by Dmitry Bilik
“I’ll clean everything up, Master,” the house goblin hurried to preempt me.
“I'm not your master,” I replied mechanically as I scratched my head, examining the destruction.
“Yes, you are. I’m not some sort of heartless ingrate. You brought me into your home. I accepted the offer. So now you’re my master. Should I put on some tea?”
“Yes, please.”
I was about to walk out when something sparked in Bumpkin’s hands. His furry body went up like a matchbox. Shit!
[ ∞ ]
“Should I put on some tea?”
“I’ll do it. Matches aren’t a toy for house goblins. Give them to me.”
I lit the burner and put the kettle on.
“Bumpkin, you really should make yourself look presentable. And fireproof. You need to cut your hair a bit. I have some scissors and a razor, if you need them.”
“I’m no good like this?”
“No, you’re not. Look,” I said, pointing out a few scorch marks in his fur. Clearly the pancake preparation hadn’t gone off without a hitch.
“OK, I’ll think about it,” he scratched the furry crown of his head.
As I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth in front of the mirror, I got thinking.
I was a Korl with a unique development branch. A house goblin was living in my apartment. I lived next door to Hunter, whatever that was supposed to mean. And the world around me wasn’t entirely how I’d imagined it to be. Yep, it had been quite a week.
Now it was time for the most important thing: dealing with my job.
Quitting is easy. But quitting without two weeks’ notice is a task and a half, and all the more so when working with Bones, who was notorious for splitting hairs. Still, I already had an idea. The human mind is both simple and complicated. The key thing was to know the right spots to apply pressure to.
“Bumpkin, please try not to burn anything else,” I called on my way out.
“I’ll clean up a little,” the goblin answered from inside.
“Oh no,” I groaned.
Outside, the Professor and his friend the plumber were sitting on the bench chatting. Despite the early hour, they were already absorbed in philosophical talk, lubricating their brain gears with plastic shot glasses filled with some clear liquid.
“Love is the greatest thing that a human being can conceive,” the Professor pontificated. “It’s the apogee of his or her spiritual development, shall we say.”
His friend nodded. “Love is a bit like a fur hat. Everyone has one, but more often than not, it’s fake.”
“You smartass! Let’s drink to that.”
I suppressed a smile, shook hands with them, and hurried to the bus stop. I trotted past the little café, nodding to Uncle Zaur on the way. He had stepped onto the porch and was smoking a cigarette.
Damn, that was it! Amid all the craziness of the morning I hadn’t had time to smoke.
Without breaking my stride, I went to reach into my pocket when a notification appeared before my eyes:
Your Athletics skill has increased to level 1.
Logical. If I took up jogging in the morning, I’d be leveling up Athletics. That was a no-brainer. Except that I wasn’t exactly an athlete.
Somehow or other, my hand holding the pack of cigarettes returned to my pocket. I was suddenly struck by doubt about the lifestyle I was accustomed to. More specifically, if I wanted to become a good — meaning, alive — Player, I’d need to make a bunch of changes.
As I was thinking about this, my bus arrived.
The old me would have spent the ride listening to music and scrolling through my phone, but now I just stared out the window the whole time. The city had been transformed almost to the point of being unrecognizable.
I tried to keep track of the changes. The first thing I noticed was that not all the stores for Players were located in the community. For example, the Tavern was far from the city center. And now I spotted different types of shops with curious signs. Some of them had nothing written on them — there was only an image of a magic staff or an open book.
The second thing I noticed was that there were more Players around than I thought. They were strolling along the streets, walking peculiar animals on leashes and talking between themselves.
Just as I thought about this, one of them got on my bus. He nodded to me like an old friend and got off three stops later. Admittedly, he seemed to be on his guard, judging by the fact that he didn’t take his right hand out of his pocket.
The third thing I noticed were some behemoth creatures flying high in the sky. I couldn’t tell if they were flying on their own or whether they were being controlled by people... I mean, Players. That was also food for thought.
So those myriad tales of dragons, unicorns, river sprites and other mythological creatures weren’t mere tales after all. Just a part of the world that was observed by a few lucky commoners. Or not even by commoners, maybe. Who knows, maybe the Brothers Grimm were Players too? That would actually explain a lot.
The warehouse was silent when I arrived. It was my own fault for showing up a half hour earlier than usual. Even Marat wasn’t sitting in his usual spot on the loading parapet. But Bones was definitely there. Our boss had this hangup of always having to arrive early. And today that actually turned out to come in handy.
“Sergei? Why so early?” Bones asked, busy dunking a tea bag into a cup in the storeroom.
