The Bare Hunt
Date: 2019-12-14 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Fiction; Humor; Magic; Role Playing Games
Description: As usual, Montana Coggeshall is hell-bent on doing what’s right, even if what’s right isn’t exactly what’s wise. So he embarks on a quest to vanquish the corrupted ursus, a threat so large they could destroy the entire world of iNcarn8. Does Montana head out after months of training for cold weather conditions, amassing an army, and strategizing with his top aides? Not really. It’s more like he just walks out of his holding one day with a guide and the members of his hirð. They’re just a bunch of angry teddy bears, right? Montana is acting on pure instinct, tinged with a healthy dose of rage.
Rights: Copyright 2019 Eric Ugland. All rights reserved.

SECOND STORY MAN

ERIC UGLAND

Air Quotes Publishing

Air Quotes Publishing

Copyright © 2019 Eric Ugland

Cover by Sarah Anderson/No Synonym

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of Fiction. Of Fantasy. All of the characters in this novel and series are fictional and any resemblance to people living, dead, or undead is purely coincidental and surprising. Mentions of places are incidental, accidental, and mostly mental. The magic and spells have been researched in absolutely no way whatsoever, and any ill-effects after you attempt to cast them are completely on you. Any science is likely wrong considering the laws of physics are different in places with magic, you dig?

ALSO BY ERIC UGLAND

The Good Guys - Epic LitRPG/GameLit

One More Last Time

Heir Today Pawn Tomorrow

Dungeon Mauling

Four: The Loot

Dukes and Ladders

The Bad Guys - Epic LitRPG/GameLit

Scamps & Scoundrels

Roseland - Private Investigator Mysteries

Series One

Series Two

Series Three

For all of those who told me stories,

I hope you get a chance to listen now.

CHAPTER ONE

“You have certainly made life interesting again,” Rowland said. “Whichever of the hells we are about to go through because of you, I’m sure it will be the most entertaining end of days. Welcome to the Biscuit’s Union, as a full-fledged member.”

BOOM. You’ve been granted the indicium Biscuit’s Union Rogue. This indicium is only available to members in good standing. You are granted permission to access Union buildings, and granted permission to access Union shops. You gain a 20% bonus to stealth. You have zero (0) Acquit Chits and room for one (1) Acquit Chit.

“Thanks, that’s amazing,” I said, barely containing my grin. It felt good. I felt good, like I’d actually accomplished something real — even if that something was joining a criminal organization. “I have a—”

“Yes, I suppose it is amazing,” Rowland interrupted. “Likely more so because it was so unexpected. Really rather throws a bit of a goblin in the plans, so to speak.”

“What plans?”

“Plans of not actually bringing in another member to the Union.”

“Um, why would you ask me to join if you didn’t want any new members in the first place?”

“Dear boy, I wanted you here. And our leader, Victor Woolf, wanted you here. But most of the others,” he paused and took a sip from his mug as he searched for the right words, “the others have grown complacent, comfortable. It is odd, I know, but this facility makes more money for us than any of our illegal activities did. Certainly when we average it out across the lower leveled members.”

“So you’re all happy just making cookies and—”

“We aren’t all happy, boy. Just some of us. A majority, perhaps.”

“All but two of you?”

“Maybe four.”

“So no one wanted me to succeed.”

“No one expected you to succeed. Minor difference.”

“I’m guessing there’s no initiation ritual or anything like that?”

“We aren’t a secret society; we don’t do things like that. There’s no branding — though I suppose, if you want, we could make you take some trays out of the oven with your bare hands so you get a good burn. But that’s up to you.”

“No party?”

“You want a party? Go join the Jolly Lollies.”

“Do they actually want new members?”

“Likely, but I doubt you’d appreciate their lifestyle.”

“They sound a bit…hedonistic.”

“Extremely. In any case, you are one of us now, regardless of how anyone feels. You were offered a test, and you passed it. Welcome.”

“Thank you.”

“We expect you to get be aware of and follow the rules,” he said, taking another sip from his mug, and pulling a folded bit of parchment from his pocket.

“I get it — it’s a Union. Naturally rules come with it.”

“I appreciate you being so understanding.”

“Are you going to tell me the rules?”

He tilted his head and looked at me as if I was daft.

“Did you not receive a rule book?” he asked.

“You didn’t give me one.”

“It should be part of your character system. Did you not check?”

“Oh. Yeah, I just, uh, right. Of course. I’ll read them over.”

“See that you do,” Rowland said, and he fiddled with his piece of parchment again. It made me very curious as to what was on it.

But, seeing as he was busy with something else, I dug into my system, moving out of the character sheet to see a tab marked Guild. I clicked it, and got an overlay.

Guild: The Biscuit’s Union

Location: Glaton, Glaton

Rank: Rogue

Member status: Good

At the top, off to the side, was a button marked “documentation.” I clicked it.

Rulebook

You shall commit no violent acts upon members of the Union without Leader approval.

You shall commit no crimes against members of the Union without Leader approval.

With the rank of Rogue you are required to fulfill one Union job per month, or pay one thousand gold into the Union pot.

With the rank of Rogue, you are not permitted to draw on Union funds.

With the rank of Rogue, you are not permitted to vote in Union elections.

With the rank of Rogue, you are not required to use the Union Fence for all goods.

With the rank of Rogue, all goods acquired through official Union jobs must be turned into the Union Fence.

With the rank of Rogue, you are given fair market value minus twenty-five percent for all goods sold through the Union Fence.

“The bit about Union jobs: are they—” I started.

“The jobs are whatever we need doing. Usually little things. Especially at your level. Though, most of the members these days just help out around here for their monthly work. You can join in if you’d like, mix dough, carry flour, that sort of thing. Now, let’s finish this up because I’m old and tired. You report to me. I report to Woolf. He’s currently the leader, and hasn’t been voted out in a long enough spell that I think he’ll hold on to the job as long as I’m alive at least.”

He looked down at his piece of paper and took another drink from the the mug.

I looked around the room. It was small, with two doors: one behind Rowland and one behind me. The chairs were comfortable, old, but well made. No carpet, nothing on the walls. It was a bare little meeting room that made little sense to have in a bakery. At least as far as I could tell.

“No other questions?” Rowland asked.

“You’re waiting for me to ask questions?” I asked.

“I already know everything about being in the Union. Why would I ask questions of you?”

“Right. Uh, for what I took tonight, does that qualify as goods acquired in an official job?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Though it is a bit difficult to gauge value of the orb. Priceless artifact, no one will be willing to buy and all.”

“Well that sucks.”

“I might have misspoke. There is at least one buyer.”

“You.”

“Yes. If I purchase the orb, its location will remain a secret, and an heirloom will be returned to my family.”

“So how much is it worth to you?” I asked with just the hint of a smile.

“Oh, economics. One potential buyer who is quite motivated. How far can you push him?”

“Well, there’s this building I’ve been thinking of buying—”

“A building? You want me to buy you a building?”

“Priceless heirloom artifact.”

“Where is this building?”

“Old Town.”

He harrumphed, then said, “At least you didn’t say the Bright. Old Town might be doable. What’s the building’s address?”

I told him.

He scribbled in a notebook he pulled from a vest pocket.

“I will look into it,” he said.

“And the rings and armor?”

“All will be catalogued and sold. The proceeds will be available in, uh,” he stopped and looked up from his notebook. “Frankly it might take some time. We haven’t done this for a while, and we’re rusty.”

“You mentioned that.”

“Well. It is true.”

“Bigger question, but what is an indicium?”

Rowland looked at me as if I’d asked what the air was. He blinked a few times before taking a long pull on his mug.

“I can’t believe I’m the one telling you this,” he started, still staring at me, involuntarily shaking his head slightly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Most children know what indicium are. Not sure how you missed out on that.”

“I had a different type of childhood.”

“I’ll say. The indicium is a marking on your body that denotes achievements or memberships you have attained, among other things—”

“Markings?”

“Yes. How do you— I’m not going to ask. I can only imagine I will be disappointed with whatever lie you choose to tell me. Extend your arm out, and will your indicium to show.”

“How do I—”

“Just will it.”

I frowned at the man, but I did as he said. And like magic (or because of magic, I suppose) a tattoo materialized on my forearm. At least, that’s the best way to describe what I saw. It was a series of black concentric rings culminating in a black circle holding two other circles next to each other. One had a numeral zero in it, while the other had a stylized R. Runic text ran around the outside of the largest circle, something I couldn’t read, and there was a stylized Imperial eagle at the top. It was really cool. I’d yet to get tattoos back in the old world, but I always wanted them. And now I had one. And it was awesome.

Then it faded until it disappeared completely.

“Yes, the indicium,” Rowland said. “I suspect now you’ll work on getting a whole set of them.”

“How many do you have?”

“Enough that they don’t look fantastic all together, but that’s a rather personal question to ask.”

“Okay, sorry,” I said. “What are ‘acquit chits?’”

“A good question, but sadly, I can’t answer it. It’s something that has been part of the Union indicium from the beginning, but no one I know has managed to get one. The theory is that it was something which was used in the early days of the Empire, but has since been phased out.”

“I noticed the rule book spells out what’s required of me. But, well, what do I get out of the deal?”

“Membership benefits? If you should find yourself in jail, we have contacts inside. We can almost always make your stay there more comfortable, and if you have built up enough good will and credit in the Union, we might even be able to get you out entirely. If you have trouble with a particular guardsman, or woman, we have ways of easing that pressure. We are a contact point for those looking for individuals with your skillset, so we can provide you lucrative opportunities so you aren’t reduced to picking pockets of tourists wandering around the Arena or breaking into random houses at night hoping they’ve got a silver candlestick for you to pilfer. If you have trouble with another criminal organization, you come speak to us first. We are your guardians in that world. You are here because you can trust us, even though you may not be able to trust anyone else. And, should you want training, which you had better, then we are able to guide you on how to become a superior thief.”

“Sounds good. So what’s next?” I asked.

“You keep your head down,” he snapped. “You train, you live your normal life, and you do not make waves. You are invisible.”

“I’m not sure I know how to be invisible, but—”

“Sass me later. You made real enemies tonight, and I have yet to determine the full extent of what you did.”

“I did exactly what you told me to do.”

“And I will have to be more careful about what I tell you to do in the future, because you clearly have no idea what you’re doing.”

“I know I don’t. That’s why I wanted to join this damn thieves’ guild.”

“I do wish you’d been here when the thing was named. Much more evocative. But, alas, also quite pointed. Rather obvious what we do at that point, eh? For the moment, keep your head down and train. Focus on staying out of view, especially from any of the nobles. Especially Tollendahl. He’ll be raging after this, and someone will swing to appease his desire for blood. Now get out of here. I’m sure there’s plenty I’m forgetting, but that’s all I have to give you.”

He finished off the coffee in his mug and stood.

“Welcome to the Union,” he said again. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

I sat by myself for a moment, trying to come to grips with things. This was a very strange situation. I wasn’t sure what I expected from a thieves’ guild, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t the Biscuit’s Union. Was this even a group I wanted to be a part of? The benefits with the indicium were worth it, to a point. But, on the whole, it just felt like amateur hour.

The door popped open again. Rowland stuck his head through.

“I’ll get you your building,” he said. “Whatever it is. I wanted to pretend like I was going to be firm or negotiate, but I’ve wanted that orb back in the family for as long as I can remember. While my father clings to life, I am going to bring it back to him. That is enough for me to give you whatever it is you desire, and since you asked for a building, a building you shall have.”

“Uh,” I stammered, “thank you.”

He nodded once.

“Good night,” he said, and shut the door firmly behind him.

CHAPTER TWO

I walked downstairs and heard laughter. Shae was sitting at a table, telling some story or another, and all five of the older people she sat with were almost crying laughing. She saw me, stood up, and gave me a genuine smile.

The actual members of the group stopped laughing, and looked over at me with a hint of sadness.

“You’ll have another chance,” the nice old woman said.

“I’m sure I will,” I said, “but hopefully after a good night of sleep.”

I didn’t wait to see what they might do, or say. Clearly they all thought I’d gone up to admit defeat to Rowland. Which meant Rowland hadn’t told them anything, which meant I wasn’t about to either. Instead, I looked at Shae, and indicated none-too-subtly that we were leaving. Or, at least, that I was leaving.

So I left.

Shae came along right next to me.

We walked through the area outside the arena, a well-lit spot that was verging on delightful. And yet, I couldn’t help but scan the skies, looking for anything that was moving. Anything that might indicate a coming attack.

“What was all that?” she asked, completely non-plussed by our nighttime stroll. She was comfortable and relaxed, and I wasn’t sure how to take that. How much did I not know about her?

“Thieves’ guild,” I replied. “Of sorts.”

“They seem rather, um—”

“Old?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m definitely the youngest person there by an order of magnitude. And judging by tonight, I think I’m the only one who’s actually interested in doing the things a thieves’ guild would do.”

“So it’s not a bakery?”

“It is. That’s the cover.”

“Good cover.”

“Did you try their cookies?”

“I did. Delicious.”

We continued on in silence, passing out of the arena’s marginal safe zone. There was no one around, and the middle of the night. Dark and creepy. Ahead, though, I saw the comforting light of the all-night cookie and coffee stand. Guards stood around, chewing the fat.

Shae reached over and grabbed my arm, tucking herself against me.

I stiffened up involuntarily (no, not like that). I just wasn’t expecting her to grab onto me. But then I noticed the way the guards were looking at her — hungrily. But as soon as she latched onto me, all their gazes hit on me instead. So I smiled.

One of the guards gave me a nod of appreciation, which was kind of shitty, but whatever, and turned back to his coffee.

“I’m guessing you don’t want another cookie,” I said.

“We could get some to go,” she said.

“Got a special one for you,” the cookie man said, holding up a cookie with a napkin around it.

I looked at Shae, confused, but walked over and held my hand out.

“For you,” the man said, putting the cookie in my hand.

“Thank you,” I replied.

He gave me a smile and a wink, and then returned to his seat.

I took the cookie and the two of us walked on. Having a weird feeling about things, I unfolded the napkin, and looked at it.

“Welcome to the Union,” it said in a flourishing script. Beneath that, it was signed, signed: “Your Old Town Safehaven.”

A spot to run to if I needed to bolt. Nice.

We made it home without much in the way of problems. Just a few drunks lurching out of a bar, screaming their courage to the darkness above. Nothing swept down to grab them, so maybe it worked. Who knows?

We went upstairs to my apartment, which is where it got hard (no, not like that), because I didn’t know what I was going to do. With her. Shae, I mean.

Shae didn’t seem to know what to do either.

We both just stood there.

I realized someone had put a bed in the place. And a mattress. And covered it with sheets. It was a made bed in the same spot my destroyed bed had previously occupied.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times as I tried to find the right words to explain the mystery in front of me, but nothing came out.

“You can take the bed,” I said finally. “There’s, uh, I’m probably not going to sleep tonight.”

“You need to sleep though,” she countered. “You should—”

“Nah, I have things to do.”

Before she could respond, I hurried through the door, walked down a flight of stairs, and went into the training apartment.

I shut the door a little harder than I’d intended, and leaned back against it.

What was I doing?

I was getting flustered over a girl, and I didn’t like it. Not like I had an overwhelming amount of experience with women back in the other world, but I’d never lost my cool the way I just had. I hadn’t even been super awkward during the heist; I’d kept calm, cool and collected. Now that I was safe at home, I started to dweeb it up. Fan-damn-tastic.

In the other world, when I’d been frustrated or whatnot, I’d hop in a game and shoot the crap out of pixelated enemies until their pixelated blood came pouring out of my screen. I didn’t have that sort of luxury here. No games, because everything was a game. I could find enemies to kill, I supposed — likely just drop into the sewers, and find plenty of stuff to gank. But it’d also be likely I’d get ganked. And, frankly, I didn’t want that sort of stress.

But I needed to get some form of release (no, not like that — maybe like that). So I threw myself into the grind.

Pushups.

Pullups

Squats.

Sprinting.

Jumping.

I pushed myself until I couldn’t stand. My muscles burned with exertion.

I sprawled on the floor, and closed my eyes. I tightened my internal ball of mana and sent it all around my body, feeling the exquisite pain as the magic forced its pathways through my system. Then I cast my first spell of the morning: stamina regeneration. It required me casting the spell continuously as it did the minor repair work around my body until I felt refreshed and renewed.

Then rinse and repeat.

Except no rinse. The rinse came at the end. It was more repeat and repeat until I ran out of mana. Then I pushed until I ran out of stamina, and then I stopped, collapsing to the floor right outside the shower. I felt a hint of sleepiness, and I tried to think back to when I’d slept last. I couldn’t remember.

It took quite a long time for me to get my clothes off. I crawled into the shower and sat there as the water crashed over my head. It was cold. Which was fine. I relished the cold. It felt fantastic.

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Lying to Yourself

Shut up, game.

I turned the water to hot, stopped the self-punishment, and finished up my shower.

Stepping out, I looked over at the clock, and cursed. It was definitely later than I’d intended, and I had exactly zero clean clothes in the second-floor training apartment. I looked at the outfit on the floor, the same thing I’d worn to the ball. I didn’t want to be seen in that again — not ever, if I had my way. There was very little to tie me personally to the theft, but still. Better to remove even the hint of a chance I’d be recognized. I balled the clothes up and tossed them in the fireplace, fully intending to deal with them at a later date.

I went upstairs, towel around my waist, and politely knocked on the door to the fourth floor apartment. No answer. No sound from inside. I pushed it open quietly, and tip-toed into the room. I was completely silent. Benefit of being a thief: plenty ready to sneak around someone else sleeping. Thing was, Shae wasn’t sleeping under the covers, at least not all the way. Instead, the covers had been kicked off at some point, and she’d worn one of my shirts to bed. And the shirt didn’t really cover that much of her.

Gaze properly averted, I ran into a chair, tried to regain my balance, failed, and fell over.

But like a true thief, I did it all in relative silence. Shae barely even stirred.

I crept over to my dresser, keeping my eyes firmly on the furniture and not on the semi-nude woman on my bed. I got some work clothes out, and then made a silent retreat.

Back in the safety of the stairwell, I got dressed.

Which meant it was the perfect time for Lothar and his young son, Sven, to step out of the second floor apartment. Our eyes met.

Lothar laughed.

So did Sven.

I laughed too — nothing else to do. It was ridiculous. I owned the building, and I’d saved their lives by fighting a big-ass monster. Now here I was, standing naked at the top of the stairs trying to get my pants on without tripping and tumbling down the stairs. What a world.

