Alexion glanced at Caerus, remembering the information the noble had fed him. “And the city’s Council simply let her go?”
Gracien’s expression darkened further. “That decision was made despite my warnings. We should have made an example of the girl and the threat that dark mana poses to the city. Yet the other fools wouldn’t listen to reason. They quake in their robes instead of taking a hard stance.”
“A preemptive strike is often the best strategy,” Alexion replied with a nod. “It is also disconcerting to hear that the Council doesn’t value your opinion – especially after your guild members bore the brunt of Riley’s actions.” This earned him a snort of agreement from the surly mage.
Alexion hesitated for a moment, rubbing at his chin with one hand. “I understand that your guild has been purchasing undead slaves. Is that true?” Alexion asked, watching the man closely.
The fire guild master glared at Alexion, his eyes taking on a crimson hue as he began channeling his fire mana. “You are clearly well informed. The real question is why you insist on wasting my time asking questions to which you already seem to know the answer? Get to the point. Why are we here?”
A small smile curled Alexion’s lips. “I just wanted to be certain we are working from accurate information,” he explained in a conciliatory tone. “But to answer your question, I’m here to make you an offer. An alliance of sorts.” Alexion’s smile widened. “How would you like to work with The Crystal Reach?”
***
The group spent the next hour marching steadily south. They made much slower time without their skeletal mounts. Frank’s new shapeshifting ability also delayed their progress. He insisted on summoning the wings every time his stamina managed to regenerate in order to practice flying. He was terrible at it, spending more time crashing painfully into the ground than he managed to stay airborne. As a result, the group had to stop frequently to let him heal.
Eventually, the southern road intersected with another thoroughfare. The tree cover had thinned out considerably along the coast, yet Jason could just make out the edge of a forest to the west. After glancing at their map, the group made a turn to the east.
As they neared the town of Falcon’s Hook, the player population began to increase dramatically. Dusty rogues, archers, and warriors marched along the roadway, chattering animatedly. Players lingered in the fields along the road, likely slaying the wildlife. Jason was a bit taken aback by the sheer number of travelers in and around the city. Even with the recent increase in players, the Twilight Throne still felt nearly deserted. Although, he supposed that no one had destroyed Falcon’s Hook and killed off half the NPCs. That might have something to do with the popularity of Jason’s undead city.
The gates of Falcon’s Hook came into view a few minutes later. Enormous blocks of stone had been piled in layers, creating a wall around the city that stretched nearly two dozen feet into the air. Even from this distance, Jason could tell that the town had been built on the edge of a cliff – the ocean stretching out toward the horizon behind the towering walls.
As she caught sight of Falcon’s Hook, Riley tugged down at the edge of her hood to conceal her face and blond hair. Jason also noted that she had covered her bow with her cloak. “We need to be careful from here on out,” she said softly to Jason and Frank as they passed a group of players heading in the other direction. “If you go into the system menu, you can disable your guild tags. At least that will make us harder to identify.”
“Will do,” Frank replied with a shrug. “At least Jason and I have common names. There must be a few thousand ‘Franks’ and ‘Jasons’ playing the game at this point.”
“I never thought I would be happy to have such a boring name,” Jason offered, taking Riley’s advice and pulling up his system menu with a quick flick of his wrist. He knew that disabling his guild tag would help, but it wouldn’t be a foolproof way to avoid detection if they encountered a player with a high Perception skill.
Jason sighed. “We probably need to maintain a low profile here. Let’s try not to start a fight or draw any attention to ourselves. Our priority is finding information on this island.”
“And maybe a way to get there?” Frank offered with a short laugh. “Unless you were thinking of making us swim.” He paused for a second as he chewed on that thought. “You weren’t planning to make us swim, were you?”
Jason rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the road. As they approached the gates, Jason saw a pair of guards standing nearby wearing heavy mail. Players and other NPCs passed in front of the men with little fanfare, the guards rarely disturbing the flow of traffic.
As Jason’s group moved to pass the guards, they suddenly looked more alert, their eyes inspecting the three players closely. “Halt there, travelers,” one of the guards demanded, taking a step forward.
Damn it. Is this a result of our infamy? Jason wondered. He couldn’t help but recall the reaction of the guards when he had first entered the game, and this was the first time that he had traveled to another city.
Jason could feel his shoulders tense, and he rested his hand on his dagger underneath his cloak. He eyed the players around them. If they made a scene here, it would likely turn into a brawl – one they would almost certainly lose without his minions. Frank and Riley stayed quiet, but Jason could see the nearly palpable tension hovering over the pair as their hands crept toward their weapons.
“How can I help you?” Jason asked, trying to keep his tone even.
“You all look like you’re new to these parts,” the guard continued. His buddy had stepped over to join him, his knuckles white around the shaft of his spear. “What’s your business in Falcon’s Hook?”
Jason had considered his story on the long journey to the city. “We’re here searching for trade opportunities. We’ve picked up some merchandise in that disgusting undead city to the northwest. We’re hoping to find a ship and a crew willing to help us haul our merchandise down the coast.”
