by Andrew Novak
"I want to go to Gaerthon. Can we sail there?"
The Dead Wind was created for travel to Gaerthon. I am ready to go, as soon as it pleases the master.
"Well, let's go!"
Attention! Quest progression in "Service to the Dark".
Find a way to Gaerthon, the lost continent.
You are the first player to board the schooner Dead Wind.
You receive +1 XP.
You have 51 XP.
Earn 9 XP to unlock new skills.
"Take us out to sea," Jack commanded. "A course for Gaerthon."
Outside, there was a loud splash. The chains holding the ship to the pier had fallen into the water. The cabin shuddered as the Dead Wind began to move. Jack and Lisa ran out onto the deck. The schooner slowly, but surely, slipped along the black water, and straight ahead, the red light of the setting sun was visible. Out to the ocean.
As soon as the Wind left the cave, the sail adjusted itself. A black bowsprit, like an elongated index finger, slid along the horizon and buried itself in a spot known only by the invisible helmsman. The souls of the sacrificed Areuts proved to be an excellent crew. They operated the ship without needing orders or manpower. Waves foamed under the nose of the Dead Wind, and it skimmed the water toward the setting sun to the west.
In regards to it moving like the wind, the late Bacchus might have exaggerated somewhat in his book. What could you expect from a writer... but the speed was better than average. The goblins paced up and down the deck, making faces, grimacing, but no longer chattering. Even they were enthralled by the impressive scene of the boundless sea surface. And it certainly fascinated Lisa.
Jack himself felt an odd tightening in his chest. Memory obligingly suggested a word, read from some book that he dragged home after wandering through the Wasteland: "longing". It was unclear how to explain the word in conventional omega expressions, but that was certainly it. It was longing. And Jack longed, looking at the waves rolling toward him until it was dark.
Two more times he tried to talk with the schooner, but it quickly became clear that it was not able to go beyond the narrow scope of its operational responses. The Dead Wind could tell him almost nothing about the past, or about its creators.
Then he settled himself inside the cabin and began to outline the Charter. The process looked simple: Jack, point by point, looked through the articles of the model Charter and crossed out everything that seemed too complicated. Or incomprehensible. Or boring. As a result, the Charter lost mass. It was shortened, compressed and disappeared before his eyes, like a scrap of bread that had fallen into the hands of a starving man.
Jack thought that the first thing would be to accept a scholar into the guild. Assign this person to the Chancellor's office, and put all this trouble with paragraphs, clauses and sub-paragraphs on them.
"Well, that's enough," Jack decided. "Have to save the batteries." Time to go...
He left the game, pulled off his helmet – and found himself in the familiar basement of Simon's House.
"No more, we're going to rest," Jack announced when Lisa left virt. "If you want, we can eat. Or sleep. Until we reach Gaerthon in the game, we'll most likely continue to hide here."
"And then?"
"Honestly, I don't know yet. Perhaps, when we discover the continent, a public message will appear in the game: hurray, hurray, the road to Gaerthon is open. I hope they don't name us. Then there will be a general move, everyone will be rushing to equip ships and recruit crews. After that, in real life we'llwait a little longer and in Alterra, we'll see what's on the forgotten continent. Well, then we’ll have to return to the ghetto. I hope that by that time the sea battles begin, there will be new rumors, here and there someone will brag that they almost reached the new shores... In short, the news will fall through, as from a leaky sack, the ghetto will be thoroughly shaken, and they will forget about us."
"Do you think they will forget?"
"Not everyone, of course. Ruger followed us long enough to not give up the chase. However, most will be too distracted with this new thing and all the opportunities it will open up. But this will all be later. Right now, I need to rest for a couple of hours. Clerical work wears me out more than the fights with Gravediggers. Though, I am finishing up the Charter and moving on to the Player List. Join my guild, you won't regret it."
* * *
After two hours on board the Dead Wind, nothing had changed. The schooner flew through the night in a direction known only to it and the silvery reflections of Shadris played on the black waves. The goblins paced the deck, calling to each other with raspy voices.