CHAPTER THREE

I got all the way outside and halfway to the tavern door before I realized I needed to let Shae know what I was doing and where I was going. It didn’t seem smart to just disappear on her. Especially since she was in my apartment. Also in my bed. But that’s really just semantics since I didn’t exactly sleep in the bed. Or had never slept in that particular bed. Mostly, I slept in closets. It was a glamorous life I’d chosen.

I trudged back up the stairs, wishing elevators had been invented, and knocked on my apartment door with a little authority, doing my best impression of the ol’ NYPD knock I’d heard more than once.

“Minute,” came a mumbled voice on the other side of the door.

The door creaked open a hair, and there was an eye and a dagger in the crack.

The eye widened.

“It’s you,” Shae said, sounding like she was genuinely surprised.

“Who were you expecting?” I asked.

“Now that you say that,” she said, opening the door. She had a blanket wrapped around her. “I suppose it makes sense it was you.”

“I’m not coming in,” I said. “I have to get to work, but I was going to grab breakfast first.”

“Oh, is it in here?”

“The breakfast? No, it’s downstairs in the tavern.”

“Can I come?” she asked, but then her face fell. “Sorry, I just—”

“Of course,” I said. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

She nodded, her big blue eyes sparkling. Then she dashed back into the room, tore off the blanket and my shirt, and I got a view of her butt in all its glory.

I closed the door and headed down the stairs.

The Heavy Purse wasn’t technically open yet, but the kitchen was cooking, and Titus’s crew was having their breakfast.

I walked in. From the look on Titus’s face, I could tell that Lothar’d already been spreading the news of my early morning nudity.

“Good morning,” I said, sitting on a stool at the bar.

“I’ve heard,” Titus replied.

“Got anything on for breakfast?”

“Big or small?”

“Two big, if you don’t mind.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve another tenant.”

“Potentially,” I said. “But I also made a deal to get the building next door.”

“You already spoke to Carson?”

“Is Carson the current owner?”

“So you didn’t.”

“I made a deal with someone who’s going to buy it in return for something I gave him.”

“I’m liking the sound of this,” Titus said with a smile. Then he walked back towards the kitchen. Probably because he felt like he’d won the lottery befriending a dimwit like me. Still, things were coming pretty easy to me, money-wise, and I figured the good thing to do, karmically at least, was to indulge in some generosity.

I turned around to look at the place. It was a little rough around the edges, with some furniture that needed replacing and a few holes in the plaster. Right above me, a dagger stuck out of the ceiling at a rather cattywampus angle.

Lothar and his son sat at a far table, eating and talking quietly to each other. Sven had a massive plate in front of him, practically overloaded with food, including a number of things that seemed as if they might have been custom made for the little dude. It made me smile, since clearly he’d won over some of the kitchen staff.

“Thanks for the bed,” I said.

Lothar nodded. “Seemed like you might need one.”

“Last one had an accident.”

“Maybe you keep that story for after this one’s asleep,” he replied, smiling and using his chin to point at his kid.

“Ha, not like that,” I snapped back.

His smile told me he didn’t believe a word of it.

Shae entered the room, and Lothar’s eyes shifted to her. His cheesy grin disappeared almost immediately. She was wearing my shirt and my pants, having found a string somewhere to tie the pants tight so they fit snug around her waist. She made it look pretty good. She walked over and sat down next to me.

Titus walked back into the room with a heavy plate of food and dropped it in front of me. Then he looked up at Shae. Then back at me, and back at her. A straight up, in the wild, double take.

“Who’s this?” he asked.

“Shae,” Shae said, reaching her hand out and taking control of the conversation.

“Is she with you?” Titus asked me.

“I’m right here,” Shae said.

“She is,” I replied to Titus, then turned to Shae. “He’s only asking because he’s not technically open, so this is a private time.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Titus Calpernus,” Titus said.

“Shae,” Shae replied.

“Big or small breakfast?”

She looked over at my breakfast. “Is that big?”

“Yep,” I said, taking a big honking fork of eggs and shoveling it into my mouth.

“Big,” Shae said.

Titus nodded, and whisked away.

“Where do you work?” Shae asked. “I thought you were a—” she looked around, then leaned in close to me and whispered the last word, “thief.”

“That’s more a long-term sort of thing. I still have to do something to pay the bills. Pit Restoration.”

“What’s that?”

“Not from the city?”

“No,” she said, smiling. “Is it that obvious?”

“Bit obvious, yeah. Where are you from?”

“North and west. It’s a small town along the river, in the mountains. My family had a little mill there, and, uh, now I’m here.”

“Is your family okay?”

“I don’t have a family anymore.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” she replied.

It was the first time I’d seen her without even a hint of a smile. There was something really hard about her then. I couldn’t help but wonder about what events transpired to get her into the city of Glaton.

A second later, Titus’s wife, Penelope came out with a plate of food and set it in front of Shae. She gave a big smile to the girl, and turned back to the kitchen.

“Yup!” Penelope shouted.

The wife gave us both a big smile, then a little curtsy and walked away.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I expect Titus told her something about me,” Shae said, “and she wanted to see for herself.”

“Does that happen often?”

She took a bite of food and blew on it, pursing her nearly perfect lips. I had to stop looking at her because I knew I was being creepy.

“Yeah,” she said. “It does. I know what I look like. Pretty common topic growing up. So, yeah.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Me too. So, what does a pit restorer do?”

I laughed lightly, also happy to change the subject, and I dove into the details of the job.

“Can I come with you?” She asked at the end of my rambling explanation.

I hemmed and hawed a moment, as I sought an answer, but I didn’t have one.

“I can’t exactly offer you a job,” I said. “It’s not my company. And there’s really no aspect of it that I’m in charge of.”

“That’s okay. I just don’t know anyone else here. Just you and Nadya, and I’m sure she’s busy being a noble and the like. So, I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

“You know how to sling drinks, flirt with grabby men, and sass drunks?” Titus asked, stepping up to be right in front of Shae.

“No,” she replied. “Not really. I haven’t spent much time in taverns.”

“Today is a good day to learn if you’d like.”

“You want me to work here even though I’ve got no skills?”

“He wants you because you’re hot,” I said. “Because—”

“I know why he wants me here,” she snapped to me. “I’m not stupid Clyde. I’m just making sure he knows I know.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Titus said. “I’m making sure there’s one more reason to come to the Heavy Purse.”

“You’re not doing it to try and—”

“Honey,” Titus interrupted as a wry smile spread across his face, “you’re pretty as all the hells, but I love my wife in so many ways, you can’t even imagine.”

Shae looked at me, and I had the sense she wanted me to give her the okay.

“Titus talks mean,” I said, “but he’s a big softy. You’ll be great. Just don’t go into the sub-basement.”

“What’s in the sub-basement?” Shae asked.

“Not this again,” I said.

CHAPTER FOUR

I was walking to work right around the time I was supposed to be at work, so, you know, good job me. Punctual as always. And since I was a bit tired and going on autopilot, I went to the old pit first. Just because my feet seemed to know that path the best. It was locked up tight. I kicked the gate, and got to jogging. I would show up sweaty, but so what? I’d likely get covered in shit as soon as I got to the new place.

I saw Matthew leaning against the wall eating an apple when I came jogging around the corner.

“Well,” he said, “at least you’re running.”

“Sorry,” I huffed.

“Why are you out of breath?”

“Running from the last—”

“I know you’re doing that thing you do.”

I stopped breathing hard, caught in the act. I’d already been using my stamina regen. The breathing hard was just to make Matthew think I’d been running a long way.

“Why are you waiting out here?” I asked.

“Don’t want to explain myself twice. Nadya’s busy playing with the damn mimic and Gilkes is getting suited up.”

“He showed up?” I asked, thinking about Peregrine Gilkes, the former estate guard I’d gotten a job.

“Yeah. On time. Unlike some people.”

“I had a rough night.”

“I heard.”

“From?”

“Rather big news when one of the wealthiest nobles has his prize possessions nabbed during the highlight of the aristocratic social season.”

“Any word on who did it?”

“Are you asking me that for real?”

“I’m trying to, uh, get an idea if they’re looking for, uh—”

“None of my sources have any leads on the matter. Whoever did it might have pulled off the crime of the century.”

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I’d been holding. Really, up until talking to Matthew that morning, I hadn’t really been considering the fact that I might be arrested and thrown in prison. There was something about the game world that just made consequences seem so alien. I felt invulnerable, and I realized, standing there and smelling the stench wafting through the gates, that I had to take a step back and really think about things. Really try and make my peace with this being reality.

“Good times?” He asked.

“More, I guess, not what I was expecting,” I said. “I’m in the Union, but it was weird. They expected me to give up.”

“That seems odd.”

“Rowland explained that it was a test. I was supposed to give up, then go back, and they’d assign something easier. And they’d train me to the point where I’d be able to do the initial test. So it would be an apprentice sort of thing I think.”

“I suppose that makes a certain amount of sense. They’re the oldest surviving such group, so perhaps there’s a few odd remnants of things gone by.

“Also, there was a girl there—”

“Hopefully more than one, or that might have been the greatest sausage fest in Empire History.”

“A special one.”

“A special one I know about?”

“You know about her?”

“I don’t know if you’re thick or what, kid. Get inside.”

“But—”

“Don’t want to hear it here. We have work to do. The shit inside is just going to get ranker the higher the sun gets today, got it?’

“Got it.”

“We can talk later.”

He clapped me on the shoulder and headed through the gate. I followed close on his heels.

The pit was unchanged from the day before. Peregrine was geared up in boiled leather armor over oilskin cover alls, swinging a sword around to loosen up his shoulders.

“Morning, kid,” the ex-guard said.

“You’re chipper,” I replied.

“First time I’ve had a boss I don’t hate in years,” he said. “And yes, I’m willing to jump into a pit of liquid filth to be able to say that.”

Matthew shook his head, but I caught a smile. Then he bounded up the steps of the small stone cottage before sticking his head inside and yelling for Nadya.

She stepped out, and I noticed she immediately looked behind me before meeting my eyes and smiling.

“Morning,” she said to me.

“Good morning,” I said.

“See, and everyone likes each other,” Peregrine interjected. “It’s a beautiful thing.”

“All right, enough sunshine blown into buttholes,” Matthew said. “We have a pit to fix. And it’s going to be a gross one. Peregrine and Clyde are going to hop onto a raft and fish. Nadya and I will stay up top, get rid of all the crap that’s up here, and set up so that we can haul up whatever you two catch.”

“Fishing?” I asked.

“Oh yes,” he said, holding up a large viscous looking spear. “Fishing.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I’d never gone fishing. Not even the normal kind. It always struck me as somewhat silly, standing next to the water casting a bit of food in, and then waiting there with your metaphorical dick in your literal hand. And I’d definitely never gone spear fishing. But this wasn’t spear fishing. Or, rather, it was quite a bit different from spear fishing.

Matthew revealed to us a raft. It was a thing of beauty. And by beauty, I mean it was a miracle it held together and could float. Quite possibly designed and built by Matthew’s children. It consisted of a few planks of wood lashed together on top of some barrels. It was surprisingly stable, considering, but there weren’t, say, nails or screws holding the raft together. So any quick movement, especially as the bindings got wet in the poop water, caused the boards to slide. That meant Peregrine and I had to counter our own movements from time to time just to get the boards to slide back into something resembling a raft. We lowered the beast into the poop-water with rough hemp rope.

Once we’d figured out how to remain relatively steady, we got the bait: a hunk of bloody meat on the end of a hook.

One of us got the hook, the other got the spear.

I lucked out and got the hook first, which meant it was my job to kneel on the raft and dip the meat into the poop water and swish it around.

Then the fun started.

Before I even got the hook and meat into the water, something knocked against the raft, and I almost fell off.

Peregrine grabbed me, half I think to keep me from falling, but also to help keep his own balance.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he said.

“Don’t say that,” I said.

“Why—” but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

Just then we felt a fantastically hard hit on the left side of the raft, pushing it well out of the water. It happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to try and keep my balance. I flew through the air, splashing into the sludge with an impressive farting noise.

I dropped the hook immediately and pulled hard to get to the surface. Something tried to grab my leg, but I kept kicking for all I was worth. My foot connected with something that crunched a little.

Peregrine got to the surface about the same time I did. But unlike me, he didn’t seem to have much skill in the way of swimming. He screamed, and then got violently ripped under the surface.

I had to do something — I felt responsible for the guy. I’d gotten him this stupid job, after all. Couldn’t let him die the first day.

I dove under and kicked hard in the direction I guessed he’d been taken and pulled the KrakenTooth out of its sheath on my belt. I kept my eyes closed under the liquid filth, reached out with one hand, and kept my hand stretched out.

My fingers hit smooth leather, and I grabbed at the armor as hard as I could. But that only got me my own spot on the express trip to the bottom.

I pulled myself over Peregrine’s body, came to the other side, and felt a new creature. Immediately I started stabbing the thing over and over with the KrakenTooth. Whatever I hit wasn’t the courageous type. A few good strikes, and it was off.

But we were down deep.

And I had no idea where in the pit we’d been. At the start of things, we’d been close to the side, but I lost track of direction as we got dragged into the depths.

But there was an untapped power of the KrakenTooth, the charge attack. Which never specified that it needed to be used as an attack, so I used it as a means of locomotion. I took my best guess at which way was up and thrust the dagger out. Suddenly, we were zooming along through the muck, and I had to do my utmost to keep a grip on Peregrine.

Unsurprisingly, I hadn’t exactly thought things through. Which meant I crashed into the side of the pit. First my arm, and then my face crunched up against the stone wall. Pain blossomed through me, radiating out from my wrist.

Peregrine wasn’t moving much, and my lungs were burning, so despite the pain and the fact that my hand wasn’t even working that well, I thrust the dagger straight up, using one more of the charges. Then I used a second one, not taking any chances.

We flew up and out of the sewage, something I could only tell because I could feel the vague sense of the sun on my face and body. I didn’t dare open my eyes, not with the filth all over me. It could only lead to blindness. Or, at the least, a truly foul eye infection.

Something grabbed me and slammed me onto the ground.

Water splashed over me, and I immediately wiped my face so I could see.

Peregrine was laying over my legs, but he looked in bad shape. Even while gasping for breath I could tell that there were wounds all over him, including a high-pressure jetstream of blood from his leg, a clear indication of an arterial wound. I’d seen enough medical dramas to know he was a goner.

Matthew leaned over, his hands on his knees, pale.

“Do something,” I said.

“The man’s dead already,” he snapped back. “There’s nothing to be done.”

“No he’s not! He’s still breathing,” I yelled.

“Last gasps.” Matthew shook his head, and walked away from me.

Peregrine’s breaths came in ragged, weak fits. In between the smears of the muck still on his face, I could tell that his robust color was gone, leaving a pallid nothing in its wake.

I scrambled out from under the man, and knelt next to him, my mind racing. I knew a healing spell. There had to be some way I could twist that to heal someone else. My hand wasn’t really responding to my requests to move it, and it was hanging at an odd angle. As soon as I realized it was broken, the pain shot to my brain. I shut that away, closed my eyes, and pushed mana around my body, cycling it, priming it. I thought about how the spell worked, about how I used the mana to reshape things, to fix things and make them better.

Putting my hands on Peregrine, I tried to force my mana out of my body and into his, directing it to fix whatever was broken. I was nervous — I’d mostly learned spells from books, so I didn’t exactly know much about magic beyond the basic steps it took to do it. When I wanted to cast shadow step, I just did it. It was almost a second nature to me, and there was no extraneous thought about it. My hands knew what to do, hell, my body knew what to do, and the mana made the magic happen. But this was different. This was me trying to figure out the way the universe worked based on a single spell.

I could feel my mana, which is a weird thing to say, but an even weirder thing to try and explain. It was this, well, extension of myself going out into the world, almost like a sixth sense. And even as I tried to get my healing magic into Peregrine, I could feel pushback from the man. Not actual, the dude was passed out, but there was something working to keep me out of him. But since I didn’t know what else to do, and since he was on death’s door anyway, I just went whole hog. I pumped out all my mana through my hands and into Peregrine’s body as fast as I could.

That’s when the screaming started.

CHAPTER SIX

It took me a second to realize the screams were coming out of my mouth.

Or maybe it was Peregrine’s mouth.

I had my eyes closed, so I had no idea what was actually happening in the outside world. It was like I was compartmentalized in my own self, because I could feel the screaming coming from my throat, and I could hear it, but it was like I wasn’t the one doing it. I could also hear it coming from somewhere else. I was hearing my own screams coming from somewhere else.

An immense pain radiated out across my entire body — it felt like someone hit me with a full sheet of plywood.

I fell over backward. My back arched, pulling so tight I thought I was going to break myself.

And just like that, everything went quiet.

I felt…okay. Very slowly, I opened my eyes, squinting against the sun.

“What the hells did you do?” Matthew roared.

I sat up, starting to feel a bit weird. But I hadn’t magically come back to Earth or anything. I was still on the stone area around the pit, still sitting in the blast of water that had cleaned us off.

Matthew stood over the now quite dead Peregrine, and stared down at the corpse.

I looked over at the man, or rather what used to be a man. Instead of seeing a human body, I saw a husk. A withered thing that was once maybe a person, but was now unrecognizable.

Matthew looked to me, horror painted all over his face.

“What did you do?” he asked again, grabbing me by the tunic and pulling me to my feet.

I shook my head slowly.

“I was trying to heal him,” I said.

“You were using magic?” Matthew asked. “What spell?”

“I was trying to modify the, uh, heal self spell.”

“Modify it?”

“Like I did before with the—”

“You were experimenting with magic?”

“Yeah, but—”

“While he was dying?”

“I was trying to save him.”

“Look at what you did!”

“What I did while trying to save him.”

“It matters little why you did it — what was it?”

“I don’t know,” I finally admitted. As I said that I realized I had been ignoring a rather persistent blinking notification.

Amazing! You’ve discovered a spell. Currently named Lesser Drain, as the discoverer of this particular spell, when you teach it to someone for the first time, or create a spellbook, you may rename it as you wish.

Lesser Drain

Lesser Drain allows you to drain a creature’s life and essence. Upon killing the creature, you gain no XP, but, instead, gain elements of the creature including, but not limited to, Abilities, Skills, and Attributes.