The guards looked at each other skeptically. “Where are your goods?” one of the men demanded harshly.
Jason spread his hands wide. “This is just a first visit. Once we find a crew, then we can invest in shipping the goods to Falcon’s Hook. Besides, we wanted to scout the road conditions for ourselves. No sense losing our first shipment due to bandits or monster attacks.”
“Hmph,” the guard snorted. “Give us a moment.”
“Sure thing. Take your time,” Jason replied, trying to sound relaxed.
The two men stepped away, speaking to each other in hushed tones and glancing at Jason’s group. “What do we do if they don’t buy it?” Riley asked in a hushed tone.
“Die quickly is my guess,” Frank answered tersely, eyeing the constant stream of players going in and out of the city. “Look how many players there are around here. We won’t last two minutes.”
“Relax,” Jason interjected. “Just keep acting normal. The guards might sense our infamy, but our cloaks and disabled guild tags might get us through. I’ve had some success using disguises in the past.”
Finally, the two guards approached the group again, serious expressions lingering on their faces. “We’re going to let you all inside.” He hesitated slightly, glancing at his companion. “We might also be able to help you with your trade problem. If you seek out House Cairn, they should be able to offer you a boat and a crew for a reasonable price.”
“House Cairn?” Riley asked.
The guarded looked at Riley in surprise. “You don’t even know the trade houses that run this city?” He shook his head in bewilderment.
“Our apologies,” Jason jumped in. “As I mentioned before, this is a scouting trip for us. We were also hoping to better acquaint ourselves with the city and its trade houses. Maybe you could elaborate?” As Jason asked this last question, a gold coin appeared in his hand, and he offered it to the guard. “Of course, we’d be happy to pay you for your time.”
The guard glanced at the coin in
surprise before snatching it and thrusting it into his pocket. A smile crept across his face. “Certainly. By the way, my name is Rupert Fen, and my friend here is Harold Fletcher.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” Jason replied with a small smile, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. It was interesting how quickly a bit of coin allowed you to make friends.
“To give you an introduction,” Rupert began, “this city is run by two trade houses: House Baen and House Cairn.”
“Been that way for as long as my family has lived here,” Harold added, nodding along to his partner’s story.
Rupert motioned at the purple livery some of the nearby NPCs wore. “That crest you see folks wearing represents House Cairn. Green livery stands for House Baen.” Jason hadn’t noticed the small emblems emblazoned on the residents’ clothing until the guards pointed them out.
The guard hesitated before continuing, glancing at his partner. “Others might not be so frank with you, but you three seem like good folk. If you’re going to pick up a crew here, you’re going to have to choose your loyalties carefully.”
“Is there some sort of tension between the two houses?” Jason inquired, curiosity tinging his voice. “I’d rather not walk into a conversation and say something that might give offense.”
Rupert hesitated again, glancing at his partner. “Let’s just say that they aren’t on the best terms. Many old hostilities and grudges have built up over time.”
Jason could begin to see why the two guards had acted a bit reserved at first and why Rupert was choosing his words carefully now. They were probably both being paid under the table by House Cairn – sending travelers and NPCs to that house by soliciting them at the gate. He doubted House Baen would be happy to discover that the city guards were effectively acting as salesmen for a rival trade house.
“Well, we appreciate your help,” Jason said. He looked Rupert in the eye. “We’ll also be sure to mention you by name when we make a visit to House Cairn.”
A broad smile stretched across Rupert’s face, and he gave a knowing wink. “I would surely appreciate that. You all have a good time in Falcon’s Hook and don’t hesitate to reach out if we can be of any assistance.”
“Certainly,” Jason said, beginning to move away from the guards. Then he stopped and turned back to the two men. “Is there a good tavern in town where we could talk to some of the ship crews directly?”
“Aye,” Rupert answered with a nod. “The Seaman’s Folly is near the wharf on the far side of town. Trust me, you can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” Jason replied and then turned away.
As the group made their way into the interior of the town, Frank spoke up, “Is everyone in this game a crook?”
“I like to think we bring it out in people,” Riley responded in a dry tone.
Jason shrugged, recalling the encounter he had witnessed between George and the detective in the real world and the way the businessman had pressured Thomas into letting Jason go. “I’m beginning to think that this is just the way the world works – in-game or out. But it’s clear from the guard’s story that we need to tread carefully here. Let’s be circumspect about what we say until we know which house we want to align ourselves with.”
“Agreed. What’s our first step?” Riley asked.
Jason’s gaze shifted to the sky, where he noticed the sun beginning to drift toward the horizon. “We have a few hours until nightfall. My thought is that we should visit the inn. We might be able to identify the island we’re looking for by talking to the sailors. We also need more information about these two houses before we speak to anyone important.”
“Sounds like a plan to me!” Frank said. “Let’s get started.”
With that, the group started off towards the far end of the city. As they strode forward, it immediately became clear that Falcon’s Hook had been built in a hodge-podge fashion over the years. The buildings towered three and four stories tall – consisting of ramshackle wooden structures that had been tacked onto the original buildings. Planks and gangways connected the houses on the second and third floors, creating a patchwork of raised streets.