In the distance, over the water, the light of several lanterns appeared. There was another ship. The reflections of its lights fragmented and jumped along the waves...
Who the hell was this? Jack picked up the telescope from the wheelhouse, went back to the stern and looked, but it didn't help much either. The foreign ship was too far away and besides, it was beginning to lag behind. Its lights grew dimmer and dimmer, fading from view.
Jack sent Lisa an invitation to the guild, and her stats were decorated with the updated record.
The other ship did not reappear. They settled on the bow of the ship and silently watched the waves run toward the ship, breaking against the stem. When the hot edge of the sun appeared over the horizon behind Jack, the mainland was already long gone in the distance. There was only the sea around them and the bright blue sky of Alterra overhead. It was exactly as he had dreamt it and even better because Lisa was sitting silently next to him. The ship that followed them had become a barely perceptible point on the horizon. A little farther, and it completely disappeared from view.
In the morning, when the sun emerged from the waves, the two members of the Immortal Wanderer left the game to get some sleep. Who knew how long the voyage would last? The location of Gaerthon was a mystery. Maybe they would have to sail for many days, or maybe the lost land would appear today. On the black schooner, nothing depended on the players anyway. The next time they returned to Alterra, it was already after noon. The Dead Wind was still on the water. There was no inflated sail, no whistle of the wind. The waves lapped sadly against the black sides, and the goblins, sitting here and there on the deck, were silent, gloomy. The sky was also not visible. The ship was surrounded by fog on all sides. A dense gray veil.
"Master, I cannot go on," the schooner's voice rang. Before, it was sonorous and vibrant but now it seemed weak, limp and expressionless, as if it had been dampened by the fog. The Curse of the Great Misty Veil has blocked my path. It is not in my power to overcome the fog.
"I can see the fog. And who invoked this curse?"
The Gods, master.
"What do you mean by the 'Gods'? Who are these Gods, where are they?"
The Gods are all-powerful, master. They are everywhere.
"Yes, but who are they?"
The Gods are all-powerful, master. They are everywhere.
"You're stuck on this phrase, I see. The Gods have written you a useless dialogue," Jack remarked. "Perhaps I know the gods who imposed the Curse of the Great Misty Veil. It was the alphas in New Atrium, this is their work. The new owners of Alterra cut off everything that distracts our brother, the simple omega, from bickering."
"Now what?" Lisa asked. "Just turn back, and that's it? Is there really no other way?"
"I don't know yet," Jack confessed. "If there is any way to overcome the Curse, then we'll need to look for it in reality."
When he was dealing with an opponent in Alterra, then he just fought with it. Jack defeated or, if it was a higher level, deceived it. In Alterra, everything was fair. Success depended only on you. But how to defeat fog? It could not be pierced with the black blade, couldn't be burnt with a fire spell, or be confused by tricks. The Curse of the Great Misty Veil! They could have come up with something original... but no, just fog. So simple, so... so unconquerable.
The fog, this damned fog was everywhere. No movement, no light, no shadow. Small, slow wa
ves quietly and smoothly splashed onto the side of the schooner. Just a gray monotonous shroud. Even the sun above his head was not visible.
Jack stared at the sky. No, even the sun couldn't be seen. But what was that? In the distance, at the edge of his visibility in the foggy gray sky, a shadow slowly drifted, the edges of it slightly rising and falling. They were wings, and it was... a black gryphon with a rider. And the ship that had been following the Dead Wind at night probably belonged to Ruger, too. The necromancer stayed behind the vessel, watching the black schooner from afar. Now he fell back and, just like the Wind, was lost in the fog. He was somewhere near.