Whizz-bang! You’ve absorbed the following from Peregrine Gilkes +8 Strength. +9 Constitution. +6 Dexterity. +4 Agility +9 Intelligence. +4 Wisdom. +3 Charisma +2 Luck. +35 Swords. +35 Shields. +20 Heavy Armor. +13 Formation Fighting.

GG! You’ve killed Peregrine Gilkes (Lvl 31 Human Guard)

You’ve earned 0 xp (cost of drain spell)! What a mighty hero you are.

“Shit,” I said.

“What is it?” Matthew asked, eyes still focused on the corpse.

“I discovered a new spell.”

“And it did this?”

“Yeah, but it did so much more. It, or I, I mean, I don’t know how to express it, but I think I gained, or I sucked some of his, some of the stuff out of him.”

“Stuff?”

“Attributes. Skills.”

“Gods, are you serious?”

“Yeah, but—”

He put his hand up, stopping me, and he looked around.

“We have, maybe, a minute before Nadya returns with a healer,” he said. “What you are telling me isn’t possible. Not that I have ever heard. You gained points from the man?”

I nodded.

“And it killed him?”

“Finished him off, yeah. But I didn’t get experience points for the kill.”

“None?”

“Zero.”

“Odd.”

He stared at me. Then he turned back to the body.

“Help me with the body,” Matthew said.

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I stood up and walked over to the body. It was a horrible sight.

“Grab his feet,” Matthew said.

I did. Matthew had his shoulders.

“Into the pit,” he said.

We tossed the body over. There was a splash as it hit the water, and then the things in the water started fighting over the meal.

I threw up, almost toppling into the pit. Matthew grabbed onto the tail of my shirt and pulled me back onto solid footing. I dropped to my knees, and just stared at the murky muck below.

“What did we just do?” I asked.

“I’m still trying to understand what you did,” Matthew replied. “But I also got rid of the evidence of whatever it was you just did.”

“I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I know. But you still did it. You killed that man.”

“He was already dying.”

“You finished him off, kid. Don’t sugarcoat that.”

“I’m not trying to, but, I mean, I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

There was a moment of stillness before the clatter of wagon wheels on cobblestones echoed out, letting us know the healer had arrived.

Before the wagon came into view, Matthew grabbed my arm.

“You get to Careena as soon as you can, talk to her about this spell you’ve learned,” he said. “Got it?”

I nodded just as a big black carriage pulled by big white horses screeched to a stop in front of the gates. Nadya jumped off the driver’s seat and escorted a man in long black robes into the pit area.

She looked at Matthew.

Matthew shook his head, then walked over to deal with the healer. Report the death and all that.

Nadya walked over and sat next to me.

“He didn’t make it?” she asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel about it all. I was certainly upset about Peregrine — he’d been a nice guy and I’d gotten him the job. I told him it was better than guarding Lord FancyPants. But that hadn’t exactly been true. His death was on my hands twice over. In a way.

There was a burgeoning anger coming up, a rage at Matthew. He’d been the one to put us on a flimsy raft in the middle of the pit with some bloodthirsty monsters right under the surface. We were completely unprepared for what we were up against, and if it weren’t for the KrakenTooth, we’d both have been breakfast for those shit-eating creatures. How could it even be my fault? I’d done my utmost to save the dude, and sure, there was an arcane side-effect I hadn’t considered, but that wasn’t my fault, right?

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded. Because I was. I was angry. And a bit sad. But I felt damn good. I felt stronger. More robust. Which was really messed up when I stopped to think about things because I was only feeling that way because of what I’d taken from Peregrine. A guy who’d been, I’d like to think at least, my friend. I’d drained him. I’d taken something from him that was so incredibly him that, I mean, I was having trouble processing things.

“You don’t seem okay,” she said, “you seem, I don’t know. Different.”

“I feel different, a bit,” I lied. Because I didn’t. I felt very much like me. But maybe there was a difference I wasn’t admitting. Or hadn’t noticed. “But how do you mean?”

“Quieter.”

“Just had a friend die.”

“I thought you just met him.”

“I did, but, you know—”

“Just had that feeling about him?”

“Yeah.”

Matthew was paying the healer while walking the man back to the carriage, then he came back over to us.

Nadya got up, but I didn’t. I just looked at him, squinting against the sun.

“What the hells happened there, Matthew?”

“At which point?” he replied.

“What’s down there?”

“I don’t rightly know,” he said, slowly, like it hurt to tell the truth of the matter. “I was told it was one thing, but pretty clearly, that was a lie.”

“What did you think it was?” Nadya asked.

“Honestly?” Matthew asked. “Red Claws. Maybe greater prawns. The signs were there. The lunkflies up here, the placid surface, the color of things. But, and I hate to say it, pretty damn sure it’s mud wolves.”

“Mud wolves?” I asked.

“For someone who didn’t live in a city,” Matthew said, “you have an incredible ignorance of the natural world.”

“I led a sheltered life.”

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised slightly, I think trying to figure out exactly what kind of deceit I was engaged in.

“Do you know what mud wolves are?” I asked Nadya.

She shook her head.

“Her I understand,” Matthew said. “She’s a city girl through and through, likely never strolled down from her ivory tower to the pits until she decided she’d slum it with us.”

“You knew?” Nadya asked.

“Of course I knew. You think a Glaton girl coming into the Pits is going to stay a secret? I also know why you’re the lone survivor of your last pit — kind of wish your guardian had a wider mandate.”

“I didn’t expect him to save me, honestly.”

“That’s his entire reason for being, ain’t it?”

“I don’t like to think like that.”

“And yet—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I interrupted while getting to my feet, “but can we get back to the things that nearly killed me, and did kill Peregrine?”

“Mud wolves,” Nadya offered up.

Matthew nodded, then sighed. “I need a drink. Come on.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

After I got out of my oilskin coveralls and was throughly and somewhat painfully scrubbed, we headed out of the pit, and went deeper into the district. There wasn’t much beyond the pits themselves in the neighborhood of The Pits, but a single square did hold a slice of commercial activity. There were even some apartments on top of the shops, but I couldn’t imagine living there. Most of the places were aimed directly at the items the pit industry required. But there was also a pub, and a large one at that — it went up two floors. Nothing out of doors, though. Just a heavy-looking building made out of massive hunks of stone and wood with small windows, very much something between a fortress and building. The sign hanging off the front read, “The Spitted Imp”, and there was a charming carving of a small spade-tailed creature roasting over an open bonfire.

We followed Matthew through the thick wooden doors and walked into a dim, quiet scene. There were tables around the floor with a small bar all the way on the far side of the open space. A staircase led up on the right, and a quick glance made me think the upstairs was for meetings and meals while the downstairs was for drinking and commiseration. The place was surprisingly crowded, but there was only a rumbling of quiet conversation.

Matthew pointed to a table near an unlit fire. Nadya and I headed over while Matthew went to the bar.

“Have you been here before?” I asked.

She nodded. “If you want a job in the pits, you come here. Pitmasters and restorers and the like, they all come here to drink and talk. I came here and got my first job in the pits.”

“Is the food any good?”

“No, but it’s not that bad either.”

Matthew came back with three tumblers of an amber liquid. He set them at the table, drinking a gulp of his before he even sat all the way down.

“Shit day,” he said.

“What are—”

He held his finger up, cutting me off before I could finish my question.

“The question you were about to ask will get us in trouble,” he said.

I looked around and realized that Matthew had guided us to a fairly remote table. Where we could talk in relative privacy.

“When I was given this job, I wasn’t told about the pit,” he said. He wasn’t meeting my eyes, choosing to look into the empty fireplace instead. Something was really bothering the man. “That’s not that unusual though. The owner, this one at least, he’s got 18 pits. So he doesn’t care about them individually — he just knows when one stops working. He wants it back up as soon as possible. I went in, looked around, made a judgement call about what was there. And I was wrong. Because I was wrong, a man lost his life. That’s on me. I was wrong to blame you in the slightest, Clyde.”

“You don’t need to—” I started.

“That I do,” Matthew said. “That I do. I was wrong. And you almost died. Those things in there, they are a menace. They are incredibly dangerous.”

“Like trollspawn?” Nadya asked, face pale.

“No. Those are bad, but different. Mud wolves,” he said the name almost in a whisper, leaning in close to the table, “kill pits. They hunt in packs, and do not fight amongst each other. Yet they will eat any other flesh they can find. And once they are in a pit, it is very hard to get them out. Likely, they killed the pitbeast that was already in there. They can get big enough to do that easily. Sharp teeth, powerful jaws. They can’t see the way we do, but they have some way of working in muck. They can find you. And they spread. Just, no one knows how. I’ll earn no extra money on this one. Everything that comes out of there will have to be destroyed. Not even one speck of mud can come out of there intact, just in case that’s how the bastards spread.”

“There’s no value to the mud wolves themselves?” I asked.

“To be honest, I doubt anyone has even looked. Most of the time, anyone involved with a mud wolf pit is just totally devastated by their presence. Or killed.”

“Do they leave the water?”

“No. They stay in the pit, under the surface. They tend not to appear until it’s too late. That raft fishing technique is the common way of dealing with things like greater prawns. Mud wolves are a different breed of animal. They require a lot more care, and we didn’t do any of that.”

“Where do they come from? Are they just, I mean, just relegated to the pits?”

Matthew shook his head, clearly baffled about my lack of nature knowledge, then said: “Name kind of gives it away. They live in mud. Swamps. Bigger the swamp, bigger the pack of mudwolves in it. Thing is, nearest swamp to Glaton is about four hundred miles southeast.”

“There’s Finsterswamp,” Nadya said. “That’s just two days ride to the west.”

Matthew mused for a moment, then shrugged, “Still a long way for a mud-wolf to slither.”

“So what do we do?” I asked.

“We? We do very little right now. I’m about to go and fill out paperwork. Let the powers that be know about the mud wolves. And about Peregrine. Make sure all the right paperwork is filled out for his death, and that it is recorded as an accident. Hope they don’t pull my license for it.”

“What license?”

“The Empire runs on paper, kid. I have a Pit Restoration license. The Empire wants to know who’s playing with the pits here, so they don’t become corpse dumping grounds. At least, they want to make sure they aren’t solely corpse dumping grounds. Plus, they want their share of coin made here. Or anywhere. That gives you two about an hour to figure out how you’re going to sneak Nadya’s friend out of the pits to somewhere else. Provided you’re still going to keep it.”

“Of course I am,” Nadya said.

Matthew nodded. Then he held up his drink.

“To Peregrine,” he said.

We drank to the man, the liquor burning down my throat.

“Now you two had better hurry if you want that buddy of yours to live,” Matthew said. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more time.”

I gulped down the last of my drink and pushed back from the table. Nadya did the same, and then nodded at me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Back at the pit, we moved quickly, swatting aside bugs as we walked over to the cottage. But before I could barge in, Nadya held her hand out in front of me.

“You need to be careful,” she said. “He’s, well, nervous.”

“He’s nervous or you’re nervous?” I asked.

“A little of both.”

“So what’s the plan here?”

“I was thinking we box him up and carry him out. Maybe I can flag down a wagon.”

“Is he going to eat us when we approach?”

“I doubt it.”

“How certain are you?”

“I mean, somewhat.”

“You have no idea what the thing is going to do.”

“First of all, his name is Hellion. Second of all, I do so have an idea what he might do. I just don’t know for sure.”

“You named him.”

“I offered him a few names, and he choose the one he wanted.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said. “He’s a living, thinking creature.”

“Who pretends to be a treasure chest.”

“So he’s developed some strange survival traits — so what? Besides, don’t you think this is a creature worth studying?”

“Maybe, but aren’t there professionals who do this? You know, with safety precautions?”

“I’m safe.”

“Maybe I’m wrong — wouldn’t be the first time — but isn’t not being sure if you’re going to get eaten the sort of thing that people are afraid of?”

“Yeah, sure, but people are afraid of bears too.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“Some people keep bears as pets.”

“Some people are stupid.

“Sure, but that doesn’t mean all people who keep bears are stupid.”

“I’d argue that’s a pretty good sign of a mental deficiency.”

“So you think I’m stupid?”

“No, but I’m also confused as to your end goals with this thing.”

“Study. Perhaps companionship. Depending.”

“On?”

“On what I discover while studying the damn thing.”

“If I find out you’re cuddling the thing, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

“I’ll see if I can restrain myself,” she said, absolutely dripping with sarcasm. “Now go find a crate. I’ll get Hellion prepped.”

“How big of a crate?”

“Like a chest.”

“Chests come in different sizes.”

She frowned at me.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said.

Nadya rolled her eyes, and walked into the cottage.

I mean, I didn’t mean it like that.

There were all kinds of crates and barrels around the place, mostly still full of gear. Or, in the case of the barrels, water. I moved things around until I found a crate I thought might accommodate a generic-sized chest, and hauled it up the cottage’s porch.

Nadya darted out of the door, shutting it quickly behind her.

Her eyes were a bit wide, and she was breathing heavily.

“So, how’s your buddy?” I asked.

“I’m not sure he’s keen on going somewhere new.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“No, he chased me out.”

“Perfect, so we’ll have no problem getting him into a crate.”

“Might be a problem.”

I held up the crate. She eyed it, then smiled.

This was definitely going to suck.

Nadya opened the door carefully, peeking around.

The chest, or the mimic, had moved back to his usual position at the far end of the room, where there was a little bit of sunlight coming through the window.

“Hey there, Hellion,” Nadya said, stepping through the door.

The mimic’s mouth opened a little. I could see the strings of saliva connecting the lid to the rest of the beast. There were two small bumps on the top of the chest, and I saw the bumps moving from side to side ever so slightly. Eyes. Just the slightest hint of the purple tongue peeking out from its mouth.

“We have to move you,” Nadya said.

The creature made no response. At least verbally. His mouth opened a little wider, and his eyes still flicked back and forth between Nadya and me.

I had the crate with me, and though I had considered hiding it behind my back, I figured it wasn’t the best of ideas seeing that the crate was wider than me. I was approaching with the crate out, trying to make it seem like it was something very sweet..

“Just a little ride in a crate, buddy,” I said.

Nadya shot me a look.

I ignored her. I was also trying not to think she was completely nuts for keeping this thing around. It was one thing when she was trying to tame the mimic while it was kept within the confines of the pit, but now it was going to live somewhere in her estate? Maybe she had people for that. Someone who’d be able to look after the thing. Keep Nadya from becoming the mimic’s lunch while she studied it.

Steadily, we advanced. Step by step, getting closer to the beast.

It wasn’t moving.

I wondered if the mimic breathed. If it had lungs. What its innards were like.

Then its mouth opened wide, and the brutish purple tongue snapped out and wrapped around my arm.

I dropped the crate.

Little I’d experienced up until that point really prepared me for the feeling of a mimic’s tongue. It was such an odd thing. Heavy and muscular and remarkably flexible. There seemed to be a layer of slime covering the thing, which you would think would make it easy to slip out of, but the saliva was also acidic. And sticky. Something like an oily glue.

“Alcohol,” Nadya said.

“What?” I asked.

She was already in the midst of throwing a small flask my way, and although the mimic was doing its best to tug me into its waiting toothy maw, I managed to snag the flask out of the air.

“Pour it on the tongue,” she said.

“On the mimic?” I asked.

“Fast or he’ll get you close enough to bite.”

One look at the large yellowed teeth of the creature was enough for me to know biting was not a good option.

I uncorked the flask and poured the liquid over the tongue. Where it had been sticky, the tongue was now smooth. A complete reversal of viscosity. And despite its grip, I had no trouble pulling my arm free now.

The mimic retracted his tongue in a blur of movement, and seemed to give Nadya a look of dissatisfaction. Like he couldn’t quite believe she had done that.

I looked at the flask, then at the mimic.

“What just happened?” I asked.

“High-proof alcohol neutralizes their saliva. Makes it slick instead of sticky.”

“You figured that out in the one day of working with it?”

“No, I read it in a book and you helped me test it out just now.”

“That was a guess?”

“An educated guess. And it worked.”

“And if it hadn’t?”

“Then I would’ve smacked Hellion on the lid until he let you go.”

“You think he wouldn’t just have snatched you with his tongue?”

“He’d have to let you go first, wouldn’t he?”

“Your lackadaisical approach to safety is a little disconcerting.”

She shrugged.

And I leapt.

The mimic had seemed to be following our conversation, so he wasn’t expecting me to move. I slammed the crate down on top of the poor guy. Then I sat on it.

“Done,” I said.

“When we pick it up, how are we going to make sure he won’t fall out of the bottom?” Nadya asked.

“Semantics,” I replied.

CHAPTER NINE

From there, it actually wasn’t so hard to get the mimic in the crate. A little tipping here and there followed by a quick slam of the lid, and we managed to get the beast safely within its carrier. Granted, the dude was not happy when I hammered the top on, so he made moving the crate around nigh-on impossible, shifting his weight around inside with wild abandon. But the crate almost managed to move on its own, so there was that.

We got the crate and ourselves out of the pit area just in time, stumbling up the block with our burden while Matthew and some rather rough-looking men in grey cloaks crossed our paths. Matthew didn’t make any sort of acknowledgement of the two of us, so I made none towards him. It was as if we were but two ships passing in the night.

Nadya and I struggled with the crate for about a block before deciding that it was just too ridiculous. She left me there to sit on the crate while she got a wagon.

The crate, or the mimic really, did his best to make his displeasure known, rocking about like a maniac, almost knocking me off.

“Stop,” I said.

The rodeo halted.

“We’re trying to get you to a new home,” I said. “Somewhere safe.”

No more movement. Either he was actually listening to me (doubtful), or he appreciated the sound of my voice... more likely.

“If you chill,” I said, “you know, like relax, you can have a restful little trip in the dark. And then you’ll be in a new place where you’ll have lots of grass to run around in. Or, I don’t know, what do you like to run around in?”

There was a grumble of sorts from the crate. Almost as if the creature inside was trying to figure out how to form a word.

“Whatever it is, there’s probably something like that at your new place. So, provided you don’t try to eat me, or Nadya, or anyone, really, you’ll have a nice little spot to do what you want. Which, my guess, involves eating.”

Probably just my imagination, but I sensed a feeling of satisfaction from the mimic, and he remained still. Then, just as this world always seemed to do, I got confirmation of something I hadn’t known:

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Monster Handling. Now you can deal with monsters without them eating you. Right away. They’ll probably still eat you. Increased chance at non-hostile monster interactions.

It was almost easy to load the crate onto the back of the wagon. So we trundled on.

