Zimin gave me some good advice as we walked towards the elevator and waited for it to arrive.
“Don’t talk too much, keep it short, and only talk when he asks you a question. Don’t interrupt him like you usually do. And really, you should stop doing that—it’s not one of your better habits. If he asks something, tell him the complete truth.”
“You’re better off that way,” Valyaev confirmed. “The Old Man doesn’t like people who aren’t clear, and he has no patience for mumblers. He doesn’t like it when you can’t convey your thoughts clearly, accurately, and concisely.”
“But don’t worry. The Old Man likes to let you know he’s in charge, though he doesn’t go too far,” Zimin said, cheering me up as he pressed the button for the thirtieth floor. “He likes to keep things pretty democratic.”
The elevator doors opened, and I was surprised that there wasn’t much of a floor to see. Five steps away were large, yellow doors that I assumed led to the Old Man’s reception area.
Zimin and Valyaev glanced at each other, took me by both arms, and pulled me out of the elevator. The doors slowly closed behind us, and I heard the elevator returning to a lower floor.
“Knock,” Valyaev said to Zimin.
“Why me?” he hissed back. “I knocked last time!”
“Oh, please, get in here—you’re always whispering around outside the door!” a deep and very pleasant male voice called out. “What’s with that?”
My bosses let go of my elbows and glanced at each other one more time. Zimin opened the doors, though there was no reception area on the other side. We were looking at a large office.
“Go in,” Valyaev muttered in my ear. “What are you waiting for?”
I walked in and looked around, though, needless to say, I didn’t make it as obvious as to turn my head. It was a nice office, there were floor-to-ceiling windows, and the furniture was old, solid, and well-made—I always notice that kind of thing. On the wall was the same map of Fayroll Zimin had, only this one was bigger. The light was pleasantly dimmed, lending a homey feel to the place. A nice smell added to the atmosphere—he had apparently been eating an orange. And then there was another sweet and savory smell that I couldn’t quite place.
“Well, Kif, have you gotten a good look?” I hadn’t even noticed the owner of the office standing nearby. “You don’t mind me calling you Kif, do you? That’s what these two always call you.”
“Whatever you want,” I replied.
Why do they call him the Old Man? Next to me was standing a gentleman who, of course, wasn’t exactly young, though he was a good ways from old age. I estimated him to be around forty—maybe eight years older than me, ten at the most. He was wearing a very expensive black suit, a snow-white shirt peeking out from underneath the jacket. There was no tie to be seen.
I wasn’t sure why, though I felt at ease and drawn to him, the nerves and apprehension of the previous hour having melted away.
“So did my blockheads put the fear of God into you?” He smiled, teeth glistening, and I couldn’t help but notice how naturally his smile fit his kind, open face. That did it for me—my misgivings were put to bed. “Don’t believe them—they’re always lying. I always get on them for their jokes, but I can’t get them to stop. What can you do?”
He shook his fist playfully at Zimin and Valyaev, who were still standing by the door, and a large ring glinted on his ring finger. Zimin and Valyaev laughed in appreciation of their boss’s joke.
At the same time, the big boss unbuttoned his jacket and sat down in one of the chairs in a corner of the office, gesturing me toward the neighboring one. Valyaev and Zimin went over to a couch not far from the map.
“Kif, have a seat. Let’s talk. Unfortunately, I don’t have much time: I just flew into Moscow four hours ago, and I fly out in another three. I still wanted to find a little time for you, however, since I’ve heard so much from my people about the great job you’re doing. I’ve been wanting to meet you personally—you may not know this, but I like meeting the people who work for me, especially when they’re working their way up through the ranks.”
“What do you mean, a great job?” I muttered, having flopped down on the chair. “We’re just printing the paper—nothing new there.”
“Hold on, let’s start by introducing ourselves. I know your name, and you may not know mine—that’s a bit awkward.” He folded his hands on his lap and fixed his piercing, blue eyes on me. “My name is Valerian.”
“Nice to meet you.” I was about to extend my hand, but I decided not to. Maybe he doesn’t like that? “Harriton. But you can just call me Kif—that’s what I’m used to.”
“Excellent,” Valerian replied, smiling again. “And now tell me a little about yourself, but keep it brief. I’d like to know what kind of person I have here in my office.”
He had an incredible ability to pick out the important parts of what I was saying, using it to ask questions and cut my story down by a good factor of two or three. I had to think he’d read a dossier about me at some point. He knew everything there was to know, or, at least, that’s how it sounded to me. Then we talked a little about the paper, he praised my work, and I felt incredibly flattered, even though I’d never exactly been given to vanity. But in that moment, I felt genuine pride, both in myself and in my work, as well as in my team, and I realized that we were doing good, important work everyone needed. Valerian had found such simple, but powerful words that I even felt a catch in my throat.
