The Merchant of Tiqpa: The Bathrobe Knight's Sequel

by Charles Dean

  While they continued back and forth, scaring the daylights out of poor Reginald, Locke was busy trying to hatch a plan. He hadn’t even planned a meetup spot with Eliza after making contact, but he figured that she would anticipate him leaving from the same gate where they parted. Even worse, he didn’t know whether or not being with the full Blue Phoenix Brigade would result in a fight that would end up with everyone dying. She was an NPC, after all, and if they figured out that she was the one that butchered them in the swamps, there was no telling whether or not they’d immediately seek revenge. What the heck am I supposed to do? Locke sighed.

  “You do that a lot,” Bianca said to Locke, no longer paying attention to the suffering Satyr.

  “Hmm?” Locke didn’t understand what she was referring to.

  “Sigh. You sigh a lot, man. Life isn’t that serious. Stop stressing out about things and just have fun. It’s not like you doxed your whole guild to a complete stranger just for a quick laugh,” Bianca said. Katherine, who was sitting between the two, leaned forward so that Bianca could casually chat with Locke while she continued roasting the goat-man.

  “Yeah, it’s a bad habit,” Locke agreed. “Just been a really hard day.”

  “Too bad these beers don’t have the same kick as the ones in real life.” Bianca raised her beer and clinked glasses with Locke, Katherine joining in as soon as she saw what was going on.

  “Here’s to that. But at least they’re cheaper.” Locke definitely appreciated the thought.

  Sampson returned after another few minutes and, without sitting down, she said, “I got the info we need, and luckily enough for us, we’ve already been pretty close to where the dungeon is. Also, it should drop two kits, and they’re both tradeable.”

  Excellent. Then even if this doesn’t work for Eliza, we can still make some money off it. Locke sighed again, drawing a look of disapproval from Bianca.

  Chapter 5

  Locke sat back and let his mind drift for a moment while everyone else around him laughed and teased Reginald. The Satyr was being a pretty good sport about it for the most part, occasionally firing off his own jabs, and there was something refreshing about the exchange that put Locke at ease and lifted his spirits. He could feel a sense of urgency growing somewhere in the back of his mind, urging him to set the wheels in motion on this new plan he had hatched, but he relished the opportunity to relax, even if it was for just a moment, without feeling the stress of his day-to-day life. This was the first time that he had taken ‘time off’ in so long that he couldn’t even recollect when he had last sat back and had a drink, albeit only a virtual one, with a group of friends. They had already located the dungeon, and they knew where the boss was, but no one was in a rush to get up, Locke included, and hurry off. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, and that alone was enough reason to push the need to work and make money out of his head as they chatted.

  More than a few times, he found himself pondering if he had even been doing life right. Everyone else spent most of their days relaxed, having fun with their friends and enjoying themselves, but he was constantly working. Day in, day out--working. He was always so focused on doing the best that he could and trying to come up with ways to support himself and his sister that he had been left with so few experiences like this. There was never really any opportunity to just do nothing, and it was a luxury he could rarely afford himself. Doing nothing feels like something definitely worth doing. The thought slipped into his mind, and he couldn’t help but smile at it as he took another swig of his drink, only to discover that there wasn’t any left.

  Tubal noticed Locke’s problem, nodded and finished off his own glass as he stood up. “Alright,” he began, “we should probably get a move on. If we get this dungeon done, and we do it well, I think we could probably knock off one or two more before the day is over. Who knows? We might even be able to farm this one a couple more times for extra doses of the eye-changing drops to sell,” he declared as he stood up.

  “Yeah, if no one else is in line for the quest when we get there, that sounds like a pretty decent plan,” Reginald agreed, chugging the remainder of his own drink and standing as well. “I wouldn’t mind being the richest goat in town.”

  The rest of the party followed suit, and they all moved toward the exit of the tavern, ready to leave and begin their adventure. The door to the tavern opened, and a few other people came in as they were about to exit, and Locke noticed something just outside that caught his attention. Waiting outside the bar, someone was pointing at them and talking frantically to a group of people. More specifically, he was pointing at Sampson.

