by S. R. Witt
She led us into a cramped cul-de-sac surrounded by cracker box homes that leaned against one another. The snow here was filthy, mottled with brown, yellow and red stains. The homes all had sagging, snow-covered roofs with jagged icicles clinging to the eaves. I eyed them, more than a little nervous that trying to go into one of these shitboxes would get me impaled by a falling spear of ice.
“This guy is different.” Mercy warned us. “He’ll talk to me, but I don’t know how he’ll react to you three.”
I held up a hand to stop her before she could open the door. “Is he going to try to kill us? Because I’ve had about enough of making new friends who want to kill me.”
Mercy flicked the air with her tongue and sighed. “It’s not like that. But he doesn’t like to leave his house.”
“And yet, here we are, asking him to travel not just out of his house, or outside the city, but to take a long trip with us into some crumbling ruins.” Pale wisps of blue fire ran through Indira’s golden hair as she spoke, a sure sign she was on the verge of losing her temper. “Why don’t we just hire someone from the tavern?”
Mercy leaned in toward Indira and lowered her voice. “Because what we’re doing isn’t exactly something we can advertise. What if the Hoaldites heard we were working with Saint? We’re asking this guy because I trust him. That’s it.”
Indira started to protest, but Bastion cut her off. “Mercy’s right. We need people we can trust, and if Mercy is going to vouch for this guy, I say we give him a shot.”
Indira threw her hands up in frustration. “Fine. We’ll talk to her priest. But we don’t have a lot of time to waste, so if he gives us any lip, we move on.”
No one agreed with Indira, but I knew she took silence as approval. Indira liked to get her way, and she always thought she was right.
Maybe she was. But it was still hard for me to see her in a flattering light. We were only a couple of days away from her trying to kill me, and not even that far from her tricking me into a Life Oath over splitting loot we didn’t even have yet.
Mercy rapped the tips of her claws on the wooden door and leaned back. When no one answered, she switched to her fist and pounded against the little window set into the door.
Nothing.
“Maybe he’s not home,” Indira snarked.
Mercy shot her a murderous glance and hissed, “He’s always home.”
“No I’m not,” came a muffled voice from inside the house. “Go. Away.”
Indira rolled her eyes and Bastion shrugged his shoulders. “Try again,” I whispered to Mercy. She’d backed me up when Indira wanted to haul me off to the priests, so it was the least I could do for her.
Mercy leaned in close to the door and whispered something I couldn’t hear, then waited for a response. An almost inaudible mumble came from inside the house, and Mercy paused for a moment, then whispered again.
For someone with no visible ears, she could hear really well. I was only a few feet away from her, and couldn’t make out any part of her whispered conversation.
We all waited impatiently, eager to get on with our quest. I’d just about given up hope when the door finally opened.
The house was dark, its interior a shadowy cave illuminated by scattered candles. An inviting, homey scent wafted out of the home, a combination of cooking herbs, wood fires, and roasting meat. “Come in, if you must.”
The speaker was hidden in shadows, his voice a low rumble that was at once alienating and comforting.
Mercy led us inside, and I took up the rear. When I closed the door, it took some time for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. From somewhere deep within the house, a hearth cast orange light and autumn shadows. Beeswax candles were set into small niches on odd walls, giving just enough light to make your way through the cramped room without bumping into the walls.
With the door closed, the delicious scents intensified, filling my nostrils with delicious aromas and making my stomach rumble. It had never occurred to me before, but eating wasn’t really much of a thing in Dragon Web Online. I’d always assumed it didn’t really matter, but the smells had my mouth watering and my stomach rumbling. “If this guy promises to cook, I’ll give him half the treasure.”
Bastion nudged me in the ribs with his elbow. “I’ll decide how we split the treasure.”
It took an enormous effort of will to keep my face neutral. Bastion had no idea what I’d promised Indira, and I had a feeling he was going to be very, very angry with me.
Mercy led us into the next room. A fireplace crackled merrily in the corner and something roasted on a spit inside its glowing maw. The room held a single comfortable chair next to the hearth, a narrow cot on the opposite wall, and some sort of workbench occupying most of the middle of the room. There was a combination of woodworking tools and cookware scattered about, which gave the whole area a strange and somewhat sinister aura.
“Everyone, this is my friend Cringer.” Mercy gestured toward a dark corner.
It took me a moment to spot the dwarf lurking in the shadows. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his baggy trousers, and a hat pulled down so low over his face I couldn’t see his nose. A stiff leather coat made him seem wider and shorter than he truly was. The coat’s hem dragged on the floor and hit his boots like he was a little kid wearing someone else’s clothes and not a full-grown dwarf.
“It’s good to meet all of you,” he said. His words had a strange accent to them, nothing that made him hard to understand, but there were odd differences in inflection and emphasis. I’d never heard anything quite like it.
Indira bowed low, an uncommonly gracious gesture from her. “Thank you for welcoming us to your abode, sir dwarf.”
Bastion offered a rough salute, and the dwarf banged his fist against his chest in response.
That just left me, and I’m never great with words. “You steal that coat from somebody taller?”
