by Dmitry Bilik
Still, I didn’t have to worry. We hadn’t run into anyone apart from a scruffy mutt that limped past me on its own business. Once the crowd of Players entered the commoner part of the city, they began to part ways. I crossed the street and mingled with the commuters heading to the bus stop. I looked all around me but didn’t spot anything dangerous.
I dialed Hunter, listened with grim satisfaction to the voice saying that the number I was trying to reach was currently unavailable, and slipped the phone into my pocket. Never mind. I’d have to wait until evening and just turn up on his doorstep, pretending I needed his help again.
On my way home, I remembered the promise I’d given to Bumpkin. I stopped at the supermarket and bought two bagfuls of food. You may laugh, but $70 was gone at the flip of a hat. I was cashless again.
I got home, stumbled into the hall, and nearly collapsed with the packages. I never understood why all those weightlifting competitions like the World’s Strongest Man had participants drag massive stones. Where would they ever apply those skills? They should lug grocery bags instead. It would be much more interesting to watch, and it would better prepare them for life.
“What kind of meat is this?” the goblin grumbled in the kitchen, sorting through the groceries. “The beef is artificially colored and the cabbage is soggy.”
“You should be happy I got that,” I responded curtly. “I hope you haven’t gotten into any trouble?”
“I didn’t go into the bathroom if that’s what you mean,” Bumpkin said, looking at me seriously. “I just tidied up your room a little. And I fixed your pants. It’s a shame to walk around in something so full of holes.”
Face palm. How do you explain to a goblin that the holes in my jeans were there on purpose? That they’re actually sold like that? He’d never understand. And his tidying standards? My room was now the epitome of army barracks: nothing out of place. The problem was, whenever I needed something now, it would take me a week to find it. I might consider giving Bumpkin a to-do list for the day, otherwise we wouldn’t get too far.
I changed into workout clothes and tied my sneakers. “I’m going running. You can cook while I’m gone.”
The goblin didn’t reply. More precisely, he did, but with the same mumble. All right then.
Ever since my school days, sports and I had never got along. Or rather, we co-existed just fine on our own: sports were somewhere over there, and me over here. But things had changed, and now I needed to make up for that.
“Way to go, young communist!” the liquored-up Professor cried out to nearly the whole courtyard.
I wasn’t surprised to see him. When you start getting involved in something you’re not very good at, you can count on running into everyone you know. It’s like when a woman runs out to the closest store without makeup on, she’s sure to stumble right into her ex.
“I also used to run in the park, but now I only run to the liquor shop when it’s about to close,” the Professor said longingly.
I didn’t listen any further to the tales of his athletic exploits. Stepping awkwardly, I ran out onto the street and took the busiest road, remembering the Darkest One. My plan was to reach the intersection and turn right, heading for the park which was two bus stops away. I could do a lap of the park and turn back, at an easy pace so my body could remember what exercise was.
Naturally, I overestimated my strength. I started dying even before I reached the intersection. And once I reached it, I just suffocated. And still I raised Athletics to level 3, after which it felt like I sort of got a second wind. “Sort of” being the operative word.
I didn’t make it to the park. I honestly jogged one and a half bus stops and then croaked. Or rather, I first heard the coveted message:
Your Athletics skill has reached level 4.
You’ve reached level 3.
Predictably, it was followed by a small miracle as my stamina bar soared from zero all the way up. Still, the pain in my side didn’t go anywhere. I tried to run some more and decided that I’d had enough for one day. Or as the case was, enough for the last five minutes.
What a nightmare. I was a wreck.
I returned home in fits and starts, running fifty to eighty yards and then walking and regaining my strength. Then I’d catch my breath and start all over again, sweaty as a metal worker next to a fiery furnace.
I walked a little more around my house just to save my face, seeing as not even twenty minutes had passed since I’d started my “run”. As it turned out, there was no need for it: the Professor had already sloped off somewhere in search for more demon drink. Good.
The smells in my kitchen made me drool like Pavlov’s dog.
“Another half hour,” Bumpkin said, catching sight of my begging look.
OK. Struggling to lift my wooden limbs, I stumbled into the shower. Then I fell into bed. This so-called active lifestyle that people keep raving about is brutal.
On the other hand, I had to think of my level.
Available points: 3
Strength: 20 (x3)
Intellect: 15 (x)
Fortitude: 20 (x)
Agility: 11 (x3)
Stamina: 15 (x)
Rhetoric: 12 (x)
Speed: 14 (x2)
That meant Strength, Agility, and Speed. Only now had I noticed that I had 32 charge points compared to 30 at level 1. Which meant that each level added a point to it. Not much, but still.