It took the three nearly twenty minutes to traverse the city. Once they reached the far eastern end of town, the roadway dead-ended into a cliff face overlooking a bay. Winding wooden walkways had been built along the side of the cliff, leading down to a port that stretched into the bay. Waning sunlight glimmered off the water as boats swayed gently in the rhythmic waves that rippled across the bay.
“This is strange,” Riley said almost wistfully as she looked out at the ships, the breeze quickening and pushing back at her hood. “It’s difficult to tell this isn’t real, but the smell gives it away. It’s just not quite strong enough – like it’s missing… something.”
“I know what you mean,” Jason said, sparing a glance at Alfred. He had wondered about the lack of smell before, but he hadn’t ever asked the AI about it. He’d have to add it to his ever-growing list of questions.
“I think I found our tavern,” Frank called out, trotting up to the pair and gesturing to a building further along the edge of the cliff. Indeed, Jason could see a group of townsfolk and players spilling out of the open doorway of an enormous structure perched a few dozen feet from the cliff’s edge. A wooden sign swung above the tavern door, the image of a broken ship painted across the panel.
“Let’s get on with it then,” Jason said, mentally preparing himself to politely interrogate the sailors inside. Frank and Riley followed a step behind him.
After the group managed to push their way inside the tavern, they discovered a large common room filled to the brim with boisterous patrons. Shouted conversations and curses filled the room with a cacophony of noise that made it difficult to hear his teammates. Jason leaned in close to Frank and Riley, suggesting that they split up to talk to the sailors. They’d cover more ground that way. He received curt nods in return, and the group separated.
Jason inched his way over to the bar along the back of the room. His goal was to buy himself a drink and perhaps catch the attention of the barkeep – who he hoped would have his finger on the pulse of Falcon’s Hook. Jason found a stool on the far end of the bar away from most of the noise and gestured at the portly innkeeper that stood behind the counter.
“What can I get for you?” the man demanded curtly, wiping away the sweat from his brow.
“Just a beer,” Jason replied, laying down some copper coins on the bar. He noted the way the man kept looking back at the other patrons at the bar. With the inn this crowded, he didn’t seem to have time to speak with Jason.
A moment later, a mug of ale landed on the counter in front of Jason, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim. Before Jason could offer his thanks, the innkeeper was gone – already serving another patron.
So much for that plan.
Sighing, Jason decided to turn his attention back to the inn’s clientele. Most appeared to be sailors, their hands coarse and their skin tanned by long days in the sun. They were all armed. Rapiers and curved swords hung from the waist of more than one sailor, and Jason’s Perception skill also picked out concealed daggers and knives. His eyes lingered on the insignias embroidered onto each man’s clothing, identifying their house.
Jason’s brow furrowed as he realized that the tavern was divided into two camps, the houses claiming tables on either side of the room. The only exception was a table near the back of the common room near Jason where a young girl sat alone. Her attention was focused on an assortment of vials spread out across the wooden surface, oblivious to the noise in the tavern. She wore a pair of wireframe glasses, and her straight black hair had been chopped short – ending at her shoulders. As Jason watched, she ground something in a small stone mortar and then carefully poured the contents into one of the vials.
That might be a good place to start, he thought as he watched the girl. He didn’t notice any insignia on her clothes so she might be a bit more impartial.
He was just about to stand and approach the girl when a sailor accidentally collided with a serving girl. The blow sent the poor maid tumbling forward, her tray of drinks flying through the air and crashing against a nearby table. The room quieted slightly at the commotion, loud curses filling the air as a group of angry men covered in sticky beer rose to their feet.
One of the now dripping-wet sailors grabbed the man who had stumbled into the waitress. “What the fuck was that? You owe our group another round,” he shouted, his face growing red.
The rather drunk-looking man looked at him in confusion. Then his gaze darted to the sailor’s insignia, and a glimmer of recognition flashed in his eyes. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I buy Cairn men a round. Besides, I heard your kind preferred to lap it up off the floor like a dog. Consider this a favor!” This earned the man a round of laughter from the members of House Baen that lingered around the room.
Jason’s attention shifted to the other patrons, noting the angry expressions of the Cairn men and women and the way their hands were already creeping toward their weapons. He could also see Frank and Riley trying to filter through the crowded area and make their way over to him, likely sensing the rising tension.
“You calling me a dog?” the sailor growled. “Maybe you and your other Baen mates need a reminder of which house rules this city.” With that last statement, the sailor suddenly lashed out with his fist. The blow struck the clumsy man directly on the bridge of his nose – a resounding crunch echoing through the room.
The man fell back, his arms wheeling madly. He landed heavily on the table where the lone girl had been sitting. Her carefully sorted vials shot into the air and then tumbled to the ground with a tinkling crash of glass. More sailors leaped to their feet – their fists raised and weapons materializing in their hands. Soon a whirlwind of motion filled the room, as clashes of steel and screams of pain reverberated through the enclosed space.
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