  What is he saying? Locke wondered, trying his best to catch a glimpse of whomever it was. Wait, I recognize that guy . . . He’s one of the quartermasters for the Holy Alliance. Locke couldn’t make anyone else out through the doorway, but he could clearly see that a bit of a crowd was forming outside the tavern.

  “Get your weapons out,” Locke said to the group, pushing through ahead of everyone and extending an arm so that they didn’t just keep walking past him as he talked.

  “Why? What’s going on?” Tubal queried, pulling out his bow despite his question.

  “Hey, no fighting in the tavern!” the manager yelled at them from behind the bar. “You know the rules! If I see a single one of you start something, I’m going to personally kill you and make your parents pay for the damages!”

  “We’re just going outside,” Locke said complacently, glancing back at the Naga. “We don’t mean any trouble, sir.” Despite his assurances, the angry Naga didn’t seem to be satisfied. The barman kept his weapon drawn, and Locke could see his long tail twitching back and forth behind him.

  “Why are we pulling out our weapons, Shy?” Sampson asked, even as she readied her new axe. “We’re in a town.”

  “Just trust me,” Locke said. He was more sure than ever that they were about to run into trouble when he pushed through the doors and found a mob of people standing around waiting at the exit. He didn’t see the higher ups from the Holy Alliance anywhere in the group of ten or fifteen people eyeing them, and he was thankful for the fact that he wouldn’t have to deal with someone potentially recognizing him. Of course, they wouldn’t be here. They didn’t get their position by waiting around in town to pick on people, and they probably already wasted enough of their time and energy trying to recruit the new potion maker earlier.

  “That’s him!” a Dryad, one Locke was positive was part of the Holy Alliance, shouted as he extended his finger right in Locke’s direction. “That’s the one the guard was telling me about earlier! He’s the one who has been conspiring with Demons!”

  “Hey, now. Easy there.” Locke held up his hands and spoke in the most calming voice he could muster. His heart was starting to pick up its pace in his chest, and he wasn’t sure how steady the words would be until they actually came out. They definitely didn’t reflect the nervous tension he felt. He glanced up and down the line of people blocking their exit, looking for a hole they could make it through, for guards that could assist them, for anyone to help them get out of this pickle. How big of a mouth did that town guard have? He cursed under his breath. First that Fire-Walker, and now these guys. Is everyone going to try and kill me just for walking up to town with Eliza?

  “Yeah, we’re not with Demons,” Tubal answered back, quick to speak up for the group. “We were warped back to town after being killed by one a little while ago. Surely you’re mistaken.”

  “I’m not mistaken at all. The report was clear. He’s with the Demons, and . . . And that’s the Minotaur, too! That explains it!” The tall Dryad continued to levy his accusations and wag his finger, this time pointing at Sampson. “That’s the one who wouldn’t sell to anyone in the Holy Alliance!”

  This seemed to earn Locke a glare from Sampson, which only deepened as someone else immediately added, “Yeah, her master wouldn’t even sell a single poison! We offered to pay way more than our competition, and he intentionall
y ignored our bids for people who were bidding way less than we were!”

  “Her master?” Reginald managed to break the tension that was building up by bursting into laughter. “Her master? That’s awesome! Sampson, tell me more about your master. If he’s the master, are you like his apprentice? Or maybe an acolyte? Maybe you’re just his bedroom s--”

  Sampson silenced Reginald with a swift punch to the back of his head before he could finish his sentence. “His what?” she fumed, her whole Minotaur face glowering.

  “There is no shame in having a master, only dishonor for those who never serve,” Sparky said, raising her shield, drawing her sword and extending her wings. “For a good man may be king, but a great king is but a servant of all good men.”

  “Whatever, man,” one of the White-Wings in the group snapped, dismissing Sparky immediately. “Don’t change the subject. Your friend here consorted with Demons, and your other friend refused to sell to the Holy Alliance! They’re both collaborating scum and enemies of peace!”