“Well, Kif,” Valerian said, placing his hands on the arms of his chair. “I’m glad we got this chance to meet, and I’m sure it’s the beginning of a long and mutually beneficial business relationship. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Me?” I had to laugh at the question. “I’m all for it!”
“Excellent,” my host replied, also laughing, and in a way that wasn’t offensive in the least. “I hope my underlings treat you well? I mean, money, goodies, and all the rest? They can be a bit stingy, from what I remember.”
I assured him that what I’d gotten was more than enough, though it didn’t sound like he completely believed me.
“Right, did they show you the twenty-second floor?” Valerian gestured over his right shoulder with his head. “It’s waiting for a new boss—remember that. And I would be happy for a person like you, someone who’s smart, ambitious, and cold-blooded, to take over. It’s your spot—I’m sure of that.”
“Psst,” I heard from the couch where Zimin and Valyaev were sitting.
“What?” Valerian looked at them reproachfully.
Valyaev scrunched his face up in a grimace I didn’t understand, though my host apparently did.
“Oh, that.” He snapped his fingers, the white-gold cufflinks on his shirt flashing. “You’re right, I almost forgot. Kif, my friend, I heard you had a chat with our sworn enemies. They even gave you an invitation?”
“Yes, a gentleman named Jeremiah…” I was about to continue, but my host waved his hand to interrupt my comment.
“That Jeremiah is nothing more than a messenger. They just send him to go get people… He was once a very influential person, but the years haven’t been kind to him. They’ll break the best of us, and it was always a stretch to put him in that category—he’s too soft, and he trusts his feelings too much. Somebody else will talk with you, probably someone named… Actually, he can tell you that himself, if he wants. I also have a good guess what he wants to say, but you can find that out yourself, as well. All I’ll say is that he probably won’t have much good to say about our corporation, and there’s nothing we can do about that, unfortunately. It’s just the opinion he has.”
“Maybe it would be better for me not to go?” I asked. “Maybe we should just forget them? I mean, if there’s something they can do to harm what we’re trying to build. He could say anything, really.”
“Why not go and hear him out? You’re free to think, believe, and act the way you want.” Valerian looked me in the eye. “You have
the right to decide who’s more in line with what you’re looking for, who you want to stick with, who you want to trust. And that’s especially true since there’s nothing dangerous for you about visiting him—they won’t touch you, believe me. And as far as what they’ll say… They always stick pretty close to the truth, it’s just that their truth… Well, the truth is only true to the one saying it, while it can mean absolutely anything else to whoever’s listening. But that’s a very long conversation, and we don’t have nearly enough time for it. I do hope we’ll be able to discuss it and a lot more another time, however. But for now, I’m sorry, I have work to do. Paperwork, agreements…nothing fun.”
He walked me to the door and shook my hand in leaving. I had already turned to go, when there was a clap behind me and the lights got brighter in the office. I glanced back quickly, I’m not sure why, and saw an old, skillfully engraved jug in a cabinet near the desk. The association it recalled for me was practically nonsensical.
“Let’s head over to my office,” Zimin said in the elevator. “We’ll have some cognac.”
Once there, the two friends threw back a glass of the liquid, though I turned it down. I don’t drink in the morning, and I had a trip to Kallidon Forest waiting for me. The gelts had promised their help, and the Wild Hearts were paid in full—more than, in fact. Oh, speaking of which!
“Hey, what did you do in the Borderlands with the duel in Morrigot? The one with the head of the clan there? When I was killing Rennor yesterday, I practically wanted to butcher him like a pig. It didn’t even feel like a game—I was shaking when I logged out!”
Zimin glanced angrily at Valyaev, who looked down.
“Kit, you did it again?” Zimin pounded the table with his fist.
“Oh, come on, he’s fine. Look at him sitting there, as if nothing happened.” Valyaev was drinking the cognac like water.
“What are you talking about?” I raised my eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, this one just loves his experiments,” Zimin said, lighting up a cigar. “He’s been pushing the psychological side recently, the monster, artificially pushing the emotional range in the game to make it feel more realistic.”
I coughed.
“Nikita, what are you thinking?” I couldn’t help myself. “I wanted to kill him, and it was a good thing it was me! What if someone turns you in to the gaming commission? You could lose your license! Hell, you’d have a criminal case on your hands. And then the press would get involved…”
“Exactly.” Zimin jabbed a finger in my direction. “That’s the second person telling you that. Stop it, or I’ll–”
“Fine, leave me alone,” Nikita blustered, going back to his glass. “Neither of you have an experimental bone in your body!”
