I breathed out a couple of times, carefully kneaded my neck with my fingertips and reached into the nightstand for a plump notebook.
Damn, other people’s checkbooks swell, but with me it seems to be only notebooks…
Quickly, I found the desired number with the inscription “night only” and dialed it.
- Hello? – Pronounced a drawn out, guttural voice.
- Hello, Rashid. You’re asleep or behind the wheel?
- Both, dear friend! – Cheerfully replied my old friend, a night time taxi driver. – Should I swing by?
- Uhuh. I’m home. Remember the address?
- Wah! Of course I do, friend! Be there in 20- 25 minutes. Good?
- Just perfect— I was almost glad of the delay.
- I’m already on the way.
Thanking Rashid, I hung up the phone and dialed a different number. I had to wait a long time before I got an answer this time.
- Vlas! You’re actually a jerk after all!
- And same to you— answered Vlas, breathing heavily into the phone. – I won’t pick her up! I’m busy!
From somewhere in the background, a small voice was heard—
- Vla-ass… well, where’d you go darlin’? Come here…
- Well, darling! – I growled— Bas-tard!
- Well you only wish you were doing the same! With anyone… A kick-ass lady, by the way!
Glancing at the heavily drunken “kick-ass” girl next to me, I only made a face and asked:
- And where does this kick ass lady live, by the way? Do you know?
- Mhm. One second— and I have the home number as well.
- Yeah, what’d the phone number for though?
- What do you mean? The elite live there, there’s a wall around the whole place, and the guards are mean and will cut you to pieces. They won’t let you in there.
- Well then probably everyone’s asleep already…
- That’s what I’m saying… leave her at your place, let her sleep it off. Tomorrow get a taxi and put her in it and that’s that. Why invent a hemorrhoid for yourself?
- Leave her… -- I thought, but imagined also her morning awakening, some explanations, apologies, condemnations… no, no I don’t want that… -- Give me the number!
- Woooowww…. – We said together, having seen the house.
- If only I could live like this, dear friend! – Summed up Rashid.
- A hell of a design— I said, opening the door and getting out of the taxi.
It wasn’t a house— it was a three story suburban mansion in a traditional English style. Complete with the winding ivy on the walls. And a perfectly tended lawn, and flower beds. We didn’t have to peer into the darkness— the perimeter was well lit. Obviously, they didn’t skimp on electricity.
Knocking was also unnecessary— the elaborate wooden door opened by itself and quite a young man came out of it, not even twenty.
- Hi.
- Hello— I nodded, stifling a yawn with difficulty and politely opening the door of the car—
Was that you I talked with over the phone? You’re Kira’s brother?
- With me— agreed the guy, shaking my hand. – Mike. Brother. Good thing, that I was still awake… and Aunt Lena didn’t pick up the phone. She would have caused such a commotion. So speak quieter, so we don’t take any chances.
- Alright— I said in a whisper. – Take her.
The guy dove into the car and climbed back easily, holding Kira in his arms. I was even jealous… especially remembering, the efforts it took me to lower the woman down the stairs and into the apartment… No, I’m not weak, but I was tired…
- Athlete?
- Uhuh. Swimming, and water polo— Nodded Michael.
- And so why aren’t you sleeping?
- Yes…-- He waved his hand. – Got lost here and there, and had to stay up…
- Michael! – From the door, came a worried voice— What happened? Is it little Kira?
- Aw, shit! Aunt Lena! – Mike hissed reproachfully.
- Well, good luck! – I said shortly, getting back in the car. – Rashid, step on it!
The engine roared, and we sped away, leaving Michael behind.
- Now it’s your Trouble… -- I snorted, glancing in the rearview mirror. – Lost somewhere… darting around, here and there… I’ve heard it somewhere before. Or something like it…
- Back? – Rashid interrupted my musings.
- Yes! Home and sleep! – I answered wearily, leaning back. – Although… on the way, we’ll make a stop— buy a few bottles of Bailey’s. I wanted something sweet… And a box of chocolates. For Barbara Pavlova.