It wasn’t a nice carriage — it was a wagon. A thing of function over form, and Nadya and I got to ride in the back amongst the hay and detritus from the teamster’s other deliveries. The ride was bumpy and unpleasant, but a whole hell of a lot better than trying to carry a bucking mimic across the city.

“What’s your plan here?” I asked.

“Long term?” Nadya replied, looking at the city pass by. “Study the creature. Maybe see if there’s a use for them.”

“A use? Like only having to have four mimics and that covers all the furniture you’d need in your house?”

She laughed, but shook her head. “I don’t think furniture is really where the mimic would be ultimately useful.”

“It’d certainly put some carpenters out of work.”

“I don’t even know if it can do more than be a chest.”

“Of course it can. If it couldn’t, people wouldn’t call it a mimic. They’d call it a false chest.” It took actual restraint to not make a crack about implants.

“Maybe there are different species, variants who can become different things. Maybe a chest mimic can only be a chest mimic.”

“I find that hard to believe. That seems remarkably limiting.”

“But wouldn’t it be better to know, though? Seems like we should know these things, as a society. It would help anyone in a dungeon if they knew how to deal with mimics.”

“Do you don’t want to save all the mimics?”

“What? No. That’s absurd. They’re still monsters. They still mostly just kill other imperial citizens. My uncle died exploring the wilds. And I think, you know, if someone had been cataloging these monsters and how to kill them, how to avoid them, all those things, then maybe my uncle would still be here.”

“Makes sense,” I said.

She nodded at me, then looked back out at the city. Her eyes glistened a bit, giving me the feeling this topic was a whole lot more sensitive than I’d anticipated.

We made a turn to the west, which confused me. I didn’t know of many nice neighborhoods west of the Pits. Or to the east of the pits. And the southern portion of the city was definitely and defiantly middle class at best.

“Where are we heading?” I asked.

“You live in Old Town, right?”

“Wait a minute—”

“I can’t bring it back to my, uh, house.”

“Were you about to say estate?”

“Maybe. But I still can’t bring it there.”

“So you’re taking it to my apartment?”

“You live by yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean I want a roommate who’s going to eat me.”

“He’s not going to eat you.”

“He’s already tried to once.”

“Did he even hurt you?”

“It hurt.”

“Do you have a mark on your arm?”

“That’s not what signifies hurt, Nadya.”

“Stop being a baby.”

“Wanting to keep my apartment monster-free is being a baby.”

“Sure it is.”

“You don’t want a monster in your place of residence.”

“Yes I do; I just can’t have one there.”

“Can’t I say no?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve got no where else to put him.”

She flashed her smile at me, and I was a little taken aback by how, just, perfect that smile of hers was. Her eyes seemed to twinkle just a little. That’s when I knew I was done for.

“He can stay,” I said. “But not in my apartment.”

The wagon dropped us off in front of the Heavy Purse. The tavern was already well on its way to being in full gear. Those who were busy drinking their lunch outside eyed Nadya and me — well, more Nadya than me — as we manhandled the crate out of the wagon and around to my apartment door.

“There’s a kid and his dad on the second floor,” I said before I opened the door. “So we’ll bring Hellion to the third floor, okay?”

She nodded, adjusting her grip on the crate. The mimic was heavy, surprisingly so. Between the two of us, we struggled like we were moving a couch. Just a little shorter. The real adventure was getting the damn thing out of the crate. Once we were in the room, I remembered we’d nailed the top shut, so that meant locating a dagger or two I didn’t care about. Then, while Nadya stood on top, I levered around the edges until the top was free to come off.

We flipped it off, and I grunted as I tipped the crate over on its side. Without a word, we both ran for the door.

At which point, I got to see something I hadn’t expected to ever see: a mimic moving. It just doesn’t seem like a creature that should exist. Though, frankly, I was starting to feel that way about most of the fauna I’d encountered in Glaton. Slowly, very slowly, the chest came out of the crate. The dude had very small legs, and lots of them, peeking out the very bottom of the chest. The way it moved reminded me of both a crab and a millipede. As it scurried along, I could hear a very faint popping sound. Like a suction cup being removed, or a piece of bubble wrap being popped.

“Weird,” I whispered.

“This apartment is weird,” Nadya whispered at me.

I looked away from the mimic for a moment and paid a spot of attention to the place. There was something a little odd about keeping an entire apartment built out like an obstacle course, I suppose. But it didn’t seem anywhere near as bizarre as the chest that was currently settling itself against the northern wall, tucking itself right between my reading nook and my shower.

“There,” Nadya said, “he looks right at home.”

“Yeah, and any time I get close to him I have to worry he’s going to bite me.”

“Are we really doing this again?”

“It’s a legitimate fear.”

“You’re a big elf,” she said, patting my shoulder. “You can defend yourself.”

“I’m getting a drink,” I said.

“Do you mind if I stay here?” she replied without looking at me. “I’d really like to see how Hellion adapts to his new surroundings. If he changes his appearance or something.”

“Yeah, fine. Do whatever you want.”

She smiled at me once again, and we remained that way for a moment. She was right in front of me, and I was starting to worry that she was waiting for me to do something. Then she just shook her head and turned away, strolling over to a large obstacle and clambering up it. She sat on top and pulled out a notebook.

“Go get your drink,” she said to me. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to understand why I was feeling awkward about whatever had just happened. But as soon as my stomach grumbled, I knew that going to get some food was the better thing to pay attention to.

CHAPTER TEN

I made it all the way out to the street before I was interrupted. A posh carriage came to a stop, and the door opened. Rowland came out, practically bouncing down the steps with a peculiar type of glee. He was outfitted like a pompous noble, likely because that was basically what he was.

“My young protégé,” he said. “How lovely to see you here today.”

“Lovely to be here,” I replied. “I guess.”

“Certain amount of serendipity, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh, not really? I don’t know, I guess, I mean, I live here.”

“Ah, but my visiting was the more arbitrary activity, my boy. It is odd that I am here on this particular day at this particular time. And fortuitous for you.”

“Because every time I see you is such a joy?”

“Ah, the sass of youth.”

“The small talk of age? What’s up?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that the manner one talks to a man who just bought you a building?”

With a little flourish, he presented a leather pouch to me. Curious, I opened it to see a leather folder of papers along with a bunch of keys on a number of rings.

“And with that transfer,” Rowland said, “I believe we are back to equal footing. I have my, well, my ball, and you have your building. Such as it is. I must say, I was expecting to pay a bit more for the place, considering some of the upgrades and the condition of the building. But the owner seemed oddly desperate to sell. You might want to dig a little deeper on that man, see if there’s something we have yet to discover. A reason he wanted to sell.”

“Did he seem odd?”

“I suppose, to an extent at least. But anyone who chooses to live here, present company included, is just a bit odd in my book. So,” he gestured around at the place as if he was trying to both pull the word from the air and make it clear enough I didn’t need to have him tell me, “crowded. The aesthetics are just so paltry. Such an over emphasis on defense and war down here. Drives me mad. I feel as if I must be on guard at all times. Cower behind walls, board up my windows, that sort of thing. That grimelings or snipes might be making their way here to attack me. Just, ugh, so busy in the worst ways.”

“I guess,” I replied, trying to visualize my neighborhood in the way he did, but I couldn’t really see it that way. It didn’t strike me as busy, or crowded. I suppose that had something to do with coming from a much bigger city than Glaton. Being used to buildings with a hundred, or more, floors made six floors seem almost quaint in comparison.

“For the best if you like it,” he quipped. “Otherwise, what are you doing here? Anyway, I suggest taking a look at the place, since I certainly did not. The owner took the note off to the bank, and passed over the keys. Everything inside is yours. Which, I suppose, includes furniture. There are no tenants in place, which could be a plus. Anyway, congratulations on, well, owning it.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“A second topic, I suppose a vague corollary to first: we had a chat with a group calling themselves the Iron Silents.”

“They’re idiots, right?”

“More or less, yes. Rather daft. But did you know they own nearly every restaurant and tavern within Old Town? That’s why they were so desperate to buy yours, apparently. Bizarre plan if you ask me. But you didn’t bite. We spoke to them, at any rate, and let them know you are one of us. That you are under our protection and if they meddle with you in the future, they will have greater things to worry about. You should be free and clear of their meddling.”

“That’s awesome. Thank you.”

“Part and parcel of you being a member of our guild. And if you swing by, not today, or tomorrow for that matter, but later in the week, the payment for the goods you dropped off will be there. Should you be ready to collect. Which, given your new domicile, perhaps you’ll want to invest a bit. Redecorate.”

He tipped his hat my way, then stepped back in his carriage.

“Home,” he called out to his driver, then relaxed back into his cushions as he shut the door.

Rowland was an odd man.

I turned around and looked at my buildings.

The Heavy Purse and apartments, was on the corner of two streets. My new building was substantially bigger, and butted right up against, and then towered a bit over, my first building. The ground floor housed a bakery, but the main entrance to the rest of the floors was smack in the middle, so the bakery was, in a sense, split in two. It took a minute or two to sort through the keys until I got the one that opened up the bakery.

One half looked to be the main kitchen area, which, with windows facing out to the front, was something of a show kitchen at present. The other half was the storefront itself, with a spot to buy bread and treats, as well as coffee and tea. There were a number of small two-top tables spread through the open space. The whole place had a real homey vibe. It smelled delightful. Like bread. And flour. Which, you know, made sense considering it was a bakery.

A bakery that looked like it had been open earlier that day. There was still bread, and other baked goods, in the display racks. I walked around to the area behind the counter, and, being that I was still pretty hungry, I grabbed a hard roll and took a bite.

Fine.

Nothing amazing, but, you know, bread. Great for the price, I suppose.

I walked around to the kitchen area. It was indeed a kitchen. Not a whole lot to it. Huge tables in the middle for working the dough, and large ovens along the wall it shared with The Heavy Purse. I wondered if there was any sort of heat transfer into the pub. There was a big double door at the back, the sort of thing that looked like it might have been large enough to roll a wagon into. The floor in front of it was made of a much rougher stone, almost like a slab of the street had been brought inside. And directly above that was a large metal track with a big hook and a block and tackle. It looked like a winch sort system that could potentially be used to lift heavy things onto and off of wagons. Pretty cool.

I went through the double doors and found myself outside, in a courtyard. There was a large grassy area and a tree to one side, and something like a paddock on the other. This wasn’t a huge space, but there was a barn and what I can only really describe as a three-story carriage house. Tall walls went around the place, though there was a large archway big enough to facilitate wagons coming and going.

I walked through the archway into the alleyway that ran behind the building. There was only one exit, on the far end of the block, but I could see a few similar back areas attached to some of the other buildings on the block. This was how deliveries would be made, I supposed.

Inside the carriage house was, in fact, a carriage. Though calling it a carriage is being very generous. It was more like a large wagon. One wall was filled with all sorts of tack, all the straps, pulleys, whatever, that a wagon needed. Or, rather, that a horse needed in order to pull a wagon. On the other side of the place was a staircase, going up to the second floor. I darted up the stairs, listening for any sorts of creaks or groans, but it seemed like the place was pretty well built. A door was at the top of the stairs, and that led to a nice little living quarters. It had a living room and kitchen on the first floor, and a bedroom on top. Quaint, but definitely not for me. The windows looked out onto the alley or the courtyard. And it was just really quiet. I wanted a view of the streets. See that there were people about. Or at least just have the illusion of people.

I went through the stables, which were empty save some hay. I had enough stalls for eight animals, and, from the smell of it, there’d been animals there recently. At least the seller had certainly been kind enough to muck the stalls out before I took ownership. While I stood there, a bird of some sort flew out of the rafters. I was tempted to climb up and take a peek for a nest, but there was too much to see before something like that. The stalls were large, at least as far as I could tell. I had no real concept of how big stalls should be to house a horse, but these seemed like they’d do the job.

Back into the main building, I wondered if there was a way to add in a mudroom or something to provide a stopgap for people who were coming from the stable or the yard into the kitchen portion of the bakery. Cleanliness was not exactly of importance in Vuldranni for some reason. But still, I could dream.

I had to go back outside to get onto the stairs. Going up to the second floor, I opened one apartment, and then the other. Very basic, both in terms of furnishing and layout. Both two-bedroom flats. Continuing on upstairs, it was the same story until the final apartment on the top floor. That was the only one that was completely empty. Just a little dust in the corner.

So now I had seven empty apartments. And no idea what to do with them.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Stomach growling, I shouldered my way through the crowd in the Heavy Purse until I got to the bar. There, I saw something that made me smile. There were two empty stools, which I thought was a bit odd until I saw small little reserved signs. One of which had my name on it.

“Hey,” I said to no one in particular, “that’s me!”

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” came the reply of a drunk dude to my left.

I shrugged, and then decided to pick his pocket.

A successful pick pocket! You’ve snatched six silver and a key.

I dropped it on the ground.

I took my reserved seat, marveling at the penmanship on the tag.

“Evening,” Shae said, sauntering up right in front of me, leaning on the bar. She’d cleaned up nicely, having gotten clothes that weren’t mine to wear. Her hair was pulled into a pony-tail that was big and bouncy. A bit like a cheerleader, but with more volume. It moved a lot when she moved. As did some other parts of her, much to the enjoyment of the crowd. Her smiling at me caused several gents, and a few ladies, to make mad faces in my direction.

“Having fun here?” I asked.

“It’s, uh, sure.”

“So, no.”

“I wouldn’t say this is a dream job.”

“But Titus treats you okay?”

“He’s great. Everyone is great here. I mean, minus the drunks.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of universal.”

“Do you like my outfit?”

I gave it another appraising look, a little more overt this time. “Sure, you look great.”

“You have a lot of women’s clothing in your apartment.”

“The previous owner left it,” I said. “Didn’t seem right to toss it all, so I just left it.” Which was a bit of a lie. I hadn’t really bothered to go through the place carefully, so it was news to me that I still had a full wardrobe of Etta’s clothes.

“They don’t fit perfectly,” she said with a frown, “but close enough until I’ve got some money.”

“Were you—”

“Shae!” Titus called out. “Get his order and move on!”

“We’re kind of busy,” Shae said to me. “Hungry?”

“I am.”

She winked, and sashayed away.

“Stool taken?”

Nadya was right at my side.

“Nope,” I said.

She hopped up and spun around to face the bar.

“You get Hellion settled in?” I asked.

“I suppose,” she said. “He never moved. Just sort of sat there.”

“Like a chest.”

“Yeah. Almost looks like it belongs there.”

Shae came out from the kitchen laden with a heavy plate of food. She gave a big smile at both me and Nadya, and put the plate in front of me.

“Hi Nadya,” Shae said, all sunshine and rainbows.

“Shae,” Nadya replied abruptly. Not quite cold, but certainly not happy.

“Hungry?”

“Sure.”

“Great!”

And then Shae was on her way again.

“She’s got a job here now?” Nadya asked.

“Yeah.”

“Is she living here?”

“In the bar? No.”

“So she’s living with you.”

“She’s staying here, yeah.”

“With you.”

“Well, she was in my apartment last night, but I spent the night in, uh, well, where Hellion is now.”

“That obstacle course? Where’d you sleep?”

“I didn’t. I had some training to do.”

“You just skipped a night of sleep?”

“It happens.”

“That’s not good for you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.”

“I have odd sleeping patterns, okay? It drove my parents nuts.”

“Ah, you slipped up! A bit of your past emerges.”

“I’m an open book.”

Nadya laughed. “I’ve never met someone who talks so little about themselves.”

“Hi pot, looks like you’re black too.”

“What?”

“You straight-up made a whole other persona so you wouldn’t have to talk about yourself.”

“I did not.”

“What’s your last name again?”

“Can we not use that here?”

“See?”

“I have a reason to be private. You won’t even tell me where you’re from.”

“Sure I will. A hamlet. Down south.”

“Named Denmark?”

“No, that was a bad joke.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I said it was bad.”

I’m not sure what else she might have dragged out of me, but Shae delivering another plate of food saved me.

“Titus wants to chat in the back,” Shae said.

“Now?” I asked, my fork halfway to my mouth with my first bite.

Shae nodded. But before I could complain or come up with an excuse to why I couldn’t go, she was off, working the bar. Titus’ wife was also out tending bar, and I was impressed that the two women already seemed to be working seamlessly together.

I frowned at Nadya.

“Sorry,” I said. “Can you keep an eye on this?”

She smiled, speared a potato from my plate, and popped it in her mouth.

“Sure,” she said.

I shook my head and began weaving my way through the crowd. It wasn’t shoulder to shoulder, but there wasn’t much room left either. The place could do with an expansion, and now I had the space to do it, but I wasn’t sure how to get an HGTV thing happening in Glaton.

It was refreshingly quiet in the back. Titus sat on a crate with a book in his hands, but it was unopened. He was just staring at the wall.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Someone else bought the building,” Titus said. “Some damn noble swooped in, bought the place, and—”

“Not true. I bought it.”

“But—“

I held out the deed.

Titus took the paper and read it over.

“Holy balls, you did it?”

“I mean, it’s not like it was hard. I was just in the right place at the right time with the right object to trade for the building.”

“Must have been some object.”

“Certain things are valuable to certain people. He was the only one willing to buy it from me, but he had to have it. So, we traded.”

“Thank the gods,” Titus said. “I don’t want to be, I don’t know, improper, but—”

He stood up and embraced me. A big ol’ hug.

“Uh,” I said, feeling the guy shaking, trying to hold in his sobs, “you okay, man?”

“It’s just, there are things happening, and I thought, I was worried. I have small children at home, and my wife and I are, well everyone is scared. In the city, I mean. At least, those of us with children. I didn’t want to say anything to you about it, I didn’t know if you maybe you knew, but we were worried that we would be too far from our family if something happened. And now, we don’t. We can bring the children here, and live next door.”

“Wait, so what’s going on in the city?”

“Children are going missing.”

“How many?”

“Many of them. I don’t know.”

“More than usual?”

“Yes. Very much so. What rent will you charge?”

“Uh,” I stammered, caught off guard. I’d been thinking about the missing children, and I hadn’t been prepared to discuss anything like business terms anyway. “I guess same as here.”

“Free meals and taxes?”

“How about whoever lives in these buildings gets fed, and you pay taxes?”

“What apartment do I get?”

“How much room do you need?”

“We have only ever had a two-room apartment — that’s probably all we need.”

“If you want the top floor, that seems to be the biggest. It’s the whole floor.”

“You won’t take that for yourself?”

“I have too much space as it is. Better someone else put it to use. Besides, don’t you have lots of kids?”

“And parents.”