In any case, I’d received 3 pt. to Strength. My Health was now at 45.
I was about to spend some more time with the settings when the doorbell rang. The serving spoon in the kitchen knocked against a pot and went silent. Bumpkin, too, had stopped showing any signs of life.
I got up, hauled myself to the door and looked through the peephole. Surprise! It was Hunter.
“Today I got attac-” I started to tell him as I opened the door.
“I know, I know,” Hunter said as he walked in without waiting for an invitation.
It looked like he was coming right from work — I mean his human job. But it was still early. He removed his shoes, took in the kitchen aromas, and went straight there. I was left to straggle behind.
“Around thirty Players were killed in the city today. All of them were initiated not three days ago. Someone’s looking for you.”
I slumped onto a chair. “Holy crap.”
“But that’s only part of the trouble. Because of what happened, the majority of the Order of Seers will be coming here soon.”
“Which of those things is worse?” I asked.
“All of them,” Hunter answered curtly.
Chapter 10
PICKING UP a project where a professional has left off is a foolish and, generally, useless undertaking. For example, it takes an Indian rug maker years of hard work to finish a hand-knotted silk rug. And if, God forbid, something happens to him, all that amazing effort would go to waste because no one would dare finish what he started.
Even though I knew that, I still set about finishing the soup Bumpkin had begun cooking. What was I supposed to do? Hunter’s unexpected visit had prompted my dear goblin into hiding: every now and again I felt his reproachful stare boring into me.
Meanwhile, Hunter was watching me with interest.
“So what about this guy, what’s his name — the Darkest One?” I asked as I sliced some carrots.
“Where should we start,” Hunter said thoughtfully. “First of all, thirty murdered Players in three days is a lot even for Moscow, let alone for our backwater. Everyone’s been put on their toes. I think tomorrow there will be missions issued regarding the attacker. The Guards won’t just sit and wait, either. Secondly, you said it was the Darkest One?”
“Yes. Do you know him?” I asked, my eyes tearful as I chopped an onion.
“The Darkest One isn’t a name; it’s a characteristic. That’s what they call a Player whose karma has dropped to -5000 points.”
“Wow. So he must be a really bad dude.”
“Well
, to stoop so low, all you need to do is kill 50 neutral Players. Either that, or... there’re lots of options, in fact.”
The words made me shudder. Fifty. I’d been lucky to cross his path and survive to tell the tale. Had it not been for Harph passing by...
“He’s very strong,” Hunter continued. “And I suspect that...”
“What?”
“That he could be a Wandering God.”
I stopped chopping and gazed dully at the wall. A God wanted to kill me. How fantastical was that?
“Just try to keep your head down for the time being,” Hunter continued. “In a way, having the Seers here will be very convenient. He won’t dare attack anyone anymore if his actions can be foreseen.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Seers are mostly empaths, but there are also a few clairvoyants among them. The closer they are to the source of an incident, the more accurate their predictions. Only a madman can violate the law under their nose.”
“Why do I have the impression that there’s a catch there somewhere?”
“Because they’ll find you before you even know it.”
“Why on earth do they need me?”
“And who killed the Chorul? Who gained possession of the unique Avatar?”
“But I didn’t mean it, man. If you told me what a Chorul is, you’d have made it much easier for me.”
I was so desperate I didn’t even notice I’d switched to an overly familiar tone with him. But nothing seemed to faze Hunter. He ignored the question and continued as if nothing had happened,
“Both the Darkest One and the Seers are looking for you. Except that the Darkest One has a simple motivation. He wants to get his hands on either the Avatar or your ability to rewind time. But I can’t say the same about the Seers. Their objective is a mystery.”
“They probably want to invite us to tea,” I quipped, unable to calm down. “To cause us some grievous bodily harm, most likely.”
“It’s not so easy, I’m afraid. The Seers are very strong, but at the end of the day they’re just an Order. With all due respect, as soon as an empath violates the law, there’ll be lots of people who’ll be more than eager to stab them in the back. The Guards won’t just sit there doing nothing, ether.”
“So why are they so feared?”
Hunter heaved a sigh and gave me a condescending look. “No one knows what the Seers want. That’s where the problem is. And you should have respect for the power that you can’t challenge.”
“Yeah right. Like bow down to them.”
“Or even better, just stay out of their way. I should abstain from visiting the community for the time being. Try to spend as much time indoors as you can. And if you do venture outside, try to stick to busy and crowded places. The Darkest One isn’t an idiot; if he starts to mow down commoners, the entire Cesspit will be out to get him. Just like it happened to that blood wizard.... why do you have milk in that saucer?”