“Saint!” Mercy barked.
The dwarf chuckled and raised a hand to stop her from disemboweling me on his floor. “It’s all right, I’ve heard everything. Plus, the kid isn’t much taller than I am, so any joke he makes about my height only makes him look all the more foolish.”
That earned him a laugh from everyone. Why was it okay for the dwarf to comment on my height, but not cool for me to snark on his?
The dwarf stepped out of the shadows and dropped into his chair. “All right, Mercy, I’ve met your friends, and I let you into my home. Make your pitch.”
She didn’t sugarcoat it. “We need a priest.”
The dwarf chuckled at that and shook his head. “You don’t want a preacher, you want someone to patch you up when you get put full of holes.”
There was no point in lying, the dwarf had it nailed on the nose. “You’re right, we heard you were good at that.”
Cringer eyeballed me from across the room. He stroked his thick beard and toyed with the braids dangling from it. “You’re not making much of a first impression.”
I shrugged and feigned disinterest. Cringer had a lot of weird stuff in this place to look at it, so I turned my back on him to peek at his toys. There was some sort of blood-crusted vise on the workbench that looked intriguing. Or horrifying. Or both. “Mercy says you’re the best priest she knows. You want the job or not?”
While the dwarf stared holes in the back of my head, I looked over his little workbench. My Thief’s Eyes kicked in as I took in the table. Small tools, all glowing a pale golden color, were scattered all over the bench. There were dozens of them, everything from tiny chisels to thick mallets. The intensity of the auras surrounding those items in my Thief’s Eye told me they were all expensive and well worth stealing.
The dwarf also had fresh herbs and dried seasonings in little bowls right next to tins of jewelers rouge, trays of rough gemstones, and all manner of other crafting supplies.
But the most valuable item on the bench was a small gem cutter’s lathe, which had to be worth several hundred gold pieces judging by the
intense glow surrounding it. Its intricate gears and multitude of levers and knobs caught my eye, and I reached for it.
“Do not touch that.” The dwarf’s voice boomed from across the room. “That is my livelihood you’re poking at. I don’t journey around helping fools keep from dying. I stay here, I heal the hurt, and I make things. And that’s all I do.”
A thought occurred to me. “You’re a craftsman?”
That explained the supplies. Dragon Web Online touted itself as having one of the most intricate crafting systems of any game ever created. I hadn’t gotten into it, but people said you could build almost anything inside the game, from simple weapons, all the way up to steampunk contraptions. Of course, the game was so new no one had really had time to learn much about how everything worked. It looked like Cringer was well on his way to becoming a master of some craft or other.
The dwarf joined me at the table and straightened his supplies. It’s always uncomfortable when someone sees your messy room. “I tinker. I make a few items of jewelry. I can repair some types of armor. I’m learning, but it’s slow going.”
He’d just handed me the lever to pry him out of his squalid little hovel. “Probably takes quite a bit of work gathering all the supplies? I imagine the higher levels of crafting will require even more exotic raw materials.”
“Yes,” the dwarf said with a sigh. “That’s what slows me down the most. I have to rely on others to gather what I—”
He felt the trap closing around him and tried to wriggle out of it. “No. No, that won’t work.”
I smiled at the dwarf and stuck out my hand. “My name is Saint. I’m willing to give you your choice of any crafting supplies we come across while you’re with us. All you have to do is keep me from dying.”
Bastion cleared his throat. “I’d prefer not to die as well.”
Indira and Mercy both chuckled, “We’d prefer not to die, too. That’s why we want you to come with us.”
Cringer glared at me. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s dangerous out there. I just want to help others and build things. That’s not so much to ask.”
“We’ll protect you.” Which seemed like a grandiose guarantee, given how we’d come here looking for someone to keep us alive. Still, I could feel him warming to the idea despite himself. “Plus, you’ll get experience out in the field. Traveling with us will help you gain levels. And higher levels mean a higher limit to your crafting skills.”
Cringer grumbled. Fear warred with his desire to master his trades. “I don’t want to get hurt.”
Who did? “There’s no guarantees you won’t get hurt. As you said, it’s a dangerous place out there. But I promise you, we will look out for you.”
“I’ll want someone to guard me, at all times.” The dwarf looked me up and down. “Someone with some skill at fighting. A bodyguard.”
I chewed on the inside of my lip. While saving Frosthold was the root of our quest, making money was an important part of the whole process to me. We were already at five members of our party, which was splitting the treasure mighty fine. This guy wanted us to add a sixth?
I glanced over his head at Bastion and the rest of the crew. They all shrugged. It was my call.
“Fine. But we’re not hiring you a specialist mercenary NPC who’s going to eat up all our money. We need to find another adventurer willing to babysit you.
“And your bodyguard’s pay comes from your split of the treasure. You can keep whatever crafting supplies you want on top of that.”
The dwarf hocked up a loogie and spat into his hand. My skin crawled at the thought of rubbing palm around in dwarf spit, but it was how the deal got sealed.
