I looked at Azov. “Like I said, I saw him already. It was just too far away…”
“When Kit said we don’t know who the player is, he wasn’t being entirely honest. We really don’t know, though we think it’s your old buddy Wanderer,” Zimin said softly. “That’s who the clues we have are pointing to.”
Ah, yes, Wanderer. That was who the guy in the square had looked like. Also, when we’d met in Selgar and he gave me the vial, he didn’t have a username above his head, and he just smiled when I asked him why that was. So, he already had the quest. He’s going to regret getting involved in this, though…
“That’s just one version,” Zimin said. “But it’s better than nothing.”
They patted me on the shoulder, told me I was doing a great job, promised a New Year’s bonus, went on and on about how the new priority was to dig through the order quest, didn’t pay any attention to me protesting about how I already had one major problem bearing down on me in the game, and ended up kicking me out before I even had the chance to tell them about Jeremiah. All I could do was get an answer to my question about how the player hadn’t gotten penalized for killing other players—as it turned out, the game really did just take personal aggression into account. And with that, Valyaev pushed me out the door.
It looked like the bosses were putting together a plan for how they wanted to bring the Old Man into the loop, and I was not part of that conversation. That’s okay, though—I don’t really want to be. The less you know, the longer you live. If nothing else, I had even less to fear from them, given how much they needed me.
Back in the car, I thought to myself about how strange everything was. It was crazy that there was something they couldn’t change in the game. After all, it was just a bunch of pixels and characters, certainly not a living being. They’re hiding something. But, whatever, my job was just to play it. Even the little bits and pieces I knew had already gotten me into trouble, so I definitely didn’t need any more of the puzzle.
***
Oddly enough, the crazy ended with the week. That Monday and Tuesday, nothing interesting happened. I visited the office and found that there were, indeed, places in the world where nothing changed. To be honest, that cheered me up—stability is always nice. Reading the interview Marietta had with me was also a fun twist, especially since it began, “The unflappable hillman was ferocious and brutal.” Huh, that’s the first time anyone has ever called me that. The ladies apparently loved my newfound status.
I figured out who had pushed that little initiative at the same time: it turned out that nobody knew who had given the order to go around interviewing people. Somebody from Raidion had called Vika and given her the number of a programmer who would make characters for our team, and then each of them had a neural bath brought to their house. The delivery people didn’t explain anything except how to use them. Except, when they visited Tasha, they told her that living on the eighth floor without an elevator was criminal, though that didn’t bother the short, unyielding girl in the least.
Azov, who I told the whole story to, couldn’t find anything on his end, either, at least, that’s what he told me. Somebody had stopped by and said something, which didn’t raise any alarm bells—they may not have turned out bushels of characters like that, though it was far from unusual. There had to have been an order for the neural baths, and it turned out to have been signed by Valyaev. He didn’t know anything. However—it looked like a good idea, and so he’d signed it, though he didn’t remember who’d brought it to him to sign. It was part of a packet of papers different employees contributed to and then left with Eliza for him to look over all at once. What I couldn’t figure out was who needed the whole thing. Although, it’s done, and it’s actually pretty great. It was like news from the front lines.
***
Everything in the game was quiet, too. Lane was busy running around the clans, and he’d already gotten four of them to join us. They were small, but beggars can’t be choosers. The clan itself grew a little, too: Krolina culled just about everyone out, though she did send a few my way. Five people joined over those two days, including a healer girl named Freya. That was a big pickup. We were expanding, and I was starting to think we might need to confiscate Lane’s castle if we were successful taking out the MacPratts. The little village was getting claustrophobic. His castle was large and comfortable, and it featured a wall and gates rather than the fence we had. The village was great for strolling around and playing the accordion; it wasn’t the easiest to protect.