Chapter 2
The choosing of a name. A fearful name for a pet.
We will ride, we’ll ride fast…
Enter.
Flash…
-- Milk, please! Three pitchers! And I’ll buy a new flask and fill it with milk also. Just hurry up!
-- Of course, sir! – Nodded the owner, already on the move. He was the only owner of the tribulation trade shops.
He placed the three clay jugs on the counter with a thud, next to a substantial leather flask
-- Thank you! Please take it! – said I, and a handful of copper coins resounded on the counter before him.
-- Of course it’s not my business, but … just half an hour ago, you already bought milk…
-- I know! Wasn’t enough!
-- And the flask too…
-- I know… He gnawed it! – said I, with an agitated breath, turning my attention to the parcel at my bosom. – You’re not a wolf! – I hissed. – You’re a glutton!
Do you wish to name your pet by the name Glutton?
Yes/No
Warning: Pet name cannot be changed in the future…
-- I will not! But the name fits! Here—eat!
From the hole in my battered jacket emerged a back wet nose, sniffed a little, and pulled forwards. His small fangs bit into the neck of the leather flask, and I heard a small but squeaky growl. The indicator of the liquid amount quickly ran low, and the indicator of the strength of the flask also began to wane.
Leaving the nest in my jacket is something the cub categorically refused. I became just like a kangaroo mommy. Just shout “Kanga” and I’ll hop right over!
All that he needed was delivered directly to the cub’s dwelling place. But the list of necessities is limited to one word— milk. Or rather— food.
-- Who have you got in there?
-- The devil only knows… -- I confessed honestly, looking sadly at the chewed- up flask. – Looks like a wolf cub, but the temperament of a greedy pig. A boar!
Do you wish to name your pet…
-- No I do not wish!
-- A wolf cub! — the astonished trader raised his eyebrows – So that’s it.. so maybe, he’s prefer a nourishing broth of some kind? He’s not a calf after all, to be fed milk…
I never waved off the advice of the “locals,” and quickly nodded:
-- I’ll buy it!
-- Well, I have none… -- the shopkeeper spread his arms— But certainly, a broth would not hurt…
Catching my glare, he added hastily:
-- But there is stock in the tavern, of course!
-- Thank you, dear sir! – I answered, grabbing the milk jugs off the counter and “throwing” them into my knapsack.
I, of course, was deeply doubting that having had a bowl of broth, the cub would let me rest. But maybe I could get at least a short break?
Flying from the shopping stalls, I jumped through the puddles on the path to the tavern and accelerated so much that I was forced to brake with a skid, sending a splash up into the air.
-- Rosgard.
-- Huh? – I turned frantically, and saw a black-haired angel. Not in the figurative sense, not a dark-haired woman with an angelic face. No, in front of me was an immortal, wrapped in white robes, with a clearly dejected look on his face.
-- Hello.
-- And same
to you— he sighed and, glancing at the wet nose sticking out of my jacket,
asked— are you actually ever going to give your pet a name?
-- Uhm… I’m going to. Why?
-- This is a unique pet— sighed the angel with even more dejection – such, that in the whole of Valdira there are no more than two dozen. Not wolves, of course, but namely these unique animals with their unrepeatable appearance and abilities.
-- And?
-- And this is an achievement! Of which it is necessary to capture a picture, at the very best angle, and place in the tavern of Valdira! And representatives of the administration should have already congratulated you— at the very moment, when you acquire this loyal friend, a reliable companion and so on and so forth…
-- Thank you for your congratulations! An achievement to hang on the wall is not necessary!
-- You still have not received it! – The demon exploded, and quickly composed himself, muttering— Excuse me, please. So you are going to give your wolf cub a name? This is already the third hour I’m following you! Waiting for the moment…
-- Still haven’t thought of a name for him — I confessed, and seeing how this twisted the demon, added hastily— Yet! Haven’t thought of a name yet! For the life of me, I don’t know what to call him! Maybe, you can give me a hint?