The non sequitur threw me off. Naturally, the milk was for Bumpkin. No matter how many times I’d told him to learn to use a glass, he had refused to do so. In the end, I had to do his bidding, pour some milk into a saucer and put it under the radiator in good old-fashioned house-goblin tradition.
“That’s for my cat, isn’t it?” I said.
“I didn’t know you had a cat,” Hunter said, looking me in the eye.
“He roams around outside. He only comes back once in a while to trash the place and disappear again.”
“OK then,” Hunter said in a tone that implied that he didn’t really believe me. “Don’t forget you have training tomorrow.”
With that, he left. I shut the door behind him and went back into the kitchen, where I found Bumpkin swearing in front of the pot.
“What kind of hands were you born with that you cook such slop?” the goblin demanded, looking daggers at me. “Not even dogs would eat this.”
“So why’d you bolt? You could have cooked it yourself.”
“It isn’t fitting for outsiders to see a house goblin. It’s a bad omen.”
“Aren’t we superstitious,” I answered, spitefully ladling some soup into my bowl. No matter how bad it might taste, now I’d eat it out of principle.
To my surprise, it turned out to be quite decent. Either because I’d taken up where he’d left off, or maybe I wasn’t such a bad cook after all. In any case, it was edible. Bumpkin just snorted, pretending to busy himself with the dishes.
I sat there mulling everything over. Not being able to go to the community was a major disadvantage. I’d even say it was a really, really major disadvantage. Just when I’d made big plans for my own future prosperity, the Seers had to come out of the woodwork. I only had two missions now: the devils and the Mad Barnyard Keeper. I might deal with the latter tomorrow. But I could also take care of the devils before the Seers introduced their damned curfew.
The piece of paper in my interface hadn’t changed color. I figured that no more than ten Players were interested in it, and they likely had a passing curiosity but weren’t exactly bending over backward searching for the devils. The ten grams offered for the mission was a joke.
But I could really use that money. And I’d take on this mission in all seriousness.
To start, I opened my laptop and entered my city in the search bar, followed by the address of the automobile factory and the word “attack.” That was what they’d been charged with, wasn’t it? I searched for any incidents that took place within the last week. And that was no small feat, even if I say so myself.
Judging by the search results, the only thing that hadn’t yet happened in our city was the Apocalypse. Or rather, there’d been none in the last week in this particular neighborhood. But everything else you could imagine had happened: someone had stolen the scales from the monument of Justice by the courthouse; a girl had exposed her breasts, causing a mass car accident, a boozer fell from the seventh floor but got away with only minor injuries due to his inebriated state, etc., etc.
It took me half an hour of searching to find anything useful for my purposes. An unpopular city portal reported an attack next to the St. Trinity Church where a pack of stray dogs had assaulted a young woman. According to eyewitnesses, the animals behaved oddly, not even trying to maul the girl, but rather attempting to drag her away. Luckily, a passerby had managed to fight them off, rescuing the damsel in distress.
There’d been two more similar events where packs of stray dogs had attacked an alcoholic and a local prostitute respectively. In both cases, the dogs didn’t try to maul their victims, but instead attempted to drag them away.
“Yes, it’s most likely the devils,” a voice said behind my back. “They’re attracted to fallen people.”
“Fallen people?”
“An alcoholic and a streetwalker,” Bumpkin explained. “I don’t think their first victim was that virtuous, either. The devils are building a lair for their queen. They’ve just gotten started — that’s why there are no real victims yet.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“What can I be more specific about if I’ve already told you everything?”
“Tell me everything you know about these devils.”
“What is there to know? They usually swarm together in groups of five or six. They also have a queen, the only female in the pack. She rules the roost. The lair is always near water.”
“What about the fiery cauldrons?”
“You’ve read too many stupid books. In Russia, devils have always lived by the water, in abandoned wells and under old dams.”
“That makes sense. All the attacks happened by the Oka River.”
“No, that can’t be it. The Oka is huge. They’re afraid of large bodies of water. It needs to be a small river or a branch.”
“Here! The main water supply canal that belongs to the car factory,” I said, pointing to the monitor.
Bumpkin nodded. “That’s more likely. They must have holed up there somewhere.”
; “All we have to do is check out this theory in practice,” I said, standing up.
“Bah!” Bumpkin grumbled, heading to the kitchen. “Don’t you have anything better to do than wonder around looking for devils?”
Not bothering to reply, I hurriedly got dressed and dashed outside. I groped for my knife; it was still there. Which was pretty obvious, really: it couldn’t have gone anywhere.