All in all, I had taken some time to get my feet under me and even sleep in by the time I got to Raidion Wednesday morning to talk with Azov. We looked over the arsenal he’d collected, giving me the chance to pull the trigger on the Mauser, and then we waited for Natasha, my friend from the theater. She was driven up to a back door in a company car to make sure nobody saw her and her load of costumes. There were hats, breeches, different jackets, and pea coats.
“Cool,” I said to my reflection in the mirror once I’d put my costume on. “I love it!”
I adjusted the Mauser hanging at my side in a yellow holster. It actually had a stock attached to it, turning into a small shotgun. That was the first time I’d seen one outside of the movies.
“There’s some resemblance there,” Azov said as he pulled his costume on, as well. “The height and the spark in the eyes are perfect.”
Okay, so, the ball is taken care of—we definitely won’t be making fools of ourselves.
“The Old Man complimented you,” Azov said suddenly. “I imagine, he’ll want to chat with you at the ball.”
I turned toward him. “He’s going to be there?”
“Of course.” Azov stuck a grenade that looked like a bottle into his belt. “It’s better that way, no?”
“Much better. Wow, he’ll be there himself.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine. Have I lied to you yet?”
“Not that I know of,” I said hesitantly. Azov laughed.
Utilizing the chance his good mood offered, I told him about the chat I’d had with Jeremiah. The bosses hadn’t let me when I’d been up with them, and I was worried I’d get chewed out for not telling him immediately. Bosses are like that—first, they don’t listen, and then, it’s all your fault. Contrary to my expectations, Azov didn’t dress me down. In fact, it sounded like he already knew what was going on, judging by the lack of emotion on his face.
“Obviously, it wasn’t the Consortium,” he said, deftly slipping a sailor hat onto his head. “It’s not their style. I think everything that’s going on in the game is part of the same tangle of threads as the attack on you.”
I’d been thinking the same, but some thoughts are better kept to yourself…
To my surprise, it was quiet and peaceful in the village when I logged into the game. The Northerners had split up all the unmarried girls, enjoying the comforts of home and only coming out for their shifts on guard. The knights had gone beyond the guard house to even build a small house for themselves. Even my clan mates were out in locations belonging to clans friendly to us (Krolina, to be specific), all of them taking turns bringing Tren-Bren with them. She was the curse of the clan, everybody agreed, but they’d gotten used to having her around, particularly since the clever kid had put out the rumor that she was my daughter in real life. The veterans, who knew what was going on, didn’t get involved—they knew how the fairy was and were worried about how she might try to get back at them.
I even saw Brother Yur walking around the village with his accountants. He was taking in the surroundings with great interest.
“Good afternoon, Brother Yur,” I said, walking over to him.
“He-ello there,” he nodded. “It l-looks good around here, nice and p-pastoral.”
“It’s what we’ve got so far,” I replied, gesturing around. “Some people don’t even have this.”
“I’m g-glad you’re start-ting small,” Brother Yur said with an instructive finger raised alof
t. “You don’t appreciate the l-little things if you j-ump straight to the b-big things. Humility and moderation are the paths to true greatness-ss. Speaking of which, wh-where can we talk?”
“Oh, anywhere.”
“You sh-should only ever talk about-t import-tant things in special places. Only irresponsible a-and cr-razy people have serious conversations outside. And th-that’s not us, is it?”
Debatable. I was, judging by the recent past…
We walked into the house and headed toward the small hall, where Kale was carving something.
“Hi, Kale,” I said to the young man as he leaped up and hid his creation behind his back in embarrassment. “How are things?”
“Oh, I’m just on guard here—that’s what Mistress Krolina told me to do,” the warrior muttered. “Just in case.”
“What a-are you carving?” Brother Yur asked. “You kno-ow, I’ve always e-envied people who can work with their hands. Would-d you show it to me?”
Kale sheepishly handed us the figure of a girl who looked like Kro. I’ll bet that thing will pick up some nice attributes when it’s done. I figured it would be something you were supposed to carry around in your bag, and I made a mental note to have Kro get it from Kale when he was finished.