“Why do you call him the Old Man?” I asked, breaking the silence with a question I’d been wondering. “He isn’t really that old.”
Zimin waited a few seconds before answering.
“Put it this way: don’t ask us anything about him, because we won’t tell you anything. You already know everything you need to know. He did like you, though—that much was clear.”
“I liked him, too,” I said sincerely. “He seemed like a good guy.”
We sat there for another half hour before I left the building, got into the car that was waiting for me, and headed home.
Life seemed good, what with me being in the good graces of the higher-ups and all, but the object I saw was bothering me. One more thing crossed my mind, and then another… I realized that the picture forming in my mind was crazy, though, on the other hand…
“Stop here,” I said to the driver. “Over there, by the sidewalk.”
“Here?” he replied, surprised. “But we’re not there yet.”
“Yes, we are,” I said. “I need to stop by the store to buy some kefir. It’s a five-minute walk from the store to my building.”
The driver let me out and drove off. I made sure he was gone before walking around the building and heading down some stairs into the basement.
I was stepping into one of the oldest, from what I could tell, computer clubs in Moscow. At one point, there were so many of them that their name was legion, but easy credit, cheap internet, and, primarily, falling computer prices had wreaked havoc on them. One after another, they’d gone under. Still, there were a few remnants of the once-great empire left, and one of them was right near my home. It was open twenty-four hours a day, making it the perfect spot for me to check out the ridiculous hunch I had—it wasn’t something I wanted to be looking up on my home computer. Knowing Azov, I had to imagine my computer was being monitored. Only the regulars knew about the club, however.
I pulled up a search engine and spent ten minutes poring over site after site, finally sitting back and exhaling deeply. Some pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place—not all of them, but quite a few—and the different oddities I’d been noticing no longer seemed so strange. But I could barely bring myself to believe what I was thinking. It was crazy, absurd, delusional. Could I just be believing it because it’s so ridiculous? No, it was too much. I assumed I was just tired—that happens, when you start to imagine all kinds of nonsense only to laugh at it all later. That has to be what’s going on.
That’s what I told myself as I tapped a finger on the desk and looked at the conclusive proof staring back at me from the monitor…
End of book five
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Vasilyev and the LitWorld team
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Book recommendations
Thank you for reading Fayroll! The saga is far from over, but there are other great stories I wanted to tell you about! Do yourself a favor and check out The Trapped Mind Project by Michael Chatfield. Find it here.
I also want to recommend Realm of Arkon, a great series written by a friend of mine: G. Akella. He is one of the most popular and best-selling LitRPG authors in Russia. Book one is currently available for free until the end of the month on Amazon.
What do a famous Swedish gamer, a half-woman half-dragon, a Japanese youth with ties to the Yakuza and a despicable goblin have in common? Find out in this new LitRPG fantasy series! Find it here.
I would also like to recommend D.Rus who is another of the best-selling LitRPG Fantasy authors in Russia. His work is fantastic and very well received in Russia. You can find his work on Amazon.
Also don’t forget to look at my publisher’s website http://www.litworld.info for all the latest information and to find other great authors I work with.
And if you can’t get enough of Fayroll then why not join our Facebook Page. We post all the latest information about Fayroll, artwork and pictures and even the odd competition or two. You can find it on Facebook.
Fayroll 6
Also you can get a sample of book 6 now from this link. It will be out in November. So join Kif as he continues his epic adventure.
* * *
[1] A great Russian theater director, and founder of a new school of “method” acting named in his honor. He was famous for yelling at his actors that he didn’t believe them!
[2] A name for roaming students in the Middle Ages.
[3] How public services are administrated in Russia. You can go to one “window,” either physical or online, to deal with all your questions about government provided services—from querying your utility bills to obtaining a passport.
[4] A character from a series of stories by Robert Louis Stevenson. He was a restless prince who had nothing better to do than get into trouble.
[5] A legendary ruler who liked to dress as a beggar and roam the streets at night.
[6] Small, thick pancakes often served with sour cream or jelly.
[7] Baked flat bread made with cottage cheese and eaten with sour cream or jelly.
[8] A fa
mous Russian traveler. Even after traversing the entire globe, he’s still showing no sign of hanging up his boots.
[9] A martial arts competition.
[10] A pagan Russian holiday dedicated to the summer solstice.
Sicilian Defense Page 36