Chapter Nineteen. Egghead's Palace
ALL DAY, Jack had been hoping that a miracle would happen. Again and again, he entered the game, ran out of the cabin onto the deck and... all there was around was fog. The Dead Wind was stock still, and then a shadow gathered overhead – a sagging sail. Once again, the vessel began to move, but immediately changed course, then again and again, as if the fog was thickening in front of it, and the schooner was trying to get around this obstacle. Shadows appeared in the nebulous shroud, distorted grimaces, gigantic, eyeless faces, and large, deathly white hands that blocked the way. These pictures quickly blurred and dissolved in the veil, to reappear and again disappear. Strips of fog clung to the sides and stern like fingers. The Dead Wind shuddered and stopped, again began to sail and again froze.
If it were be necessary to fight with some sea monster, solve a riddle, or something like that, it would be possible to fight, break through or deceive it... but this colorless, silent fog surrounding from all sides was an unbeatable enemy. Perhaps, Andrew Vigo experienced something like this on the day he lit up his cigar with that bill. Fate, that bitch, had tossed him one of her meanest tricks. And there was no way to overcome fate.
Or was there? He needed a way, at least a hint... Jack paced the deck for a long time in the gray haze, trying to figure out where to find the clue. Finally he clapped his hands loudly. Of course! Why not! Strange that it never occurred to him before. It could only be explained by the number of events that had gone down, both in real life and in the game. After all, he knew just the person who sold hints! Moreover, Jack had promised to tell Egghead about his discoveries.
He went into the Shell, peeked into the mail service and wrote a letter to Egghead: I found a way to Gaerthon. This would be enough. More than enough, given Egghead's nature and his greed for new information! Let the skinny dandy read the short message over and over again and wrap his mind around the seriousness of the moment. Jack wondered when he would log into the Shell and see the message...
The answer came at the end of the day and two-thirds of it consisted of question marks and exclamation marks. The Egghead was hungry for details. He was drooling. Chomping at the bit. Stamping his hooves impatiently. This was exactly what Jack had been trying to achieve. In the second letter he decided to be a little more talkative, but still brief.
I'm stuck on a ship in the middle of a fog. It's called: "The Curse of the Great Misty Veil." But in fact, I'm sure the script was inserted by an alpha to close Gaerthon. How do I beat it? Or break it?
A letter from Egghead came in a few seconds.
I don't know yet, I've never heard of such a curse. I need details. Can you enter chat?
Nope. I'm far from Maxitown. On a ship in the open sea, surrounded by fog.
After this, Egghead thought a little longer. And made up his mind:
Come to me in reality. Remember, I don't open my shelter to just anyone. But the way to Gaerthon is worth the risk.
Jack was surprised – he did not expect such an offer – and considered his next letter a little longer.
I also think that the way to Gaerthon is worth the risk. But they're hunting me all over the Clusters now. I can't trust anyone. I'm in hiding.
Egghead insisted:
I know they're looking for you, and I'm not interested in the hundred panbucks. Remember, I did not betray your girlfriend in the game. Yes, I had to say something, but I didn't choose coins over her head. And then, I'm also taking a risk... until now, no one in the ghetto, or in Alterra, has learned who Egghead is. I mean, no one can connect the real me with my avatar. So, I'll tell you my coordinates. When you come, you'll see that this is very dangerous for me. But I trust you. That's the truth. And I hope that you will at least trust me. Tell me the details and I'll try to find a solution to your problem. And I'll agree to your terms, just name them. Just don't tell anyone about the way to Gaerthon. Me only, and no one else.
Jack didn't know how to answer. There wasn't much he could write in an email. What did Egghead actually have in mind? In the ghetto everyone had secrets, cherished like their own health. Under other circumstances, Jack would not have dared trust the slippery man. But, it seemed, in fact, that he had no choice. How much time could he spend in that basement? In a couple of days, the batteries would die and they would have to go back. He could charge them at Peter's place. And then? Sooner or later Jack would be hunted down. No, he would have to decide something, soon. Right now he needed something to figure out the Curse of the Misty Veil, and Jack knew no one more knowledgeable than Egghead. So he replied:
Tell me how to find you. I'll come tomorrow morning. I need potable water, crackers, canned food – get this stuff ready. And, most importantly, I need a light, small-sized, high-capacity battery. Or two. Three, even. Or ten... The more you find, the more I'll reveal in my story. See you tomorrow.