“I need to talk to you, sir. It’s serious.”
“Have a seat. What’s on your mind?”
“Well, it’s about my head. I went to the hospital yesterday. They did an EMG and an MRI. The neurologist was good. He said they’d try to get a diagnosis quickly, but they think it could be ALS.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a nervous system disorder. It’s incurable.”
Your Lying skill has increased to level 2.
-15 karma points. Current level: -80. You gravitate to the Dark Side.
I’d spent all night inventing an illness. If Bones were even the slightest bit savvy about medicine, he’d see right through me. My lie ended up being too obvious and in-your-face. My entire calculation was based on that. For the record, there was barely any connection between my headache and change in muscle tone which was a true symptom of ALS. But no big deal, things were set in motion.
Did I feel like the lying bastard that I was? I sure did. A repugnant little worm had made its way into my soul. On the other hand, as cynical as it sounds, we all tend to use each other in lots of little ways. Including employers, who do use their workers. Had I been perfectly honest with him, that would only have delayed his decision... and hello, two weeks’ notice.
“I don’t know what to say,” Bones muttered in bewilderment.
“What’s there to say? My father’s already made an arrangement with a hospital in Moscow. I’m going there next week. So, sir, I need to quit. It just that there’s no way I can finish off the two weeks.”
“What are you talking about?” Bones waved his arms. “I understand. Of course, it’s a pity to lose a worker like you. But your health is more important. But there’s no cure?”
“There’s treatment, but it’s not a cure.”
We continued in the same vein for another couple of minutes, then I went outside. Bones promised he’d get my employment record book[10] filled in and ask the bookkeeper to issue payment.
I walked back to the bus stop red-faced, my ears burning. I knew I’d done everything properly and rationally. So why did I feel like shit? It was a good job I hadn’t run into anyone on the way: my co-workers weren’t exactly known for their punctuality.
I didn’t start to relax until I was halfway home. No, I had done everything right, maybe not from a human perspective, but from the Game’s point of view anyway. My world had changed; I could no longer live like I had before. Even if my lying were to be encouraged and transformed into a skill, I was on the right path. To be sure, it wasn’t clear w
here that path might take me. As for karma, as I understood it, I could always work on it later.
Now for the most important thing: Hunter. I hoped he was OK. If he wasn’t, I’d have to learn to manage on my own, without a Player — or Seeker, as they apparently called themselves — to help and guide me.
As if to mock me, the bus was taking its time — and just to add insult to injury, it broke down at the stop before mine.
I didn’t have the patience to wait for the next one. In any case, I was no more than 300 yards away from home. So I set off at a run. It wasn’t as epic as Forrest Gump’s, and I slowed to a walk a couple of times, but I still managed.
When I reached my stop, one simple thing became apparent to me: I may have been 25 years old but I was already a wreck. My side was splitting, my lungs were burning, and I was seeing all sorts of beautiful multicolored spots before my eyes. Yeah, I needed to change this.
As if in reward for pushing my body to its laughable limits, I was hit with a few new messages.
Your Athletics skill has increased to level 2.
You’ve reached level 2.
Available points: 3
Strength: 20 (x)
Intellect: 15 (x)
Fortitude: 20 (x)
Agility: 10 (x)
Stamina: 15 (x)
Rhetoric: 8 (x4)
Speed: 12 (x2)
Physical fatigue must have boosted my mental activity, because I immediately grasped the meaning of it all.
Every skill was directly tied to a specific characteristic. When you collected a certain number of skills, you advanced a level. From the looks of it, there were 3 points for each level. The more skills you leveled up from one characteristic, the bigger the bonus.
If my memory served correctly, I studied Illusion, Bargaining, Persuasion, Athletics, and Lying. And it turned out that all of them, except for Athletics, were related to Rhetoric. On the one hand, I needed to try to avoid imbalances. On the other, right now Rhetoric was the weakest characteristic.
I unhesitantly invested the available points in Rhetoric, Speed, and Agility.
After I’d caught my breath a little, I continued at a walk. My damned side wasn’t getting better, clearly letting me know that taking up exercise at this rate was sure death to me.
Somehow I managed to reach my house. I looked at the abandoned bench, unlocked the front door, walked up an extra floor, anxiously pressed the bell, and...
Hunter cracked the door open. “Wait,” he said, then shut it immediately.
Thank goodness. He seemed to be okay.
A moment later he reappeared on the landing, holding some keys in his hand. He went over to the nearest door, opened it, and went inside.
“What are you standing there for?” he asked softly. “Come on.”