“Beau-utiful,” Brother Yur said. “You’re v-very talented, y-young man.”
“Thank you,” a blushing Kale replied.
“And now, y-young man, go f-find Junior Master von Richter,” the treasurer said. “H-have him come here.”
There was incredible power in the short, gray-haired man, and it was power you felt subconsciously. At least, Kale immediately stepped toward the door, though he didn’t forget to glance at me. I nodded to let him know that he could leave.
“Okay, so, from what I-I understand, you’ve made some gains,” Brother Yur said, sitting down at the table.
I sat down across from him. “Sure, a little. Would you like me to have some food brought?”
“I’m n-not hungry. So, our friend e-ended up agreeing to fight f-for the throne?”
“Who’s he going to fight with?” I replied, barely suppressing a smile. “He doesn’t have any competitors, and there isn’t even a throne. Whether anyone needs a king is another issue.”
“That only g-goes for the generation alive now-w. The b-babes in cradles will be accustomed to having a k-king, and their ch-children will think o-of it as a way of life. Everything’s relative.”
“That’s all great, but how do we get the people in the Borderlands to follow him now?” I sighed. “They love their freedom.”
“The s-same way you-u always do,” Brother Yur replied, looking at me with surprise on his face. “C-cold calculation, logic, and personal prowe-ess designed to fit the l-local mentality. It needs to be well-thought-o-out, of course, a-and safe.”
“From your mustache…” I said, looking away.
“What-t about my mustache?”
“To god’s…ah, whatever.” Proverbs didn’t go over well in the game.
“What are you talking about?”
“He likes mustaches,” I said, losing control of the conversation.
“You n-need to go easy on the spi-irits—you’re t-talking nonsense.”
“Okay, we’re getting distracted. As far as personal prowess goes, we’re matching up against a local clan so there will be plenty of opportunities to show that off.”
“The b-best option would be for our future k-king to s-stay away from the fight,” Brother Yur said. “It w-wouldn’t do any good to have him-m in there.”
“He has to,” I replied sadly. “That’s the tradition here—the leader is out front.”
“Okay, go-o ahead,” Brother Yur said placidly. “You’re th-the leader, so what-t does Lossarnakh have to do with anything?”
Yeah, who cares if I die?
“Don’t think-k badly of me,” Brother Yur grinned. “I know y-you—even if e-everyone else dies, you’ll make it out-t alive. You have nine lives, j-just like some k-kind of cat. But our cont-tender only has one.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I said, a bit hurt. “First, we need to get to the field, and then, we have to win, too.”
“The most important thing-g is for him to survive,” Brother Yur waved. “B-believe me, we can even t-turn defeat into victory, so l-long as we approach it from the right-t angle.”
He was a clever, clever guy. Sometimes I worried about doing business with him because it felt like he could see right through me.
“My-y people will go with you just in cas-se,” Brother Yur said, rubbing the table. “You have l-lazy servants—s-see how dirty th-the table is?”
“Oh, forget the table.”
“Don’t s-say that,” the treasurer said, shaking his head. “First, it’s-s a dirty table, then d-discipline suffers, and finally, you find-d your throat cut in your sleep. It’s all-ll in the details.”
Sometimes, I couldn’t keep up with his thought process. I fell behind, and that’s why he was always ahead of me in our battles of words.
“Okay, so, h-here’s what we have: the k-king agrees to be-e the king, and you’re about-t to lay the first brick for the throne. Good, everything’s going according-g to plan.”
Brother Yur, clearly in a good mood, hummed some kind of melody. All I heard was something about everything according to plan. As it always happens, he didn’t stutter when he sang.
“And I kept my w-word. Get r-ready—we’re going to Atarin Castle as soon as I h-have a chat with von Richter. Where i-is he, by the way?”
“Really? That’s great, let’s do it. I’m ready whenever you are.”
Just then, Romul stepped into the hall and stopped stock still when he saw Brother Yur.
“Ah, Romul-l,” Yur said. “What are y-you doing here?”