“See? Also, the bakery. Do you have any ideas?”

“You want to open it up again?”

“Seems a waste to leave it closed. I guess you could also expand into it. Take over their kitchen or something. There’s also a carriage house in the back, with stables. Should I get horses or something?”

“There’s a lot of space here, Clyde. You might want to take some time filling it. I know a few bakers — I can see if they’re interested in a new larger space. I’m not sure about expanding, I don’t even know why we’ve been so busy lately, so I can’t imagine it lasting forever. I’m just riding it out best I can.”

“Being cautious has its place. Take the top floor. I might put a door on the fifth floor to the roof of this building. That way, we can go between buildings without having to go onto the street.”

Titus gave me another hug. “Thank you, Clyde. You are a good man.”

“Hey, none of that.”

He smiled, and walked into the kitchen.

I took a moment to just think. I did have a lot of space. I wasn’t super-keen on leaving Hellion in my training room, but I supposed that I could just make a different room a spot for training and let Hellion have his own apartment. Or, I could see if Nadya wanted to set up a lab or something in one of the apartments, or out in the carriage house.

Maybe Matthew and his family would like to move in.

And that thought stumped me. Why was I trying to fill the building with people I knew? It certainly didn’t make much in the way of economic sense. I guess it was an attempt to recreate a family. Replicate something I’d lost. Lost prior to even coming to Vuldranni, actually. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. I decided I’d speak to Matthew about it.

I went back to my meal. Finally.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Which was gone. Because Matthew had eaten it. He was sitting at my reserved stool, talking quietly with Titus and Nadya.

“Nice meeting of the minds,” I said, strolling up and pushing my way into the group.

“You finally decided to show up,” Matthew said. “Took you long enough.”

“Long enough? I was back talking to that fool,” I pointed to Titus.

“Speaking of that fool—” Matthew started.

“—This fool is getting back to work,” Titus interrupted. He made it two steps before someone grabbed him and asked for another drink..

“The fool told us you have a new building,” Matthew said.

“Fools talk a lot,” I replied.

“True though, right?” Nadya asked.

“Yeah.”

“The place next door?” Matthew asked.

“Okay, clearly you know what it is and where it is. Just ask me what you want to know without all this small talk crap, okay?”

“This isn’t small talk,” Matthew said, “small talk is talking about the weather, or the local monsters sighted. These are clarifying questions and beating around the bush.”

“Knock that crap off too, then.”

“Have you rented out all the apartments there?” Matthew asked.

“One for me, too, if you have one,” Nadya said.

“You want to live there?” I asked.

“Maybe,” Nadya said.

“I want to live there,” Matthew butted in. “I asked first.”

“Easy there,” I said. “Only one apartment is gone. And why do you both want an apartment here?”

“Is this the official application process?”

“There is no process. It’s just me saying yes or no. And I’m curious.”

“City seems dangerous all of a sudden,” Matthew said. “The wife and I would like a different place. Maybe closer to work. Easier to secure.”

“And you think this building is it? Look around this place. It’s full of people.”

“Exactly,” he said. “There are people here. It’s a busy place. You’re not far from a guard station at the wall. And I know Titus. I know that he’s going to make sure his family is safe.”

“Fine. Sure, whatever. How many apartments do you need?”

“Just my family.”

“Take two. Connect them together or something. You can have the fourth floor.”

“Just like that?” he asked. “What’s the rent?”

“I don’t know, whatever you think is fair.”

“Usually the landlord makes the rent, decides what’s fair.”

“You want the place?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then take it. You can trade training me for rent.”

“Deal,” Matthew said, a huge smile on his face.

“Does that mean I get a place too?” Nadya asked.

“Are you planning on using it as a lab?” I asked.

“Maybe.”

“You better put Hellion in there.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Fine. Fifth floor. You only get one apartment. I’m going to put a door to the roof of this building. I think.”

“And do I get to set my own rent?”

“I’m assuming you need to fix up the place to make it a lab?”

“I will, but I’ll cover that cost.”

“If you want the place, you need to cover the cost of upgrading the whole place.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What upgrades are you thinking of?”

“Running water, hot and cold, plus secure doors so your experiments don’t wander out. And Matthew, do you have a Legion buddy or two who might be willing to act as security in exchange for an apartment?”

“Let me look next door,” he said. “I can see what you have available.”

“You’re on four, Nadya is on five, Titus is on six. The roof would be nice to make into a garden or something. And probably the water tower will need to be there. The bakery is in the basement and first floor. So, that leaves the second and third floors open. Plus the carriage house. And the stables.”

“Can I have the stables?” Nadya asked.

“Not until I know you aren’t going to breed monsters there,” I said.

“I can neither confirm or deny that’s my intent.”

“I bet. So no for now.”

“Do you have all of these apartments full?”

“Is there really something bad happening in the city regarding kids?”

Matthew’s happy face disappeared. He nodded gravely.

“And no one knows what it is?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Bit of a mystery at the moment.”

“Then yeah. You have people you care about with kids, get them in the third floor. Second floor save for security types. And then think of what we can do to these two buildings to make them safe. Nadya will pay for it.”

“You think I’m just going to do anything you ask for this lab?” Nadya asked.

“Yes.”

She opened and closed her mouth a time or two. “I’m not that desperate.”

“Yes you are,” I said. “And aren’t you loaded?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“Matthew, is Nadya loaded?”

“Very much so,” Matthew said.

“There we go,” I said. “Now, can someone please get me a second dinner?”

“Glutton.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nadya left shortly after my second attempt at dinner arrived. So it was just me and Matthew, and the hundred-plus people inside the tavern. Very intimate.

“Got something we should probably discuss,” I said.

“Is this in relation to a certain party?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“You think, perhaps, we should go somewhere and talk without friends overhearing?”

I looked around and realized that even though it appeared no one was paying us any attention, there was no way people weren’t eavesdropping. Most likely in an unintentional way, but there could also be some people around actively trying to hear what I might say.

“Let’s go check out your new place,” I said.

He hopped off his barstool and gestured for me to lead the way, which I did.

Matthew remained silent all the way until we got to the doors to his apartment. As I fumbled for the right key, he cleared his throat.

“I really appreciate you doing this,” he said. “You are being very generous.”

“Better than letting it sit empty,” I replied, finally finding the right key and unlocking the place.

“You’re not that daft, kid,” Matthew said. “I recognize the gold you’re giving up here.”

“Yeah, well. Let’s not dwell on that.” I opened the door for him.

He shrugged, and walked past me into his new apartment. It was dark inside, with the only light coming from the window, but I could still see his smile.

“Need some glowstones,” he said.

“Yeah, I still don’t know where to get those.”

“Great thief like you? I’m sure you’ll snag a few somewhere.”

“What, just mosey down to the Bright and take a bunch of lights from some rich dipshit?”

“Sounds like a bright idea.”

“Get out.”

“I thought you needed to talk to me about something.”

“Valamir is going to kill his brother.”

“That’s not news.”

“Okay, but he’s got a plan and everything.”

“Something you overheard?”

“Yes.”

“It’s old news. Valamir has been planning fratricide for years. All over a girl.”

“If it’s just old news, which, you know, it might be—”

“Lovely kitchen here,” Matthew said, wandering around his apartment with a keen eye.

“Yeah, great, but ol’ Lord FancyPants plans to give Valamir a bunch of money for something, and it’s in relation to Valamir killing his brother.”

That finally got the man’s attention. He stopped inspecting of his new digs, walked right past me, and shut the door. Then he came back over to me, standing uncomfortably close.

“This was at the ball?” he asked. “And it was actually Valamir?”

“Valamir and FancyPants.”

“You can say his name here.”

“FancyPants is a better name than Tollendahl.”

“True, but virtually all the nobles could be called FancyPants. There’s only one asshole worthy of the name Tollendahl. And that’s Lord Tollendahl himself.”

“Tollendahl was talking to Valamir, in the flesh. The two of them in the same room, right below me.”

“Below?”

“I was hiding above them and trying to get inside a secret room.”

“And they didn’t find you? It wasn’t just an attempt at sowing misinformation?”

“Considering that Tollendahl met with a member of the Carchedon royal family directly after meeting with Valamir? I doubt it. Also, do you know anything about Blood Debts?”

“No. Sounds bad.”

“Might be, but I don’t know either.”

“But back to the important part.”

“Fancypants.”

“Tollendahl is actually giving Valamir funds?”

“Substantial. And I think Tollendahl is getting his money from Carchedon.”

“You’re certainly slinging around traitorous accusations like they’re on fire tonight.”

“Not my fault the aristocrats are a bunch of dickheads.”

“No, you’re right there.”

“Okay, so what do we do?”

“About?”

“Valamir.”

“You feel strongly about saving the emperor?”

“He seems like an okay cat. Fair.”

“He is fine. Not good, not bad. Fine. I imagine, at least for the general populace, for you and me, Valamir will be about the same.”

“You have no overwhelming allegiance to the Emperor?”

“Because of my time in the Legion? We swear the Empire, not the Emperor. You want idiots who dedicate their lives to another man, look to the Thingmen.”

“Who are they?”

“The emperor’s private army. I’m more concerned about the connection between Tollendahl and Carchedon.”

“And the White Hand.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Tollendahl has connections to the White Hand.”

“How do those vile slavers factor to Carchedon?”

“As far as I can tell, Tollendahl gets his money from dealings with Carchedon, and that business is intrinsically linked to the White Hand. I saw Tollendahl pass a list of names to Valamir, of White Hand members he wanted to have freed.”

“This could certainly be bad for the country. If Carchedon is funding Valamir stealing the throne, they’d probably want something for that.”

“They mentioned something about the, uh, hodor-spur—”

“Hospodar.”

“Right, about that position changing hands recently.”

Matthew nodded. “The son killed his father. Accused the father of treason, colluding with Glaton.”

“But isn’t he?”

“Likely for different reasons. I had heard the emperor planned to wed his daughter to the Hospodar’s son. The current Hospodar. A means of achieving a form of peace between the lands. Perhaps even joining the two empires. It strikes me that the Hospodar prefers keeping his country at war with Glaton. And, likely, Valamir does as well.”

“But why?”

“Ah, youth. There is money to be made in war. Lands to be gained. Titles to be lost and titles to be created. War is a fantastic opportunity for those with money and power.”

“So we do nothing?”

“Just as the rich look to make sure they are getting the most out of every situation, so must we. What do we gain by keeping the Emperor in power?”

“Messes with the White Hand. Keeps them from rising in power.”

“Good. What else?”

“Keeps the status quo. Maybe keeps the Legion from going to war?”

“And is that good or bad?”

“Probably neither. Might be kind of good if they go because then there’s fewer lawmen around?”

“And war means more fools signing up. More fools signing up means more money going through the city. Everyone spending their signing bonus before they leave for battle. And it could mean treasure coming back from the front. Looting rights go to the conquering army.”

“But why should I care about any of that stuff?”

“Good question. All depends on what you want to do with your life. Do you know?”

“That’s a really big question.”

“No reason for it to be easy.”

“Is Valamir an asshole?”

“As far as I know.”

“So messing up his plans is a good thing?”

“It might be. Might also be that you can’t mess up his plans. On the other hand, you could sell the information. There are always those interested in knowing secrets.”

“Okay, as my mentor, I’m asking you: what should I do? What would you do?”

He leaned back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling.

I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, then looked around at the furniture in the place. Basic stuff. Nice enough, I supposed, but nothing I would have gone out of my way to choose.

Matthew pushed past me and got over to the window. There was just the barest hint of sun remaining in the sky.

“I need to get home,” Matthew said. “Get to packing.”

“But—”

“Not done, kid. If this were me, if I were you, or however you want to imagine it, I’d go and take a look. Try and get something definite in terms of proof, and then I’d sell that. But I don’t think you’re the selling type. You seem to have other motives besides gold. So you probably want to see if you can find out a way to throw a gremlin into the mix.”

“An actual gremlin?”

He laughed. “Though I would pay to see that happen, I was being metaphorical.”

He stopped at the door, opened it, and pulled the keys out. “I’ll be here tomorrow morning—”

“Comes with free meals.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Free meals at the Heavy Purse. Maybe at the bakery too.”

“For me?”

“And the family.”

He shook his head, not bothering to hide his smile. “Better watch out, or people’ll start to think you’re one of the good guys.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I went home. You know, next door. I stopped briefly on the third floor to take a peek inside. Hellion, was in the same spot by my reading nook that he’d crawled into when we dropped him off.

“You doing okay, Hellion?” I asked.

I took the lack of answer as an affirmative.

“I’ll be upstairs if you need me,” I said. Then shut the door, at which point I stopped and realized that I’d just tried to make a monster feel better by letting him know where I’d be. My life had gotten strange.

Upstairs, it was quiet and calm, and I took the time to take my clothes off, chuck them in a laundry pile in the corner, and then take a long hot shower. I stood there, letting the nearly scalding water power against my body, doing my very best to think through all the things I needed to do. All the things I could do. And all the things that were possible. It was going to be a long shower.

I knew that the White Hand was a horrible group, and I hated them. According to Etta, they made their money by kidnapping innocent folk and selling them into slavery, and now it seemed like they did it at the hands of the Carchedonians. Which kind of made me hate the Carchedonians as well. And though my knowledge of the politics here was basically nil, it made sense to reason that Carchedon had built its empire the back of slavery. Nothing was going to make me feel better about them. And having thought through all of that, it made the most sense to me, at least, to oppose the White Hand and Carchedon as best I could.

Getting out of the shower, I dried off and walked out into the main area of the studio apartment. I laid down in my bed, closed my eyes, and drifted off into sleep almost immediately.

And so I had no idea what time it was when I was rudely being hoisted out of bed, lifted up by a very large fist wrapped around my neck.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I was face to face with a gruff looking dude I’d seen before. An ugly half-ogre.

“Found you,” he said, his voice gross and slimy, his breath repulsive.

“It’s me,” I said, barely getting it out since he was crushing my throat.

“Put him down,” came a much more refined voice close to the front door.

The half-ogre opened his fist and dropped me on the floor.

“I must apologize for him,” came the other voice, stepping around the brutish half-ogre. It was a middle-aged man, human, with perfectly-tailored clothes and close-cropped hair. He looked every bit what I would have expected a noble to look like.

“These things happen,” I managed to get out, though I wasn’t sure how comprehensible it was, since the big brute definitely did real damage to my vocal chords.

“While not the best helpers,” the guy said, squatting down next to where I was on the floor, “they are passionate. And loyal. Tough to beat those qualities.”

“Can I help you?” I grunted out.

“Not me, but my employer would like to speak with you.”

“Mind if I get dressed?”

“It would please me greatly if you did.”

I took my time getting to my feet, going to my closet, and pulling clothes on. I certainly considered stepping into the closet and making my escape through my bolt hole. Or, more appropriately I suppose, Etta’s bolt hole.

But this guy was being polite for the most part, and I was a bit curious to find out who’d been sending the half-ogres. So I just got dressed like there weren’t two dudes watching me.

“Ready,” I said.

The half-ogre grunted in my general direction.

“Lovely,” the man replied, gesturing for me to leave my apartment first.

“Mind if I lock up after you?”

“Yes,” the man said. “You have been rather slippery so far, and I’d really prefer to wrap this little detail up. So, you first.”

I shrugged, pretending I didn’t care, and then I walked down the stairs.

The other half-ogre was waiting outside, leaning against the wall. A beautiful carriage was parked in front of him, a glossy deep red body pulled by a team of four black horses. All gorgeous animals. The driver stared straight ahead, as if he didn’t care about anything except the horses and where he might be driving.

The half-ogre stood up straight as I came out of the door, and he pulled a little lever that dropped a set of stairs from the carriage so I could walk into it. The inside was incredible in terms of luxury. Plush pillows, deep carpeting, all of it a bold crimson. There was even a waiting flute of champagne.

“It’s for you,” the man said, somehow right behind me and basically pushing me into the rear-facing seat of the carriage.

“Not much of a drinker,” I said, which had been the case in the new world so far, but only because I had too much to do. As soon as things settled down, I had plans to paint the town red. Or whatever color was appropriate. Maybe even multiple colors. I wanted to leave my options open.

As soon as the man was in and the door had closed, someone tapped twice on the outside of the carriage. We were off, the horses’ harness jangling as they ran.

“As long as we have a moment of privacy,” the man said, “I thought we might do a little chatting.”

“Sounds fine,” I said.

I noticed he had his own glass of champagne now, and took delicate sips as he watched the city rush by.

“I appreciate your cooperation in this matter,” he said. “I daresay it will be tedious for you, and I do apologize. My employer is, trying to find a polite way to phrase this is difficult, but he is new to having his own agency, and he is intent on pursuits I feel are a bit foolish. Immature, perhaps. But, I see this as a learning opportunity, so please do me a favor and be polite.”

“I’m trying to polite right here,” I said, doing my best to match his tone. “Tonight, you’ve kidnapped me, and before that your two thugs destroyed my furniture in what seemed like a legitimate attempt at murder.”

“That was a mistake.”

“Some mistake. I could have died.”

“You aren’t dead, though, are you?”

“Thin ice on that, bub.”

“Look, you can complain about what has happened, or just accept the apology.”

“Apology? I must have missed the part where you apologized for almost killing me. I got the apology for tonight being tedious.”

“Perhaps it slipped my mind.”

“How difficult it must be to keep all these apologies straight, you horse’s ass.”

“Now, no need for that kind of language, is there?”

“How about an actual apology? Or maybe some renumeration?”

“Seeing the state of your furniture, you might think about thanking me.”

“You are an impressively myopic pus bucket.”

“Excuse me? You realize I had to pay for one of my men to receive emergency medical care after that trap of yours—”

“Trap? He broke into my apartment and tried to kill me. You want me to feel sorry because he got hurt over the course of trying to kill me?”

“It was expensive. Whatever you used to poison that blade was remarkably effective. Even for his robust constitution. Don’t suppose you’d share the recipe?”

“I’m not sure I remember it. Why don’t you sit on a thumb and rotate? That would give me time to think about it.”

The man looked at me and tilted his head in confusion. Then he looked at his thumb. And back at me.

“You are a strange man,” the guy said.

“Pot, kettle.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re just as strange as me.”

“No, I don’t think I am.”