I followed him inside. “This your apartment too?”
“It is. Take your shoes off.”
As far as I knew, this apartment had long been vacant. The owners had moved to Europe and were still trying to sell it. And still...
My amazement grew tenfold when I went into the main room, which most people would call a parlor. It had no furniture in it, just Roman shades on the windows. A thin gymnastics mat lay on the floor.
“This is where I keep myself in shape,” Hunter explained.
“I see. You bought a whole apartment for that?”
“It’s convenient — it’s right next door. Of course, I had to fork out nearly 3.5 kilos of dust, but it was worth it.”
He strolled over to the windowsill and began to pull out objects seemingly from thin air: wooden swords, daggers, a few ropes, and a pistol.
I recognized the Beretta. “That’s Eriol’s weapon!”
“Was,” Hunter said calmly.
“So he’s...”
“He’s no longer around. The idiot thought he was stronger than me. He paid for that.”
I started to think. Which abilities did you need in order to defeat an adversary with a gun?
“Take it if you want,” he offered, pointing to the gun. In doing so, he gave me a funny look, not really a nice one.
“No, thanks. I’ve never shot a gun before.”
“Lesson number one. Only fight with a weapon that you’re capable of fighting with. Otherwise it could backfire on you. Hold this.”
He tossed me a wooden sword. I managed to catch it. Feeling like an overgrown child, I took it in my hand and held it out in front of me.
Hunter lunged sharply, knocked my training bastard sword away, and threw me to the mat.
“What did you feel?”
“Pain.”
“What did you feel when you picked up the sword?” he repeated, lifting me to my feet.
“Er... nothing really. What was I supposed to feel?”
“You should have felt your center of gravity, determined your areas of support and vibration, not to mention its weight. The sword is the greatest weapon ever invented.”
“What about the gun?”
“The sword,” Hunter coldly cut me off. “But you’re not worthy of it yet. So we’re going to train you in hand-to-hand and knife fighting. Soon.”
“I’m all for that. When do we start?”
A quick uppercut knocked me off my feet. “We already have.”
* * *
Is it a major task to walk down one flight of stairs? It is, if you’ve just been pummeled for two hours straight. To be precise, Hunter called this training. He must have been a frustrated sadist at heart.
Luckily for me, he had to leave before midday. He was on the books at a factory, but he could come and go practically as he pleased. The only thing was that he had to get there by 12 o’clock so he’d be seen during the morning check-up. That was the only thing that had saved me.
On the other hand, I had discovered the skills of Hand-to-Hand, Short Blades, and Blocking. We’d leveled Hand-to-Hand up to 5, Short Blades up to 3 and added a couple of points to Blocking as we did so. Now I knew a couple of the simplest ways of dodging the first blow and understood which side up you had to hold a knife. That’s how Hunter had put it.
I stumbled home ready to drop — and immediately smelled something I was sure not to like. Well, it actually smelled great, like something meaty. But a little trickle coming out of the bathroom and the thunderous sound of overflowing water did not bode well.
“Shit!” I tore off my jacket, flung off my shoes and raced to turn off the faucets.
I was greeted by the sight of the overflowing bathtub with my clothes floating in it. I grabbed a bucket and a rag and started to mop the water off the floor. I’d come home just in time: another half hour and I’d have seen my downstairs neighbors in court. Luckily, the thick, tightly fitting old-fashioned tilework had saved my bacon this time.
It took me about 15 minutes to right things. The water seemed to drain suspiciously slowly even though the stopper was lying on top of the washing machine. Strange.
“Hey, Bumpkin!”
“What is it, Master?”
His voice was both frightened and strangely loud. I started and looked up.
The house goblin was sitting on the very top of the heated towel rail, looking as good as new. He’d shaved and cut his hair, so now he looked rather like a short, plump little man. It was just that his ears were a little hairier than normal.
“You tell me.”
“I just wanted to give your laundry a quick wash. I didn’t notice the water building up. It started pouring out. But I was confused.”
“You were confused. And you leaped onto the radiator. You could have just turned it off. Never mind. It looks like the water trap is clogged. Let’s take a look at it.”
I waited for the water to drain completely, got undressed, put the rag down, and started to unscrew the water trap.
At first I thought that a cat must have climbed into the sewer pipes and died there. Handful after handful of hair... where had it all come from? Unless...
“Bumpkin!”
“
What is it?”
“Where did you put your hair after you cut it?”
“Nowhere. You have a little hole there. Everything disappears down it.”
“Jesus. You are a Bumpkin, aren’t you? Are you saying you’ve never seen a flushing system?”