Nighttime, of course, would have been the best time to go, but Jack didn't want to break another Walker commandment by moving through the Wasteland in the dark hours. He'd violated it once and Lisa was still limping heavily. She sprained her foot in the fall, and the damage turned out to be worse than Jack thought at first. So he would have to go to Egghead without her. On the one hand, it was the right thing to do. There was no need for her to wander among people, who would sell her off for a hundred panbucks. On the other hand, a basement in the middle of the Wasteland was also not the safest place. However, he couldn't see any other option.
If he left Simon's House just before dawn and moved with a light, quick step, he would reach Egghead by early morning. So, for the rest of the day, he needed to arrange things better for Lisa.
Jack, armed with all the tools he found in the basement, started work with the bolt on the door. Old Simon had taken good care of his retreat. The door to the basement was solid, with a sturdy lock. But the key could not be found, so Jack adapted a strip of steel that he'd scavenged from the shelves as a latch and screwed it to the jamb of a homemade bracket with a dozen screws.
Lisa understood and said that he didn't have to bother. She would be far more secure in the basement than in any of the Clusters in the ghetto. She promised that when he left, she would impose on the unfortunate door the darkest of known necromancy spells. Theoretically, she was right, the basement was quite a safe place... but Jack stubbornly drove screw after screw into the frame. Clamps couldn't hold this thing better. He was just calmer while working.
When the day had just begun to break, he set off. On the way, he thought about the Misty Veil. What would Egghead be able to advise? No, he couldn't guess. The fog, the fog... how to deal with it? A weightless muck, just as thick as the gray vapor from the geysers. For some reason, this similarity came to his mind. Coming up with nothing sensible, Jack entered the ghetto when the streets were still deserted, as he had expected. The dark hours were provided for dark business. In Alterra, Vecta and Necta took care of this, but in reality, it happened on its own. In the morning, all dark affairs had been settled, and everything else was just getting started. Omegas stirred in their lairs. It was the time to pass unnoticed through a couple of border clusters, hiding in thickets and ruins just in case, and to find the trailer where Egghead was waiting.
* * *
A light was burning in the windows of the trailer, which stood against some ruins. So, Egghead wasn't sleeping. He was waiting. That was right.
Jack spent a quarter of an hour going around the neighborhood and making sure that no one was milling around, and that no one in general had been lingering in the area. Where there was an ambush, there were traces: fresh cigarette butts, traces of spit and the like. He didn't find anything like that here. Egghead had settled in a quiet, sparsely populated place. The presence of a stranger would attract the eye of someone who knew how to observe. Like, no one.
Before knocking, Jack listened to his senses. He didn't sense the coldness in the abdomen that usually preceded danger, his intuition was silent. Some might say that it was nonsense, foolishness, but Jack was used to trusting his instinct. In this world, in general, what could he trust? His own gut, and nothing else.
A stooping, lean, middle-aged man opened the door. He was swarthy, with a wrinkled face and a long, drooping mustache. He was dressed in camouflage pants and a stained wifebeater. His right hand was hidden behind his back. Wonder what he had there? A knife, an ax?
Overall, he wasn't very similar to the refined dandy who owned a small mansion in Maxitown and flew in a golden coach. But the biggest difference was that Jack clearly saw that the man standing in front of him didn't like to think too much. Not that he was a complete fool. He was fast in his movements... it was quite possible that he was sharp and decisive, but this type obviously did not devote much time to intellectual processes.
"I need Egghead," Jack said. "But... you're not him, are you?"
"Not him," answered the man, looking the guest over from head to toe. "And who are you?"
"Jack the Tramp. And I need to talk to Egghead urgently.”
The mustached man thought a little more, opened the door wider, and stepped aside. Jack finally saw what he was hiding behind his back. A sawed-off double barrel, hammers cocked. He was prudent, and it meant he had cartridges. It was not difficult to draw the last conclusion: if the cut-off was not loaded and used only for intimidation, then he would have kept it in sight from the beginning.