-- We are not allowed to influence the actions of players— admitted the immortal— You have the right to delay the um… pet naming however long you wish, but this insatiable hunger will be quenched only when he gets the name. By the way… he’s chewing your jacket…
-- Aw, hell! Stop it! Stop you beast!
Do you wish to name your pet by the name of…
-- Not under any circumstances!
-- Maybe it was worth thinking of a name before offering the pet food? – Diplomatically asked the angel.
-- That’s what I thought! And then changed my mind… that’s why I’m toiling now…
-- Best of luck— sighed the immortal, becoming more transparent at each moment. With only a quiet echo came to me his final words— to us both…
-- Well, I don’t know what to name him— I answered, already to emptiness. And, driven forwards by the impatient squealing and growling wolf, trotted to the restaurant.
The tavern hall met me with its already familiar silence. No, there were visitors here, but in very small quantities, and they mostly sat alone.
I caught the image of an elf-player with incredibly long, pointed ears breaking through his cap of hair. It wasn’t just his appearance— which was conspicuous enough— but the incredibly thick folio resting in front of him, which he carefully leafed through. It was immediately clear that he was not trying to improve his intelligence of explore new knowledge for his class. The player simply sat at his table and sipped something hot from a big mug, throwing a glance at the clouds behind the window once in a while, only to delve again into the reading. Surely, some historical novel about Valdira or other literature written within it. Reading for the soul.
At the next table sat a pair of quietly negotiating locals. And at the bar, a single player saying something to the innkeeper’s wife. Indeed, the innkeeper’s wife was one of those glorified Russian women. One of those who wouldn’t hesitate to throw any man playing her into a burning hut, and his horse as well… Strong, but without any signs of sagging, her face glowing with health, her full lips pursed with displeasure— looks like she isn’t liking the player’s speech, no, not at all.
Making sure that the innkeeper himself was not there, I came up to the counter and stood behind the bumbling player as he spoke. Seventieth level, a human, with an axe and a curved saber crisscrossed behind his shoulders. A sufficiently unusual choice.
-- …What do you mean it’s already closed? I was late only a day, and the church is already closed!— seethed the indignant player— and if I was at work? And if I had vacation for the whole 24 hours? And that’s why I didn’t make it to the event!
-- You’re talking nonsense, my dear man – the Innkeeper sighed wearily, who was, of course, never notified herself when the administration plans huge events such as the one which occurred yesterday.
-- The church should be open a minimum of two days, or even three! – continued Flash Foote, seeming not to hear he; I had already read his nickname as I shuffled around behind him. – And better, make it so it doesn’t close at all! No loss to the administration!
-- I’m telling you— I do not understand what you’re going on about— the strong woman shrugged her shoulders, and as her gaze found me by accident she instantly beamed— Hello, Rosgard! How are you these days?
-- Thank you, fine— I smiled faintly. Bloody aura of love! – You can’t help me, dear lady…
-- Anything at all!
-- A bit of broth, for me— I timidly voiced my request— perhaps there is a bit in the kitchen?
-- Of course! Why wouldn’t there be? And for you, I’ll make some from the best meat we have, I won’t be lazy— said the Innkeeper coquettishly, and I hopelessly looked around for her legal husband, who seemed to have vanished somewhere in spite of me.
-- I’ll have a whole pot— I choked out— only quickly.
-- Right away— the woman assured me, turned and headed to the kitchen, swaying her powerful hips.
-- If you want— come with me, you’ll choose it yourself, from whichever pot you’d like. And maybe you could even try something else…
-- No, thank you. I trust your taste— I shook my head and she, nearly saddened by my disagreement, disappeared behind the door. I breathed a sigh of relief and, lowering my gaze, muttered— Don’t worry, she’ll bring you something delicious. Stop eating the jacket!
I wanted to add some more “gentle” words to say to my pet, but heard angry panting, and turned around in bewilderment.
It seemed that the player of level seventy had not gone anywhere, and seemed to be “boiling” in front of me. A second, another one, and he burst out in anger towards me:
-- Oh, that’s what huh? That’s how it is? Huh?