  “And you’re no better, bow boy, wearing that bathrobe in plain daylight. You just like to flaunt the fact you’re one of them, don’t you?” said another Dryad.

  “What are you talking about? Won’t sell to Holy Alliance? Traitors? We’ve done missions with you guys, Stephen. I’ve even fought side by side with you. That’s how I got the bathrobe, and you know it.” Tubal was addressing the other Dryad in the group, whom he clearly knew. “Why do you guys have to be like this?”

  Because they’re correct. Locke almost wanted to correct Tubal just to be right, but he also didn’t want to cause any trouble. If Tubal really could talk his way out of this, it was better for everyone involved. Locke didn’t see any guards yet, but their absence now didn’t mean that some wouldn’t show up right when the conflict started and kick them all out of the town for good--or send them to jail. How does jail even work in this game? I hope it’s not tied to a fine like most games.

  “Yeah, he did, Freddy,” the Dryad Tubal was addressing spoke in their defense.

  Yes! Locke mentally cheered as this happened, hoping it would continue to diffuse the situation.

  “But he also charged us an arm and a leg just to join the fight. He probably spent all that money buying gear for his Demon buddies,” the Dryad continued, dashing Locke’s hopes that he would aid them in de-escalating the situation.

  “That’s just crazy, man,” Katherine added in disbelief, shaking her head. “We only charged you guys gold because you made us wait around for five hours’ worth of game time before the fight even started. We told you we’d do it for practically nothing if you just let us farm until the fight started.”

  “Yeah, who wouldn’t expect a little compensation for diligently waiting so long?” Bianca piped in as she flapped her own wings and took to the sky, hovering at least ten feet above Locke and the rest of the Blue Phoenix Brigade.

  “We did! You think the Holy Alliance pays us? We’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do!” one of the Nymphs, which for all intents and purposes in the game was nothing more than the female counterpart to a Dryad, boisterously rebutted Bianca. “You mercenary guilds are nothing but cash-hungry bottom feeders! We’re trying to make Tiqpa a better place for all gamers, and scum like you take advantage of that.”

  Locke wanted to facepalm as soon as he heard that last line. Somewhere in the middle of the Nymph insulting the Blue Phoenix Brigade, Locke had started to snicker. Make Tiqpa a better place for all gamers? How? By bullying them outside of a tavern? He cringed at how stupid she sounded. Do these people even think before they speak? Or do they just spout out whatever random crap they think sounds good and comes to mind? He couldn’t help it: These people sounded exactly like someone else he knew. They, and they alone, were right, and no form of logic or rationality mattered. Everyone and anyone who disagreed with them was wrong on principle and had to die. Any attempts to reason with them were just a waste of time. They were pointless. It was like trying to convince a stone wall to grow legs and walk away.

  “Look, guys, we’re just trying to go on our way, so can you please cut us some slack?” Tubal tried pleading with them again, but not a single face on any of the Holy Alliance members showed the slightest bit of sympathy as they stared him down.

  Locke nudged the bovine next to him with an elbow. “Sampson, you can make your axe light up with fire, right?” He tried not to be overheard as he asked.

  “Yeah, why?” Sampson whispered back.

  “A fight is about to break out, so when I throw something on the ground, I want you to hit it with fire,” Locke instructed. “Can you do that?” The best part about using the same trick twice is that you already know it’ll work. Locke tried to give himself some small bit of comfort as he felt himself losing the fight against the rising sense of anxiety. Why does everyone insist on constantly making me waste time and money? He closed his eyes and sighed, resigning himself to what he was about to do.

  “Cut you some slack? How about this: We’ll cut you some slack if your group pays us back for all that money we had to pay you just to do your duty.” Stephen spat out the words and then literally spat on the ground in front of him. “You pay up, and we’ll let you go your merry, little, Demon-loving way.”

  “Do we have to pay in gold?” Locke spoke up and stepped forward, exchanging a glance with Sampson as he went. “Do you guys accept other currencies?”