Then he turned his head, and looked out the window, effectively ending the conversation.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

It was a long ride. We went through plenty of places I’d never visited before, and finally ended up all the way over in The Bright. While most of the city’s neighborhoods remained nameless for me, there was a helpfully large sign to let me know when I got into the Bright. Also, the homes transitioned to massive as soon as you passed the sign. The estates weren’t quite as big, but the homes themselves were gargantuan. Nearly everything around was over the top. Clearly a new money kind of place, as everyone in the neighborhood seemed to be going to extremes in order to outdo everyone else.

Unlike the home of Lord FancyPants, these places looked like they’d been designed by architects who were trying to make their mark on the world. Which, to be fair, is fine. Make money off rich idiots, that’s my motto. Can’t fault someone else for using it as well.

The security on most of the places seemed more focused on theater than anything that might actually make their homes more secure. Large men and women wearing altogether too much plate armor, with massive halberds in their gauntleted hands, standing at attention in front of gate houses. It didn’t even look to me that the armor was fully functional. No one walked the grounds. No one was up high with bows or crossbows. Sneaking around was going to be ridiculously easy. The only walls around seemed to be tall iron bars about six inches apart with nothing on top to make climbing up and over difficult.

The house we arrived at was even bigger than most of those around, and it was one of the only ones that actually had land around it. Most of the other homes really pushed the limits of the size of their lots; sometimes they had barely a foot between the wall around the property and the home itself. This place, however, was massive, and clearly one of the homes against which the others in The Bright were measured. It was only three stories tall, but the stories seemed like they were all double height. Tall windows, roomy doors, an edifice that seemed purely designed for being pretty. And looking impressive without actually being impressive. At least not to me.

The grounds had been meticulously cleaned, so I didn’t see a stray leaf or even one blade of glass differing in height. The bushes were all pruned to within an inch of their lives, and the gravel was almost perfectly uniform in color on the perfectly parallel pathways leading from the absurdly flat driveway. It was almost a shock to go from the bumpy Imperial roads to the glass-like driveway.

Three footmen were waiting for me at the front entrance. There was a blaze of light there, and the their red coats were almost blinding. They had poofy white wigs — at least I hope they were wigs. They stood at rigid attention as I exited the carriage, followed naturally by the unnamed man who’d been instrumental in getting me to visit his boss. The unnamed asshole smiled at the footmen, and took his coat off. He handed it to one of the footmen, revealing a wide-bladed short sword sheathed at a nearly horizontal angle across his back. I wondered if he was at all comfortable sitting down.

I had no coat, so I just stood there like a tool, looking at the smiling footmen and becoming increasingly worried about the position I had found myself in. While I stood there, I noticed the two half-ogres hopping off the back of the carriage. They were having a quiet conversation between themselves — mostly hand movements and grunting — something they continued as they crunched down the gravel pathway and moved around to the back of the house.

“This way,” my kidnapper said, gesturing to the front door.

“After you,” I said.

“No, I don’t think so.”

Having no other option, I went into the house.

The inside had high ceilings, marble floors, and lots of artwork and sculptures. Everything immediately in front of me was most definitely put there to make an impression, and that impression was wealth. And grandeur. But it also rang false — the statues looked like they were copies of some sort; they had no life to them. I don’t want to make it seem like I’m some sort of art historian, but in my previous days as a semi-professional thief, I’d done enough wikipedia work to know when a piece of art was worth bringing home with me. And this stuff didn’t look good. This stuff looked expensive and big, but without actual quality that would stand the test of time.

The footmen followed behind, busying themselves with closing the door. One of them even had a small broom out, and swept up everywhere I walked.

Ridiculous.

The kidnapper raised an eyebrow, then indicated with a head nod that he wanted me to go through an arched doorway to the right. It led to a library of sorts, with an absolutely massive fireplace that was filled with huge chunks of wood. On fire. The shelves were nearly floor to ceiling, and all filled in big leather-covered books. Books that looked way too perfect, like they were only touched for dusting. Two huge couches dominated the center of the room, deep and comfy leather things, with a sturdy table between them.

“Sit,” the kidnapper said, pointing to one of the couches.

I did, dropping onto the couch and plopping my feet on the table.

One of the footmen definitely scoffed, but I kept my attention on the nameless asshole.

“His lordship will be with you momentarily,” he said. Then he left through the door we’d entered, closing it behind him.

I was alone.

Naturally, I hopped up and wandered over to the books. Really, only the door and the fireplace weren’t book covered. I was curious, since I really hadn’t seen many books in the world so far, and I knew that books weren’t very common during Earth’s medieval period. So I pulled one down.

Trade Practices of Mahrduhm.

A remarkably dry, yet verbose, description of trade between the Empire and a country called Mahrduhm.

I slid the book back in place, and tried another.

Rocks of West Blossom Mountain.

A geology treatise. Truly compelling stuff. Insert gneiss pun here. Or schist. Or both.

I scanned through the shelves only to encounter more of the same. Droll books that were almost all devoted to banal topics. There were also several shelves that held nicely bound collections of invoices. This was all for show. I mean, I already knew that everything else in the place was ornamental, so why would the library be any different?

I thought, for some reason, that the books on the very top shelves, the ones only reachable via ladder might be different. Maybe it was a repository for impressive works, or spellbooks. But as I got the ladder in place, a section of the shelves moved aside, and a well-groomed young man strode through the hidden door. He stopped in front of the fireplace and turned towards the couches, I guess wondering why I wasn’t there. And since I wasn’t, his attempt at silhouetting his powerful form with the fire behind him was a bit of a waste.

“Over here,” I said.

His face snapped over in my direction, and he frowned.

“You’re the reason I’m here, yes?” I asked.

“Clyde Hatchet?” He asked, his voice clipped and a bit nasal.

“That’s me.”

“Yes, I desired to speak with you.”

“There are easier ways to go about that.”

“I needed to ensure you understood the gravity of the situation.”

“I mean, I don’t. So, bit of a failure there.”

“I need to know things, and those things are—”

“Okay, just ask, bub,” I interrupted, tossing the book I’d been flipping through onto the coffee table as I dropped onto the couch. “Enough with all the small pageantry. Just ask away. I’m a reasonable fellow — I’ll most likely tell the truth.”

“Most likely?”

“Yeah. Most likely. Do you tell the truth all the time?”

“I like to think I do.”

“Did you read all these books? Or any of them?”

He hesitated, and I knew he was trying to come up with something.

I held a hand up.

“Just stop there,” I said. “You were thinking about lying, right? Example made. Ask your question.”

“The girl who owns your building,” he started, his voice a little shaky as if he’d lost whatever modicum of composure he had, “where did she go?”

“Well first, I own that building. And second, that’s a complicated question to answer.”

“I need that answer. What do you mean you own the building?”

I leaned back into the plush cushions of the couch, and looked up at the ceiling. Which, incidentally, had some very nice ornamental carving on it. A nice touch.

“The simple version is that I bought it from her.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“With some coin?”

“That building is worth far too much to be bought by a simple man like you.”

“So you’re into real estate?”

“Yes.”

“She had to leave the city quickly, and she needed money. I happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“She sold it to you, just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And where did she go?”

“South.”

“South where?”

“She said something about going to see the Great Erg.”

“The Erg? That’s absurd.”

“Maybe, but that’s what she said.”

He started pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

“It makes no sense,” he said. “Why would she leave?”

“Oh, I’ve got the answer for that one as well.”

He focused on me, and stared.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Before I tell you, how about you tell me your involvement with the Iron Silents,” I replied.

“Who?”

“The gang, the Iron Silents?”

“I have not yet heard of them.”

“You’re not with them?”

“I would not sully myself being aligned with such criminals.”

“Okay, so this definitely went in a different direction than I expected.”

“Apologies for your confusion,” he snapped.

“Yeah, well, the gang, the Iron Silents, wanted your girl to join, and she didn’t, and so they were going to, uh, kill her. So she bolted.”

“Which means she probably wasn’t heading south.”

“Look, man, I can only tell you what she told me.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“Could have fooled me. Actually, you did fool me.”

“Who are these Iron Silents?”

“Just some low-life criminals I suppose.”

“The girl, did you know her well?”

“No. Barely at all really. It was mostly just for the transaction. I gave her some coin, and—”

“You were not a client of hers?”

“Uh, no. Nope. A client?”

“She did not mention me?”

“I still don’t know who you are, so, can’t really answer that, can I?”

“Lord Gazayev.”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Isaac?”

“Still can’t help you.”

He stared at me, his mouth opening and closing as if he was talking inside his head, but he didn’t make any noises. Clearly, there was some shit going on with the dude, but I had no idea what to make of it. I was thinking I’d just sit there, but the guy looked so forlorn and messed up I had to do something.

“Hey man,” I said, “it probably doesn’t mean anything. She wasn’t social with me; it was business. And quick business at that. And I’ve got a little secret for you, something she asked me to keep close to the chest, you know.”

He grabbed me by the front of my shirt, pulling me to my feet and close to his face.

“Tell me,” he said.

There was a definite hint of alcohol on his breath. Hint is being polite. It was a bit like getting a face full of paint thinner.

“She didn’t ride off south,” I said. “She went west.”

“Out Death’s Gate?”

I nodded.

“Mayhap she sought the Emerald Sea,” he said softly, his eyes taking a far off and wistful look to them, as if he was busy looking out over the Emerald Sea himself.

“Maybe she did,” I said, swallowing the quip I wanted to make about mayhap. “I can’t tell you that.”

He shook his head and came back to the present.

“I will buy the building from you,” he said.

“No thanks,” I replied.

“I have not told you the price I’m willing to offer.”

“True, but I’m not selling.”

“It was my building originally.”

“Okay, but then it was hers, and now it’s mine. It’s the circle of, uh, real estate. Except I can’t hold the building up to show off to all the neighboring animals?”

“What?”

“Look, never mind. Just know that I’m not selling.”

“I gave it to her. As a gift.”

“You know how gifts work, right?”

“Do you know who you are attempting to mock?”

“I’m not attempting to mock you; I am mocking you. And yes. You’re Lord Gazelzeb.”

“Gazayev.”

“Okay, you got me, I don’t know who you are.”

“I am not to be trifled with.”

“Clearly. You have no sense of humor.”

He glared at me, which was really not very effective. Being forlorn suited him better.

“I am finished with you,” he said, and he turned on his heel and marched out of the library through the arched doorway.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulder, and I turned to see the asshole.

“Time to leave,” the asshole said.

“Fine by me,” I replied with a smile on my face.

Lord Gazayev was still in the foyer, busy yelling about needing to put an expedition together. He needed men for a trip west, to scout along the Royal Road leading to a city I couldn’t pronounce. Looking for his love.

“Hey, boss,” I said as I was being pushed from the house. “You gonna replace the bed your boys busted up?”

Gazayev’s eyes went wide, and he recoiled like I’d just pushed a heaping handful of horse shit under his nose.

“I am one of the greatest lords of the empire,” he said at full haughtiness. “The mere fact that I have not had a man of your rank killed for your continued insolence is evidence of my extreme generosity. Begone, filth.”

“Well fuck you very much too,” I said.

The asshole shoved me out of the house. Then he frogmarched me down the driveway and pushed me through the open gate onto the street, hard enough that I fell over.

“No ride home?” I asked from my dignified position on the street.

“I look forward to hearing of your demise on your walk home,” the asshole said, slamming the gate in my face.

He stared at me for a moment, and then strode off like he owned the world.

I waited for a moment myself, and then I looked at the knife I’d snagged from him as he threw me.

Dundee’s Knife

Item Type: Uncommon

Item Class: One-handed Melee

Material: Steel, Crocodile Skin, Brass

Damage: 10-20 (Slashing)

Durability: 20/20

Weight: 4.8 lbs

Requirements: Str 8

Description: A long-bladed knife with a deep fuller, and a brass guard to protect the hand.

“Now this is a knife.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

It made me angry that the rich bastard had gotten one over on me, and all I’d managed to do was snag a magic blade from his henchman. And now I had to go basically the entire width of the city in order to get back home. It would actually be difficult to find two neighborhoods farther apart than Old Town and The Bright. I knew the smart move would have been to walk long enough to find a carriage and then get a protected ride back home, but I didn’t have the coin to pay for a ride. The only weapon I had was the stupid magic knife I’d stolen. And if there was one thing I knew, it was not to use unidentified magic weapons. There was always the chance it was cursed, or that it had some ridiculous properties, like I would talk like a frog if I used it. Or that I would only speak the language of frogs. Which made me wonder if there was a frog language in Vuldranni, and, if so, was it something I’d learn if I overheard it? The thought made me listen for nature sounds, and I couldn’t hear much, which left me slightly worried. Though, to be fair, it’s not like I’d seen much in the way of wildlife since I’d come to Glaton, aside from the myriad monsters actively trying to kill me.

I needed to do something though. I had to get either coin or weapons (preferably both), and fast. But considering I was in a rich district full of idiots who were incapable of building secure homes, things were looking up. First step: getting a few blocks between me and the home of Lord Gravelnuts. I didn’t want to risk his security actually paying attention to me, so I passed a few nice-looking homes, moving quickly and quietly. Finally, I got to a place that looked ripe for the picking.

Two poor fools stood at the gates leading into the front yard. Which was a tiny thing, basically just a round driveway area big enough to turn a carriage around in. The two guards were wearing some of the heaviest and most ornate armor I’d ever seen. Both of them were leaning back on the metal bars of the fence, one of them snoring. They’d been given big shiny halberds, but neither guard was holding theirs. Instead they’d been leaned together against one of the fence bars to make a rather stable tripod. A quick walk around the place showed me more glaring flaws in their security. At the back, there were tons of trees, including two big enough to climb up and be able to reach a second-story balcony from. Along the far side wall, I could just scale a fence and then very likely step across the short distance onto one of their windows, thoughtfully designed with quite generously-sized sills. Ridiculous. And tempting.

I had to try it.

I did a last check of the guards out front — still sleeping — and took a peek at the other homes in the area. None of the other guards had a view of the iron bars I’d be climbing. Totally safe.

I climbed the bars, which, I’ll admit, was a bit harder than I’d anticipated. There were gold-leaf spear points lining the top of the wall, which severely prevented me from getting over for a whopping no-time-at-all. Instead, I just planted my feet in between the dull spear points, and then made a little jump to catch the sill and pull myself up onto it. It wasn’t quite large enough to stand there, not without issue. I had to do a little holding in place, a little balance. While balancing there, I considered my options. Mostly, I thought that hopping back to the fence and climbing a tree would probably be a better plan. But then a slight push revealed the window wasn’t locked.

I hopped through the window into an office. There were two bookshelves with an assortment of texts, a large desk with an uncomfortable looking wooden chair tucked into it, and a small fireplace that still had a quaint fire burning. On the desk were folders filled with papers, as well as some small journals. There were three different ink pots and five dip pens. None of those foolish pencils for this man. Plush carpets were layered on the floor, wood paneling lined the walls, and there were glowstone lights hanging from the ceiling. It was a nice place.

I shut the window and eased myself into the chair behind the desk. If you can forgive the horrible pun, I felt at home in the strange home. My whole time bouncing around this crazy new world, I’d been out of my element. I’d been confused and reacting off my back foot. And here, finally, I was where I did my best work: some rich asshole’s study, about to rob them blind. This was my bailiwick. I’d done it so often back home, it’d been the only real way I kept everything together, mentally, emotionally, and even fiscally after I became responsible for my father. I felt happy. Which, sure, was a little weird, but, you know, I’m one of the bad guys.

The house was quiet. The residents probably asleep. At least, that was the feeling I got from the place. I wasn’t super sure of the time, I hadn’t seen a clock since I’d been so rudely escorted from my apartment. But given my sleep needs, I figured it was likely just past midnight, or thereabouts. I decided to wait in the room for a bit, just let the house get accustomed to me, and hear what was going on in the place. So in order to pass the time, I peeked through the first folder.

It was boring stuff. From what I could discern, the owner of the office I was in happened to have a government position somewhere in the agriculture department. The first folder was full of crop yields in the eastern portion of the Empire. From my quick glance through the papers, I determined that I had no idea what rape seed was, but I figured it wasn’t something I wanted to grow in a dark alley.

I went through the drawers, but that yielded nothing but a golden letter opener and a bunch of spare dip pens. Nothing of actual value.

I tugged a string from my shirt and tied a small metal pen nib to the end. Then, because I’d already seen at least two secret doors inside libraries and offices, I figured I’d see if there was a trend going on in Glaton. I cast detect secret doors.

The nib shot out, and pointed at one of the bookshelves. I eased around the desk and walked over to the it. As I poured more mana into the spell, the door’s existence became easily apparent. I halted the spell and dropped the nib and string into my pocket. Then, I felt along and around the shelf itself, feeling for a switch or lever. I couldn’t find anything, so had to resort to pulling all the books, one at a time. Finally, I got to a red leather-bound tome, whose quick yank yielded a loud click. The door released ever so slightly.

I pushed it open.

Inside was a rather small room, maybe five by five feet. A little desk had notebooks stacked on it, and a chest rested next to those.

I peeked at the notebooks quickly, confirming they were the bonded, or paired, notebooks I’d seen earlier. This was the accumulated secret communication between the agricultural minister and various people around the Empire. So this wasn’t the home of just some random bureaucrat — it was the actual minister of agriculture. And judging by the journals, it seemed like he was up to something. Spending the night reading seemed like a less-than-ideal use of my time, though, so I didn’t really dig into them.

Since I didn’t have a bag, I took the books and slipped them into my shirt. It made me look like I had a really jagged paunch with lots of right angles somehow, but hey. It’s not like I was planning on going to a ball or anything. I was robbing a rich jerk. Looks come last.

I took my time looking over the little chest. It was small, only about the size of a shoe box. But like a nice pair of kicks shoe box. It was made of red wood and some sort of golden metal that held the whole thing together. A light touch and the chest didn’t move in the slightest. It was secured to the desktop. I didn’t have my lock picks, but there was a pen knife in the desk, as well as some little bits of wire and a few firm feathers. I figured that’d be enough to get into the chest, considering I couldn’t actually snag the chest and bring it with me.

Improvised tools ready, I picked at the lock. Slowly. Very slowly. Finally, I got the lock to tumble. I heard a very soft click, and then I used the knife blade to lift the lid. Peeking inside the remarkably thin slit, I saw the glowstone light glint off a tiny wire. It was booby-trapped.

That made things challenging: did I attempt to disarm the trap and chance being injured (or killed) while in the midst of larceny, or did I leave well enough alone and accept that there might be better loot elsewhere?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Of course there’s only one answer to a question like that. I was going to disarm the trap.