-- Hey, what’s up with you? – I hastily stepped backwards.
-- So, when I talk to her— can’t get a word out of her! And now to you— oh, let’s go to the kitchen, I’ll bring it right away, the most nourishing broth! Yes, I’ve got a wooden account, and what?! The locals are going to turn up their noses at me?
-- Calm down— I choked with amazement— Class has nothing to do with it. It’s just something else. There’s a --
-- Yeah of course nothing to do with it! – The player almost shouted, and immediately switched to the Innkeeper, who had returned carrying a large clay pot— Hey, game program! Why don’t you pour me a broth too!
-- What the hell! – The elf, who was sitting at the table, slammed his book down loudly. In his words I caught a light and barely noticeable accent— What are you doing, mate? I’m sitting here, reading a book, drinking some spiced wine, admiring the mountain views— and you’re killing my buzz, man! Already for the second hour bullshitting yourself!
-- What buzz? We’re in a game! – The riled up played roared again at full volume. – It’s a game! A game! Nothing is real here! Wake up guys!
-- Calm down— I repeated— The demons don’t like it when people disrupt other people’s gameplay process.
-- Demons…-- The brawler momentarily stiffened, and then casually dismissed it. – All nonsense! The game is huge, they can’t watch everyone. And they can go to hell, those angels! Cannot even make an event like it’s supposed to, everything they do is up their …
Behind my shoulder the air quivered softly and, stumbling mid-sentence, the player saw the raven-haired angel appear out of mid-air. He gently touched the shoulder of the perturbed Flash Foot, and they both disappeared into the air without a trace. The player only had time to yell something illegible, and that was all. Flash Foot had fully lived up to his nickname.
-- Wo-o-o-w… -- drawled the elf.
-- Wo-o-o-w… -- I agreed.
-- Gr-r-r-r.. – Growled the hungry wolf cub.
-- By the gods!— uttered the stupefied Innkeeper, dropping the pot of soup to the floor with a crash.
Sitting at the table, the locals, having obviously censored the entire fiasco, asked for another round of beers.
-- They’re somewhere around here… -- the elf continued, twisting his head and looking into the dark corners— always somewhere nearby.
-- Yeah — I agreed, looking imploringly at the Innkeeper— Certainly, dear Mr. Fox.
The elf understood the joke and his lips stretched into a cheerful grin.
-- Oo-oo-oo-oo… -- My pet whined, obviously upset, sniffing the appetizing broth with his snout.
-- Quiet!— I muttered, hiding the treacherous nose.
Crunch! Tiny canines crunched closed, and from my jacket fell a large chunk of leather.
-- What the hell! Bonehead! That’s what you are! Ravenous bonehead!
-- Bonehead? – inquired the pink-haired elf— I have not heard such a term before… is this a contraction?
-- Exactly! – I growled— From the words “bone” and “head.” That’s what that is! … Constantly messing with other people’s things…
-- Oo-oo-oo-oo!— The wolf cub whined, in unison with me.
-- Bonehead!
Do you wish to name your pet Bonehead?
Yes/No
-- No! Mistress, would you please bring a little more broth? And perhaps best not in the pot, but in this flask please!
-- Already am! – sang the monumental innkeeper, stepping slowly over the “melting” fragments of the clay pot. Lucky for the “locals”— it isn’t necessary to wash the stained floor or clean up debris. All disappears by itself.
-- And what kind of pet is this? Who have you got there? – began the elf, who was already beginning to annoy me.
-- A beast— I responded dryly, and, offended by my sharp answer, the player buried himself back in the book. I took the pouch from the hands of the innkeeper, who had returned— which required playing along for a few minutes with her winks and flirting. She did not seem to want to unclench her fingers. Once this was accomplished, I said goodbye briefly— and, turning around, gave the nozzle of the flask to the whining pup. I went out into the street.
The Way of the Clan 3 (World of Valdira) Page 3