“It’s just…” Romul went pale and started stammering. “Well, I mean, I—”
“I hired the poor guy,” I said. “His inquisitors are homeless, and they didn’t need a treasurer anymore.”
“Yes, I h-heard about wh-what happened in Kadrans,” Brother Yur nodded. “We’re a-about to discuss th-that right now. With a t-treasurer like that, you might be th-the one ending up a ‘poor-r guy.’”
“Master, why would you say that?” Romul muttered, his white face turning green.
“You listen-n to me,” Brother Yur said heavily. “Sire H-Hagen is my friend-d, and a g-good one, so, if anything happens, l-like if some of his belongings go missing o-or he dies from a bone in the compote, you will b-be held to account—I’ll h-hunt you d-down. Questions?”
“None whatsoever,” Romul replied. His eyes looked ready to escape their sockets, and I realized that my threats hadn’t meant anything to him compared to hearing it from my friend.
Brother Yur waved, and Romul flew off. Judging by the sound of flesh hitting iron, he ran smack dab into von Richter.
Gunther walked into the hall with a very surprised look on his face.
“What did you do to that little guy?” he asked us. “He ran out so fast, he banged his head against my armor. Hello, Brother Yur; hi, Hagen.”
“Good a-afternoon, Junior Ma-aster,” Brother Yur said dryly, ignoring the question. “Did you h-hear about the massacre in Kadrans?”
Gunther frowned. “Hear? We were there—Hagen, one of your people, and me. Did they really not tell you about how Hagen brought the remains of the inquisition back here to his lands?”
“Tha-at’s what I don’t like about knights—you’re all so direct-t,” Brother Yur said to me. “Of course, th-they told me. That’s why-y I asked you to come here. The order c-council gave orders for y-you to protect monsieur Florence and-d his people.”
Why do they need protection? The village they were in already needed an expansion since the inquisitors were coming in droves. There were already more than fifty of them, and that looked like it was just the beginning. To my chagrin, players with inquisition quests were even starting to show up. I was worried they’d attra
ct the Lords of Death, especially since there was already information out on the forums. It would have been bad enough to have them cut up the inquisitors; I really didn’t want them coming after my people.
But those thoughts stayed with me, and von Richter nodded to acknowledge his receipt of the instructions. “In that case, I’ll need more people,” he said. “We’ve already suffered some losses.”
“T-ten men will show up t-tomorrow under du Leng’s command,” Brother Yur replied. “You’ll l-leave him here and go to where monsieur Martin is y-yourself.”
“Would you allow me to send du Leng there?” Gunther asked immediately. “I need to be here for everything we have going on.”
“All right-t.” Brother Yur was probably checking off his responsibility to help the junior master in his head. “I’ll speak-k with the council, though you’ll s-still be responsible for the life of monsieur M-Martin.”
“Do you have any other orders?” Gunther asked, looking steadily at the treasurer to show that he understood his responsibility very well.
“Tha-at’s all.” Brother Yur got up from the table. “Sire Hagen-n and I are leaving, so y-you’re free to go.”
“Ready?” I pulled out a portal scroll and handed it to Brother Yur.
“Just l-like that?” Brother Yur asked in surprise. “What about-t a gift?”
“For you?”
“You can g-give me one, too, but better save it for Hassa-an. It’s the East, we’re v-visiting him at home, and it wouldn’t b-be good to show u-up emptyhanded. He doesn’t n-need anything from us; we’re the ones who-o need something from him…”
I realized my mistake and checked my head. Nothing good in there. After standing there thinking for another thirty seconds, I had a good idea.
“Abigail!” I yelled as I left the hall. “Sis, where are you?”
“What do you want?” she called from the second floor. “Why are you yelling?”
She was starting to feel more comfortable with me, it sounded like, and that was a good thing for our relationship. On the other hand, it could be less that she’s happier with me and more that she’s looking forward to my date with the executioner.
The Crown and the Key Page 10