  “Like what? Don’t tell me you’re too poor to afford a little donation,” Stephen barked as he started walking forward a bit as well, eliciting chuckles from the people behind him.

  “Actually, no, it’s just I only have so much gold . . .” Locke pulled out one of his poisons. The crowd, which had been riled up moments ago, instantly went still and focused on the vial as soon as it entered his hands. “But these little babies, well, I have a ton of these guys. Like hundreds. I mean, I made so many of them, but one of the clients was just too noisy to sell to, so now I’m left with a lot of extras.”

  “What do you mean you made them?” the noisy Nymph asked. “How did you make them?”

  “Oh, what? You didn’t know? I’m Shy.” Locke backed up slowly, pulling out another two more poisons while he did.

  “Wait, if you’re Shy . . .”

  Locke could practically see the gears in the Dryad’s face turning as he worked out exactly what Locke was saying. Stephen’s eyes opened up ever so slowly and his mouth hung slightly agape.

  “Then . . . then he wasn’t saying that you were shy, but that you were Shy!” a White-Wing finished the Dryad’s thought for him.

  “Right. It’s my name. Shy. Are you always this slow?” Locke was starting to enjoy this a little too much. He had always played the meek and mild-mannered merchant, kowtowing and verbally licking boots whenever needed to make sure that a sale went through at the highest price, but, this time, he didn’t have to. This time, he wasn’t selling anything, and he didn’t have to kiss up to the customer. It was a dream come true, the type of feeling every IT support center representative must have if he ever gets the chance to just hang up on an obnoxious client.

  Oh, how I’ve always wanted to do this. I just didn’t know how badly. Locke’s grin spread across his face as he basked in his newfound pleasure. “Anyway, these should do, right?”

  “Umm . . . umm, yeah, just . . . umm, hand them over,” Stephen stuttered and extended his hand.

  Locke made a motion as if he were going to hand the poison to Stephen, but drew his hand back at the last second. “You know, on second thought . . . I think one of your higher-ups . . . What was his name? Sol? Sal? Either way, they sent me a message asking if they could buy them. They left some great contact information . . . even a real-life phone number,” Locke bluffed. He wasn’t sure if they had even sent the message, much less attached that type of personal information, given that he hadn’t logged out since the event in the Western Market. “I bet if I were to tell him why I can’t sell to the Holy Alliance anymore, about wh
at’s going on, he’d love to chat with you personally.”

  “Look, there’s no need to do that. This was just a misunderstanding!” Stephen backed up a bit until he was back in line with the others, but it was clear that the remaining members were getting restless.

  “What are you doing? Don’t let him talk to you like that. He’s a Demon lover!” one of them jeered.

  “Yeah, man, get them! We’ve got your back. He wasn’t going to sell to us anyway!”

  Locke shrugged. “Oh, well, it’s just a bluff if you don’t follow through. Might as well go take care of this issue right now.”

  “No! No! Please don’t!” Stephen began to protest, but before he could finish his plea, Locke took the three poisons and smashed them onto the ground between the two groups of people and directly in front of Sampson.

  “Now!” Locke yelled to Sampson, whose fiery blade was already arcing toward the poison puddle. There was a flash of light and the poison ignited, instantly transforming into a giant vaporous cloud. He called out, “Come on, this way!” to the other members as he charged around the poison cloud and right past one of the coughing Holy Alliance members.

  The poisonous gas might have been deadly under the right circumstance, but Locke knew that shock was their only real tool here. Even if the breeze didn’t blow the cloud away in a moment, it would slowly disperse in the open air given time. Inside a tight and narrow corridor, such a tactic could be very effective. He had witnessed its usefulness first hand only a short time ago. But, his bottles of poison weren’t designed to be gas bombs and were only makeshift substitutes. The poisonous cloud seemed to be lighter than air, the green vapor wouldn’t hang around for long before dissipating. He needed to use the initial surprise to barrel through the crowd while they were still distracted.