The thing about this sort of trap is that someone intended it to be disarmed on the regular. It was a chest inside a secret room that the homeowner accessed regularly. So while I could attempt to cut the wire through the tiny slit and then open the top, there had to be a better way. That meant more of the dull stuff: close examination of the box. A light touch as I felt along for any sort of switch or button or raised area that could be depressed.

Nothing.

Next was a visual inspection for a second keyhole or something along those lines. And that’s where I found success. Located in a swirl of metal that hid it quite well was a small hole. Tiny really. It was the perfect size to fit a quill. And luckily enough, I had one.

Again, working slowly — no real prizes for speed here — I pushed the quill inside. There was a small hesitation, but gentle pressure caused it to go away. Finally I heard a very soft click.

I pried the lid up and peeked through the tiny slit.

The wire was loose.

Perfect.

Cool Beans, you’ve uncovered the skill Traps. Now you can set traps with sharp objects and likely not hurt yourself. You can also dismantle traps. +5% successful setting of traps. +5% successful dismantling of traps.

Now that was an unexpected bonus. I was a little surprised I hadn’t gotten that skill already, but it wasn’t exactly like I spent a lot of time working on my trap skills.

I opened the chest slowly, just on the off chance there was an additional trap.

Nope.

And the treasures were revealed.

Which, to be honest, weren’t all that overwhelming. There was a small pouch filled with platinum coins, and an even smaller pouch filled with three very large coins that looked a bit like the account coin from Gideon. I tied both pouches onto my belt.

The base of the chest seemed at odds to the size of the chest, and a little pushing and prodding at the corners confirmed it had a false bottom. I popped the thin piece of wood out and set it to the side.

Finally, we got to the juicy stuff.

Six rings, a black stone broach with a bunch of shiny black gems all over it, two heavy golden chains, a bag of loose gems, four slim spell books, and the weirdest thing: a cloak. At first, I thought it was just a little square pouch. But when I pulled it out, it just kept coming. It was a very fine weave. Unbelievably thin, almost translucent. It was black (naturally), but there was a certain sparkle to it. It also fairly thrummed with magic, so I knew it had to be something pretty powerful. Into a pouch it went.

I returned the chest to its former position — as much as I cared to, at least. Not like there’d be much confusion that the place had been robbed, considering all the journals were gone. I closed the secret door and made sure everything around the desk was in the same spot it’d been when I’d entered the room. I also used my sleeve to wipe any surfaces I may have touched. It was more of an automatic habit than anything I really needed to do, since I had no indications that fingerprinting was something law enforcement had discovered here. The thought made me stop where I was in the room and look at my fingers. I had no idea if elves even had fingerprints.

Yes. We do. They looked a little different, but I definitely had them.

I went over to the door and pushed my ear up against it to listen.

The house was pretty calm. I heard something regular, like footsteps on carpet, but it was getting further from me. So I edged the door open, and peeked out.

An empty hallway. There was a dark green carpet runner down the middle, with fine wood flooring on either side. There were sconces at regular intervals, each with a small glowstone in it. It wasn’t overly bright, almost like the sconces had been dimmed. Or maybe there was some poor maid who had to replace the ‘bulbs’ for the different times of day. Who knows?

I counted three doors on the same side of the hall as the office I was in, and two on the opposite side. I made my way to the door across the hall.

Ear to the door.

Silence inside.

A gentle twist of the knob, and the door opened into a darkened bedroom. A guest room, it seemed. I shook my head. No one ever put valuables in the guest room, because then the guests could take them.

I shut the door and crept down the hall to the next one. Again, ear to the door to listen. Someone was muttering inside, the vague utterances that indicated sleep-talking. I edged the door open, and peeked my head inside.

Kid.

Rules were rules, so I eased the door shut.

Three more doors, but the footsteps I’d heard were getting closer. The walker had turned around and was closing in on me.

I moved down the hall, closer to the walker, and peeked into the next room. A drawing room. I think. Naturally, given the time, it was empty. So I slipped inside and shut the door behind me. It was rather dark, with only a single small glowstone lantern in the corner. One wall had a fireplace, but only a few glowing coals were left inside. There was a large wardrobe along one wall, and a small table below the window was covered with a wide variety of boxes. There was another door, ostensibly leading to a bedroom, and given the snores coming from the room, I figured that was clear.

First I went over by the window to check out the small boxes.

One by one, I opened them up and peeked inside. Something like snuff. Something like cigarettes. Then the nice stuff, jewelry and watches. It wasn’t the exquisite stuff you’d find on the ladies of the realm, so it was definitely a gent’s room. Much more masculine vibe. Though, in Glaton, that wasn’t quite the same guarantee. There seemed to be more fluidity between the genders here.

I left the little jewelry boxes open, and went over to the oversized wardrobe. I flung open the doors, — quietly mind you — and pored over the clothing. I spotted a very nice black coat, so I pulled it out, swung it around Jeb Bartlett-style, and gave it a once over. It was definitely tailored to someone who didn’t have much in the way of upper-body strength. A little pinch in the biceps, a bit tight in the shoulders. I took it off, hung it back up, and found something better: a leather satchel. Nothing in it, by the by, but the actual bag was even more important at this point. I put all my pilfered products into the bag, and it fit so well. I felt good about things, and dumped the jewelry boxes into the bag.

I froze when I heard footsteps outside.

But the person passed by without stopping. It was a plodding, regular step. Not someone who’d been awakened suddenly. I was willing to bet it was either a guard bored on patrol or someone heading back to bed after a midnight snack.

I knew it was a bit of bad form, but I wanted to see the master bedroom. So I crept over to the door and opened it just a hair. The snoring was very loud, almost overpowering.

Leaning in, I gave a quick look about the room. There was a large four poster bed in the center of the far wall. Two wide windows overlooked the street, with diaphanous drapes that had been partially drawn to block out virtually none of the light. But it looked nice. Two figures were in the bed, one with a remarkably large belly, the other with a pillow over their head. There was a small sitting area to one side, and a large fireplace. Lots of fireplaces in this house. A beautiful mantle soared above the fireplace, made of a truly staggering amount of marble. Sitting on the mantle was glorious golden clock, and above the clock was a hideous portrait of a porcine man clutching a sword while crushing a sad horse under his bulk. And mounted above the painting was a sword that looked exactly like the one being held aloft.

I had to do it.

It was a moral imperative.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Because I’d definitely been using up too much of the good luck I had, my first step into the room landed right on a creaking floorboard. And not like a slight creak. A serious creak, like I’d stepped on asthmatic accordion.

I dropped to the floor as the figures in the bed twisted and moved around. The snoring stopped.

The carpet smelled musty.

The homeowners continued to roll around. They muttered a bit. And then finally real settling. The bed squeaked and protested until the couple found their way back to sleep.

Instead of getting up, I crawled along the floor until I felt the heat from the fire. Then, I crouched up, and looked back over at the bed.

All quiet on the western front. The snoring hadn’t started up again. Which made me a little worried, since I couldn’t sure both parties were fully asleep. They’d definitely woken up to some degree, and I just didn’t know if they’d get up and do something or—

The fat guy started grumbling. Which made the thin one start mumbling. I froze again.

Fat man threw his blankets to the side. I just stood there. Often, people notice movement more than something out of place.

The big guy swung his feet to the ground and grunted as he got all the way up, definitely having more than a little trouble sitting up.

I thought he was putting some slippers on, but that proved wrong when I heard the unmistakeable sound of someone peeing.

It was a long pee.

Really long.

The man started groaning with pleasure. Or relief. Or both. He set his chamber pot down. Did some stretching and more groaning. Slowly, like agonizingly slowly, he got to his feet, and shuffled along his bed, yawning madly. He opened the door to his dressing room and exited the bedroom.

Whomever remained in the bed definitely made a nasty sort of comment about the man who just left, and she pulled the covers all the way over her head.

Time for me to move. I hopped onto the mantle, getting up on my tippy-toes, and snagged the sword off its mounting. Carefully, I dropped off the mantle, landing on the floor in the perfect Spiderman tripod, sword out to the side so I didn’t impale myself. And I did it in almost absolute silence.

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Silent Landing. Now you can land without making a noise. Significantly harder to detect.

Bonus.

I stayed in that position for long enough for me to feel comfortable that the sleeper was sleeping. Then I crawled along the floor until I got to the door to the other dressing room.

From the far door, the fat man’s dressing room, came the soulful sound of someone sawing logs with wild abandon. Perfect. The snoring would cover up any noise I made exiting though the other dressing room.

I reached up, opened the door, and crawled into the dressing room, not even caring what might be in there.

I closed the door with my feet, and laid there on the soft carpet for a moment, finally taking a moment to breathe.

Cool Beans, you’ve leveled up the skill Stealth. Increased sneakiness!

Well, at least that was added bonus to crawling through an occupied room.

Having calmed down for the moment, I got to my feet and looked around the room. Super-soft carpet, some lounging couches, two large armoires, a tall leather-wrapped dresser, a table with a mirror on it, a small fireplace, and a very nice chest.

I wished I had some sort of spell that could detect magic, because I had a feeling there were some magic items in the room. I started with the dresser, quickly going through the drawers. Clothing and unmentionables. I did a quick ruffle through with my hands, seeing if there was anything hidden inside.

There wasn’t.

The armoires held larger articles of clothing, and while I’m sure there was quite a bit of value in there, I didn’t know how to tell the big-ticket items from the rest. Nor was I willing to stuff my small bag full of gowns on the off chance I’d get some good coin from them.

I sat down at the vanity and peeked into the small containers there. Some jewelry, which went into the bag, and something I figured was makeup. I left that.

Next was the chest, but I froze before going at it since I heard the guard marching by outside.

This time I thoroughly examined the chest, looking for anything that might indicate a trap.

Nothing.

It was unlocked, so I opened it.

Shoes.

Balls.

I did snag a leather jacket, which I wrapped the sword in, and a belt, which I used to get the sword on my back. I wasn’t about use the sword, so I didn’t really care that it was in a place I couldn’t actually get to.

Finally, I made my way to the door and stepped outside.

Remembering the direction the guard had been walking, I followed their path. I was starting to worry I’d spent more time in the house than I should have. The longer I was inside, the more mistakes I could potentially make. I could just leave the way I came, via the second floor window. But then again, I was curious about the ground floor.

I stood there for a half-moment, and then decided that curiosity had to win out. So I continued on until I found the stairs. They were quite impressive, easily twenty feet across and really tall. A massive crystal chandelier hung above the stairs, and though it was loaded down with glowstones, they were all off. I could hear the guard moving on his route, and knew he’d likely come around the corner behind me soon, so I hurried down the stairs, which, thankfully, were carpeted. The floor, however, was tiled in a garish green marble that made me more annoyed than anything. All this money and really just an absence of taste. Not like I should be surprised, that seemed to be the hottest trend in the Bright.

I’ll admit to being impressed by the high gloss on the marble. I could see a reflection of the chandelier in the surface of the tile, and I had the sense that with all the lights on, it’d be quite the sight. I tiptoed along until I got to a dark corner along the side of the staircase. There was a door there, and, needing a spot to hide while the guard traipsed along, I opened the it and stepped inside.

It was a supply closet.

There were stacks of folded white linens, a mop and bucket, and stacks and stacks of small paper boxes.

I pried one open, and looked inside.

A little glowstone.

This was the Vuldranni equivalent of a lightbulb collection.

I scooped as many of the boxes as I could into my satchel. Maybe ten. I wanted to take all of them. Titus insinuated glowstones were expensive, and I had two whole buildings to keep lit.

What I wouldn’t have given for a bag of holding….

The tromp of the guard went by overhead, so I slipped back out of the closet and did a quick survey of the connecting rooms on either side of the foyer. To one side, a lounge, to the other, a small open room I imagined was used for holding small balls. I could see it having enough space for, perhaps, twenty people to dance. Connected to the lounge, I could see a dining room, though nothing was set out on the massive wooden table. I was willing to bet there was a kitchen on the other side of the place, and likely a pantry of sorts. Nothing that made me eager to explore, though, so I decided it was finally time to make my exit. I did, however, stop and grab a sheathed sword from an ornamental suit of armor standing in the lounge.

I slipped that onto my belt. It’d come in handy should I need to beat down a monster on my trip home.

While I tiptoed across the foyer’s marble floor, I heard a shriek from upstairs.

Time to run.

I had no idea, at the time, why someone might have been screaming. It sounded like a woman, so maybe she saw a spider. A sexist thought, but in the moment, that’s the thing that entered my head. To be fair, I often screamed when I saw spiders, too. I hate them. I know that’s not fair, but hey, I’m not fair. I’m a damn thief.

While darting across the foyer, almost to the ballroom, I heard the handle jiggling as the guards outside started their way inside.

In a move that I hoped would have made my little league coach proud, I slid.

Marble floors are nearly perfect for sliding. I slipped along into the open ballroom just as the double front doors slammed inward, and the fully armored asshats crashed inside, making an unholy racket, like someone knocked over all the shelves in a Williams-Sonoma. They clanked along up the stairs, moving like they’d never actually bothered to learn how to run in their armor. I watched them go. Then I stood up, and calmly walked right out the front door.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I saw no one outside, so I just kept on strolling out through the gates, and then on down the street. A carriage rocketed by, careening down the street. The horses’ hooves struck sparks off the cobblestones as they galloped along.

I probably didn’t have to, but I dove to the side, doing my best to make sure I wasn’t about to be run over by some asshole driving like madman in the middle of the night. As my face hit the iron bars of a fence, I wondered if I was watching the medieval equivalent of drunk driving.

Shaking my head clear, I got back to walking, doing my best to turn a corner before I bothered to look back behind me. Which I didn’t really need to do, because as soon as I turned the corner, I heard the cacophony accompanying the guards coming back out of the house. It was impressive.

I kept going down the street, pretending like I was exactly where I needed to be, that I’d always walked the streets of the Bright in the middle of the night. I moved closer to the walls along the roads, and in doing so, I was completely overlooked by a guard clanking by, running as best he could. I could hear his ragged breathing echoing out through his full helm, and I felt bad for the guy. Not enough to help him, not that I could really do anything for the man, but I still had a slight bad feeling. The response to thievery seemed out of proportion. I mean, I hadn’t actually seen the response to any kind of crime yet, but the running, the screaming? That just seemed, well, a bit extra.

Still, not my problem. My problem was keeping my head down and walking with a brisk, completely unsuspicious pace south-west towards my home. I took turns when I could, getting as far away from the house as I could, and doing my best to take a different path than the guard. Guessing he was running for the City Guard.

I let out a long sigh when I got to the next neighborhood. Then I just hoofed it straight south, going as fast as I could on a small avenue until I hit the Via Principalis. At that point, I hired a carriage, and had the kindly old man take me to the Grand Market. I wanted to ditch the goods into Gideon’s immoral hands.

I leaned back against the hard wooden seats, and held the magic sword in my hands. I was so damn curious about the thing, and I was also intensely curious about the paired books, wondering who the minister of agriculture was so busy talking with in secret. I realized that it might not have been super secret, just general government secret, and the books were only kept in the secret room for security reasons.

A mystery to be solved another day. Though, given the time, it was likely I’d start on the mystery later that day.

As expected, Gideon was up. Well, his lights were on and he was stand-sitting on his weird stool behind the counter. When I entered the store, he looked up and then nodded at me.

I set my account coin on the counter. He picked it up, looked at it, nodded, set it on the counter, and reached his hands out. I took his hands, we did the warm-cool thing, which, you know, though a bit weird, it also felt kind of relaxing now.

“You have things to sell, or you wish to buy?” he asked, dropping my hands from his.

“I’ve got a few things to sell,” I said.

I put the sword onto the counter, then carefully dumped the rest of the goods out next to it. I kept the paired journals in the satchel. And while I considered selling the sword I’d snatched from the empty armor, but I figured it was probably worthless.

“Do you need us to identify these items?” Gideon asked.

I nodded, and pointed out the sword and the items from the little chest.

Gideon reached out and touched the items one at a time. I watched his face for any indication of what I might have.

His face never changed. The dude would’ve killed at poker.

“You wish to sell all these?” Gideon asked.

“I’d like to know what these are,” I said, “but likely, yes.”

He did a quick count. “Fourteen items,” he said. “Twenty-eight gold.”

That hurt. But I didn’t have a choice.

“Do I have that in credit?”

He nodded once, deeply.

“Done,” I replied.

He did some finger waggling across the items, and I felt the little tingle of magic.

“You have brought us something special,” Gideon said. “This sword has surprised us, for it is an artifact.”

“That’s good,” I bluffed, considering I never really had a grasp on what Gideon actually meant, unless it was painfully literal.

“It is good for us.”

“But not for me?”

“There is little value for this sword.”

“It’s an artifact.”

“A known artifact.”

“I’m sorry, maybe I haven’t slept enough, but—”

“It is an object known through much of the world. Few will be willing to purchase it.”

“But you will?”

“We will, but the value is not what you might imagine.”

“Twenty-eight gold?”

There was a hint of a smile on his face, but he shook his head.

“Nothing quite so base. We appreciate an item of this quality and understand you cannot use it in your home city, so we will give you an item of, perhaps, lesser value, but of value to you nonetheless. Provided, of course, you are hoping to sell this sword.”

I looked at the sword. Always best to know what it is you’re selling prior to selling it. I know it sounds like common sense, but I’ve been burned in the past. And burned others. It irked me that I couldn’t identify the sword myself yet. I needed to look into the spell because having Gideon identify everything was probably my biggest expense in Vuldranni.

GreenBane

Item Type: Mythic

Item Class: One-handed Melee, Two-handed Melee

Material: Blessed Steel

Damage: 30-80 (Slashing)

Durability: n/a

Weight: 4.8 lbs

Requirements: Str 8, non-orc, non-goblinoid

Description: A straight bladed sword having a cruciform hilt with a grip for one or two handed use, the GreenBane deals quadruple damage against all “greenskins”, those of orcish or goblinoid descent. GreenBane’s blade with burn with a green flame in the presence of “greenskins”.

It was an impressive weapon, but a little specific. I’d yet to see a greenskin of any kind, and certainly hadn’t seen one I needed to kill.

“Yeah,” I said, “deal.”

Gideon smiled his creepy smile and one of the little ghoulish things came out of wherever they came out of. It snatched the magical sword artifact and disappeared it into the depths of the store. The things always moved so damn quickly. And then, they just somehow slipped back behind Gideon. Bizarre.