I shook his hand and grimaced, and he grinned at me through his bushy red beard. “All right, then, when do we leave?”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Bastion and Mercy took Cringer shopping for some adventuring gear while Indira and I searched for his bodyguard. They had the easier job, even if they did have to get the horses. I wasn’t looking forward to riding one of the big beasts, but we couldn’t afford to waste time walking.
“Just because I’m footing the bill for the horses and the rest of the supplies doesn’t mean I don’t expect to be paid back.” Indira wouldn’t let up on the money she’d loaned to my brother and Mercy. “I get paid first. We don’t split up any treasure until my money is back in my pocket.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “Fine, I already told you that’s what we’ll do. Give it a rest.”
To her credit, Indira was only bitching because she’d invested so much money into our little expedition. I suppose I should have been grateful because if Indira didn’t have faith the money was coming back, she wouldn’t have kicked in anything. It warmed my heart that she’d gone from wanting to turn me in for a reward to spending her money on my quest.
She glanced at me and pushed a lock of golden blond hair back over the tip of her ear. “I want to make sure we’re clear. That was a lot of money.”
She wasn’t kidding. Somehow, she’d managed to amass a small fortune during the short time Dragon Web Online had been live. And she’d done it all by her lonesome.
Something told me our friendly neighborhood wizard might have something unsavory up her billowy sleeve, but I didn’t want to push her. If she wanted to tell me where she’d fallen into such a pile of cash, she’d tell me.
And if she didn’t tell me, I’d get to the bottom of her secrets sooner or later. I’m a curious guy.
“So, this warrior. He isn’t going to be as much of a pain in the ass as that Cringer dude was, is he?”
I had visions of every new member of our party asking for something extra. The thought of a whole train of us traveling north to stop the evil with our alpacas and llamas and parrots and hirelings in tow was amusing, but not that amusing.
Indira paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe a little. He’s different.”
I guess if everyone’s different, we’ll all be the same. When you sign up to go hunt monsters, you can’t really be expected to be normal. “I just don’t want this to get any more expensive than it already is.”
We stopped in front of the tavern. “He spends most of his time in here. He’s a great fighter, but he’s not much of a go-getter.”
“Fingers crossed,” I said and followed her into the tavern.
Like the city, this place was getting bigger all the time. My first night in Invernoth, there were a dozen tables in the tavern. Now there were at least twice that many and more rooms scattered around its perimeter than made sense for its size.
Game logic. It doesn’t always make sense, but it’s always interesting.
Indira looked around the tavern for a moment before pointing a finger toward a corner. “There he is.”
She started to lead me to the table, then stopped. “Do not pick a fight with this guy. He’s sensitive.”
“Who me?” I asked, mock offended. “I’m the nicest guy you know.”
As we approached the table, I worried Indira had suffered a head injury at some point. There was no one at the table, just a single flagon sitting on its surface gathering beads of moisture.
“Havelock,” Indira announced when we arrived at the table. “I’ve got a job for you.”
I waited for a genie to waft up out of the flagon or a ghost to materialize in the air above us. A few moments later, the chair on the far side of the table pushed back, and a groggy little man propped himself up on the table’s edge. His features were sharp and pointed, from the waxed beard jutting from his chin to the striped mohawk standing off the top of his head. His skin was weather-beaten and crisscrossed by vivid red scars, and his left eye was swollen closed.
“Get off, why don’t you.” He curled back up in his chair and began snoring.
Indira whispered, “Looks like he’s been in a bit of a scrape. Might’ve been drinking a little.”
The guy smelled like a brewery and looked half dead. “Ya think?”
Indira gave
me a warning glance and held her finger to her lips. “Let me handle this.”
She went around the other side of the table and knelt down. I couldn’t hear what Indira whispered in his ear, but the little man stiffened in his chair, and his eyes bugged from their sockets. Even his swollen eye opened wide, and a look of sheer terror puckered his mouth into a tight “O.”
“That’s better,” Indira said with a frosty smile.
“Please,” the little man said with a shudder, indicating the empty chairs around the table. “Won’t you join me for a drink?”
Indira took a seat and motioned for me to do the same. Whatever she’d said had done the trick. Havelock looked like he was on the verge of pissing his pants or puking. Maybe both. “We don’t need a drink,” Indira said. “We’re here to talk business.”
He rested his head in his hands. “I’m a gnome, we don’t do business.”
He couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. He was thin and wiry and looked like he was more bones than meat. I had no idea why Indira thought he’d make a good bodyguard. “We’re looking for someone who can fight.”
“If you’ve got the coin, I’ve got the blade.” And, just like that, the gnome had a short sword resting on the table.
I hadn’t even seen the little bastard move. I’d hate to see how fast he was when he wasn’t hung over and beat half to death.
“We have money,” Indira said. “How much will depend on how well you perform your duties.”
The gnome chuckled and shot Indira a wink from his good eye. “Oh, I’ll perform my duties right well, miss elf.”
Indira flicked the tip of his nose with her finger. “There’ll be none of that.”
The gnome winced and rubbed his injured nose. “Point me at your bad guys, and I’ll take care of them.”
Indira smirked. “This job is a little different. We want you to keep someone safe.”