linnaea’s Lectures. It was easy to do; the persistent good weather meant I didn’t need to rent space, and A/V was taken care of by my drone, so all I really needed were topics. I sat in Portal Square with my notebook and pencils and soon I had a list that covered both sides of a dozen pages.

  I started with broad topics and big questions. The blazing neon question mark was magic: what was it, actually? Where did it come from? Why did it work? It was so regimented, split into two schools with such a clear distinction between them that once you learned to work with one, you could never use the other. Was this a natural law, like gravity or relativity on Earth, that the elves had merely described with the spells they
’d uncovered? Or had someone built magic, designed it like a game or a legal system? Whatever the answers, I could at least share the spells and secrets that Dr Agony and the Red Wizards’ Guild had been hiding behind the blood oak door of their hall. After all, I wasn’t a member any more.

  I drifted onto the topic of the elves themselves. There was so much we could learn from their art and architecture alone. There had never been any sign of why they’d disappeared or where they’d went, but maybe I could at least uncover some clues to how they must have lived and what they had believed before they left the Summerlands. Maybe some of them actually had spots.

  I took a swing through biology. Did evolution occur in the Summerlands the same as back home? If so, what could we learn from the animals we’d discovered so far? What did their adaptations tell us about the environment? Could we construct an evolutionary tree based on their shared characteristics? How did they combine with the plants that bloomed all around us to form a complete ecosystem and how did those plants evolve?

  I went on and on, letting my mind run free. There were ten thousand lifetimes’ worth of topics to be covered and not for the first time I wondered what would have happened if the Summerlands had been found not by a game designer but by a scientist. It was the greatest case of wasted opportunity in all of human history, but I intended to do my part to fix things.

  My list grew so massive that I had no idea where to begin. I needed something great to kick off my lectures, a big question that I could tackle head-on and, if not answer, at least say something meaningful about. As I watched adventurers going in and out of the Expedition Hall, my mind drifted back to Hearthammer’s conversation about language in the limo on the Isle of Lewis. It was the perfect question: everybody asked it, nobody answered it. And as I sat listening to the people around me chatter away about their adventures, their rankings, and their lives, I realized I might have at least part of the answer.