Then, I went over the rest of the identified items in quick succession, just seeing if there was anything I wanted to keep. I was always a little hesitant to keep items I stole. While the chances were small I’d get caught using the magic items I’d snagged, why even invite the possibility? I mean, unless it was something so totally amazing. Which, you know, it probably wouldn’t be unless it was an artifact, and I’d already been told I wasn’t going to be able to keep that because it was so unique someone would totally notice me using it.

Ring of Health Storage

Item Type: Epic

Item Class: Ring

Material: Blessed Gold

Weight: .2 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A simple reddish gold band, the Ring of Health Storage, like its name implies, holds health. The wearer may transfer HP to the ring, up to 200 HP, to be pulled from the ring the next time the wearer suffers damage. Health pull is automatic.

Ring of Sight

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Ring

Material: Celestium

Weight: .2 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A light blue band ringed with carved eyes, the Ring of Sight allows the wearer to see greater distances, allowing full clarity for 1000 feet.

Ronald’s Ring

Item Type: Uncommon

Item Class: Ring

Material: Gold

Weight: .2 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A simple golden band with a man’s face on the top, Ronald’s Ring allows the wearer to see through non-magical disguises.

Ring of Persuasion

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Ring

Material: Rose Quartz, rubies

Weight: .2 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A stone band inset with rubies, the Ring of Persuasion allows the wearer to cast the spell Persuasion over another sentient being once per day.

Ring of Counterspell

Item Type: Epic

Item Class: Ring

Material: Blue Gold

Weight: .2 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A deep blue metallic band, the ring of counterspell allows the wearer to attempt a counter of any spell, twice per day.

Ring of TrueSight

Item Type: Rare

Item Class: Ring

Material: Clay

Weight: .02 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A simple clay band that feels unusually cool, the Ring of TrueSight allows the wearer five minutes per day of TrueSight wherein no illusions may remain in place.

Broach of Stone Seeming

Item Type: Epic

Item Class: Broach

Material: Granite, gold, onyx

Weight: .25 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A heavy-looking broach made out of a piece of black granite ringed with gold and studded with polished onyx, the Broach of Stone Seeming allows the wearer to appear to be part of any stone wall. The illusion can withstand high levels of TrueSight, but not touch.

Cloak of Spiderkin

Item Type: Epic

Item Class: Cloak

Material: Giant Spider Silk

Durability: Epic

Weight: .8 lbs

Requirements: None

Description: A gossamer cloak that weighs next to nothing, the cloak of spiderkin allows the wearer to move up, down, and across vertical surfaces and upside down along ceilings without the use of hands at a normal walking pace. The wearer gains a 80% resistance to Nature-based poisons. Once-per-day, you may use the cloak to make a web up to 100 feet in diameter.

Damn. That cloak. I wanted the cloak. And yes, it was pretty specific. It would be really easy for someone to notice the cloak if I was ever to use it. I sighed, and pushed it over into the sale pile.

Vicious Mockery Spellbook

Sticks to Snakes Spellbook

Guise of the Yak Spellbook

Boost Fire Spellbook

I pocketed the spellbooks. I wanted the spells, I always wanted spells, but I’d promised not to use spellbooks. But I could always see if Careena was willing to teach me a spell in return for giving her the books.

“I’m selling everything but the books,” I said. “Put it in credit.”

Sure I was putting a lot of my money in the hands of Gideon, but he did seem to have nearly everything I could think I needed. And I didn’t want to carry a lot of coin around with me. It made sense to use Gideon as a bank. So far, he’d screwed me less than any of the banks I’d used on Earth.

I took the loose jewels and various bits of jewelry, all the non-magical elements I’d lifted from the minister of agriculture, and I spread them on the counter.

“Selling these as well,” I said. “But I think I need some coin.”

I had the bag of platinum coins I scored from the mansion, but I felt weird spending platinum on midnight carriage rides and the like. I just wasn’t sure any of the drivers would have change, or being willing to make it.

He nodded, and picked them up one by one, peeking carefully at them, then setting them in separate piles.

“Six hundred gold,” he said.

“Can you throw a coin pouch in with that?”

“We will give you five hundred and ninety eight gold, and your choice of leather coin bags.” Some of the figures darted out, and ran over to a crate. They rummaged around, and zipped back over to the counter setting out a rather impressive kaleidoscope of colored leather. I picked brown. Boring, staid, the basic, tried-and-true brown leather bag.

Gideon smiled again, something I swore felt like he was doing his best imitation of a smile. A figure darted out, scooped all the bags off and put them back in their cate. A moment later, there was a heavy clank on the counter, and Gideon pointed a long finger at a heavy brown bag of gold.

“598 gold,” he said. “A mixture of metals for you at no additional cost.”

“Thanks, buddy,” I said, and snatched the leather bag. I took a moment to paw through it, and it looked to be somewhere in the neighborhood of correct. Kind of tough to count that much coinage, especially in public and under the watchful-yet-creepy gaze of Gideon.

He gave a nod to me, and held up a hand. “Prior to you leaving,” he said, “I will give you payment for the artifact.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

For the first time, two of the figures crossed over the counter, and even though I tried to get a good look at them, all I saw were their robes. Their cowls were pulled up, and their faces, if they had them, were buried deep in shadow. The two figures darted behind me and pulled wooden shutters closed over all the windows. Then they lowered a hunk of stone across the door. It was like the medieval version of a modern bank’s robbery safeguards.

I turned back to Gideon and the counter. He’d been busy too, putting three cases out on the counter.

“We have debated, and offer this choice to you,” he said. “You may choose one.”

Without Gideon moving in the slightest, all three cases opened, their lids lifting slowly to reveal the objects held within.

The first was empty, which was a bit confusing, but of course there was something more there.

The second held a large sword, with a very wide very dark blade. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, and it had a large black polished stone in the pommel.

Carr’s Crimson Cutlass

Item Type: Mythic

Item Class: One-handed Melee

Material: Red Gold, Hippogriff hide

Damage: 100-250 (Slashing)

Durability: n/a

Weight: 2.8 lbs

Requirements: Red Blood

Description: A shorter sword with a slightly curved blade and a basket hilt, Carr’s Crimson Cutlass was the weapon of choice for nearly a century of pirating along the Pwatani Coast. The Cutlass causes immense bleeding damage that is impervious to magical healing.

The third was a pair of boots. Compared to the case they were in, with its velvet lining and all the secrecy surrounding the whole thing, I was a bit taken aback by how plain they looked. I mean, they looked soft and comfortable, but they were just boots all the same. Not quite as comfy-looking as Uggs, but it’s not like there were Pumpkin Spiced Lattes in Glaton either. I could only become so basic in this place, I supposed. Then again, things in Vuldranni always turned out to be more than they seemed.

Seven League Boots

Item Type: Mythic

Item Class: Light

Material: Bityugi Leather

Armor: +12

Durability: Infinite

Weight: 4 pounds

Requirements: n/a

Description: Made from tough, flexible bityugi leather, the Seven League Boots aren’t necessarily comfortable, but they do offer excellent support. Each step taken in the boots is translated to seven leagues. The first step is a doozy.

Two solid choices. Except that neither one was particularly useful for me.

The sword was awesome, don’t get me wrong. But again, really geared toward killing, and that just wasn’t a skill I was depending on in the same way I was on others. Like sneaking around. And ideally, not killing anyone. I also had to think of the damn spell I’d discovered. I’d gotten some juicy stuff from killing my former friend. What about people I didn’t know? Or, worse, didn’t like? Would I injure them with this dope sword and then just go around draining everything I could? I could see becoming very powerful and very evil that way. So the sword was out.

The boots would be super useful if I was doing something like delivering packages across the continents. The exhaustion thing was pretty annoying, but not a complete deal-breaker, given the proper circumstances. However, given the parameters of city living, it’d just be me slamming myself into walls and then being exhausted. I just didn’t need to travel the distances required to make the boots work, being that each step was basically running a marathon. In fact, I wasn’t sure where there would be so much wide open space to make boots like that worthwhile.

So that left the empty case.

“What’s the deal with that one, Gideon?” I asked, pointing at the empty case.

He gave his smile, and gestured his hand towards it.

“We know you have an interest in magic and desire to know spells. We are willing to give you knowledge of a very special spell in return for the artifact you have given us.”

“It’d have to be some spell to match these two things,” I said.

“We believe it is of equal or greater value,” Gideon replied.

I know I’d promised Careena I wouldn’t accept more spells. But maybe this was okay.

“What’s the spell?” I asked.

“You must accept without knowing, for we cannot utter it aloud.”

“That’s quite the spell,” I said. “But okay, let’s do it. Is it a book?”

Gideon shook his head.

One of the little figures darted out, and hopped up on the counter.

It had its hood pulled lower than normal, so I didn’t even try to make an attempt to look at the creature’s face.

Two tiny hands with abnormally long fingers came out of the ends of the robe, and reached out for me.

I didn’t even hesitate, I just reached my own hands out in return. The creature’s fingers coiled nearly all the way around my hands. I took a deep breath and smashed the rising revulsion back down. This was the price I had to pay for magic.

The hands were soft, but warm.

“Be aware,” Gideon said, “we expect this will hurt.”

“Wait, what?”

Then the pain came on.

He was right.

Hurt like a motherplucker.

Burning pain lanced up from the little figure’s fingers, coiling around my arms and shooting through my torso before attacking my brain. There, white light exploded, and all I could sense was exquisite pain. It seemed to last forever, but I knew it was over in almost an instant. I was suddenly completely exhausted.

You have been GIVEN the spell SUMMON OUTSIDER GUARDIAN.

Summon Outsider Guardian allows you to summon a creature from beyond the boundaries of the known planes to guard you or a place you designate. You may only have one guardian at a time. When the outsider is reduced to zero hitpoints, it likely returns from whence it came.

I opened my eyes, and saw the ceiling of the shop.

Slowly, very slowly, I got to my feet. The whole of me ached.

“You have survived,” Gideon said.

I noticed a scorch mark on the counter where the little figure had been standing.

“Uh, I did.”

“We are pleased,” Gideon said. “But this has cost us much energy, and we would you to leave.”

He gestured at the door. Probably because I was tired and weirded out at the whole thing, I left without another word.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was still dark out, though there was a hint of light on the eastern edge of the sky. Dawn was quickly approaching. I needed to get home and grab what little rest I could prior to meeting with Careena and getting grilled on whatever terrible things I’d done. So I made my way along the streets towards Old Town.

I didn’t really understand the spell I’d just gotten, despite reading over the description time and time again. It assumed I knew what an Outsider was, and I just didn’t. Was the Outside another realm, like Hell or the Shadow Realm? Was I an Outsider? For all the information this crazy game-world gave you, there were some glaring deficiencies at the same time. What I wouldn’t give for a wiki of some kind. I wondered if that was something I could make, if there would be any actual advantage to that. Maybe someone already had. Maybe there was some Vuldranni version of Aristotle who’d studied everything and wrote a book about how it worked. Even if it was wrong, it’d still be useful for me.

I thought back over the interaction with Gideon as I strolled along the cobblestone street. He seemed happy with things, which definitely made me suspect. Any fence I’d dealt with in the past that’d been happy was definitely in the midst of screwing me over. But at the same time, the spell seemed to have actually cost the dude something — even if it wasn’t money, it was something. He’d looked like crap when I left, and it definitely seemed like one of his little guys had, uh, exploded while teaching me the spell. Some price to pay. Also, he’d been a little surprised I’d survived the ordeal. Which made me question things more than a little.

Despite the time of day, I’d already packed quite a bit in, so I suppose I’ll give myself a pass for not paying attention to things. Which is why I didn’t notice the man attacking me until his sword was at my throat.

“Looks like you’ve a heavy purse there, poppet,” he said.

He was a gross human. Tall, balding with wisps of long hair around the crown of his head, weighted down with more grease than McDonald’s uses. The few teeth he had were a wide range of dark colors, and his lips were nearly black with filth. His yellowed nails were thick with grime and other foul things I didn’t want to think about. He wore rusty chainmail over rags, and the way his rheumy eyes darted about told me he was on something.

“Hand it over,” he said.

“The purse?” I asked, knowing what he meant but needing to buy some time.

“Of course the purse,” he snapped as flecks of fetid saliva spewed on me.

“Say it, don’t spray it,” I said on pure instinct.

He reared back and hocked up a really juicy sounding loogie.

In that moment, though, I drew my sword.

Or, should I say, I attempted to draw my sword.

Instead, I pulled on the hilt, and the whole thing tugged at my belt. I yanked a second time as the man’s spit-missile rocketed out of his mouth and towards my face.

Again, the sword refused to come out of its scabbard.

But, as the mucus splashed across my cheek, I pulled as hard as I could, tearing through the shoddy knot I’d used to tie the sword to my belt, and the whole thing came out in a terrific arc, hitting his rusty blade with a sharp ring. That alone almost knocked it out of his hand.

I hopped back two big steps and wiped my cheek with my sleeve.

The man looked stunned, like he hadn’t noticed the sword at my side. Then he smiled, ready to fight.

“I was going to just take the coin and let you go,” he said, though I had a feeling he was lying about that. “Now I’m going to kill you. And enjoy it. Maybe feast on some tasty elf flesh. Tastes sweet like sugar, you do.”

I tried once more to get the scabbard off, but it was on tight. Or, you know, I’d quite possibly grabbed something that was purely for aesthetics and wasn’t a sword at all.

“You do you, boo boo,” was all I could think to say. So I said it. And confused the man once more. But that gave me the chance to fire off my identification spell and get the truth out about my current weapon.

Decorative Sheathed Sword

Item Type: Common

Item Class: Decoration

Material: Leather, Gold

Damage: 10-20 (Bludgeoning)

Durability: 8/12

Weight: 4.8 lbs

Requirements: A willingness to think it’s a sword.

Description: Something that looks like a sword, but is purely for decoration.

Well, shit.

He came at me much faster than I was anticipating, given the way the man looked. But I had an ace up my sleeve. Or, rather, I had Peregrine. The levels I got from him in sword made it almost trivial to parry the spitter’s attacks.

Time and again the man swung his blade — overhand, from the side, stabs and thrusts and all sorts of maneuvers I didn’t have names for. But I knew how to counter them. My sword arm worked of its own volition. Almost.

As I fought I could see the danger in relying on skill levels over actual training and technique. I just didn’t have the knowledge to get ahead of the spitter. I had to wait for him to move before my skill took over and let me know where and how to move the sword to counter. At least Spitter was getting frustrated, swinging harder and harder as he tried to break through my defenses. And, perhaps because I had no idea how to attack, he had no luck.

Finally, he stopped, breathing hard. He stuck his sword point down in the street, and leaned over.

For a moment, he just sucked in air. Then he paused, and threw up.

And I finally saw a move I could make.

I took a nice upswing with the hunk of metal pretending to be a sword, and smacked the man straight in the face.

His hips worked as a hinge, and he went up and over, falling down and cracking his head on the rocks with a hollow sounding thunk.

He laid there in his own vomit, gasping for breath.

“Think I’ll keep the purse,” I said. “If it’s all the same to you.”

For good measure, I dropped the useless ornamental sword on him, and walked away.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I got home without additional issue. Going up the stairs took effort, and once inside, I really just wanted to lay down and go to bed. Small problem though: someone was already there.

Shae.

I don’t know why I was surprised — she had no where else to go, of course. As soon as she’d finished her shift, she’d have gone back to the same place she spent the night prior. I had saved her, but also made her homeless, so perhaps I owed her a place to live. It was just the polite thing to do.

Since sleep wasn’t an easy option, I decided to get some food. I got halfway down the stairs before remembering I’d made it home before the Heavy Purse opened. Hmm. I thought there might some rations somewhere in the apartment.

Somehow my entrance and faffing about didn’t wake Shae, and I managed to find some of the rations I’d received when I entered the world. I pulled them out of their wax paper wrapping, and gave them a quick sniff.

Sawdust.

Primarily. There were also hints of cardboard and boredom. It was a round, like a British Hobnob cookie, and looked like it had been made from some form of grain. Or, you know, actual sawdust.

They tasted about as good as they smelled. It was almost the absence of taste, like eating mouthfuls of nothing. Except that I had to chew the nothing. Had to chew the absolute crap out of the nothing, and it sucked every last drop of moisture from my poor mouth before I managed to swallow it. I had to drink down what felt like a gallon of water before I was ready for bite number two.

However, once I managed to get the whole thing down into my gullet, I felt better. Remarkably so. I was refreshed, and full, and ready to start the day. Sure, I was still feeling some of the pain from the previous evening’s activities, and, after a quick glance in the mirror, I still had the brown smear across my face from my interaction with the Spitter, but I felt good.

I hopped into the shower, lathered, rinsed and repeated. So fresh and so clean. I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and looked in the mirror again. Smudge gone. But I’d gotten some muscle. Not huge amounts — I wasn’t some Arnold type buff boy — but it now looked like I had my own personal fortress of Swole-itude. I pulled on some of the now-ill-fitting clothes I’d gotten from Gideon, and strapped on the various weapons and pouches that made up my every-day carry. My EDC.

All that, and Shae was still asleep. And snoring. Not the robust gross snore of old fat men, but a soft little grumbling. It was almost cute.

I shook my head. It was odd the way that everything she did was, at the least, cute. Most of the time it was, well, sexy would probably be the best word. And that struck me as odd. How did she do that? Was there something about the girl that I hadn’t noticed? Or, rather, maybe I hadn’t been around someone who was truly gorgeous all the time before. Maybe that was something that happened with supermodels and the like back in the old world. Something to investigate at a later date. I still had to go all the way across the city, again, to meet up with a witch.

As I left the house, I noticed something I should have seen before I went in, except that going in I was tired and not paying attention to Jack Shit: a note from Matthew. It gave me the address of the pit I’d be working at after my Careena meeting. It had the lovely name of Pit #58.

I caught a carriage and rode across town, taking the time to watch the world zip by, and enjoying the small pleasures of watching a city wake up. Seeing people move around at the start of their day. On the other hand, maybe I was just exhausted. I’ve heard it both ways.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Careena’s shop was dark when I knocked on the door. I mean, dark like a normal shop with no lights on. Not like, occult dark, like don’t-come-in-here-because-we’re-doing-witch-things dark.

Still, there was a light on in the building above, which is why I knocked. The other half was because I was really intrigued about what was going on with me, and wondering what the hell I could do about it. Could I get rid of a spell? Or two? I had bad feelings about the spell I’d gotten from Gideon, and I was kicking myself a little. I should have taken the sword and then sold it and bought something useful. Maybe, like, a building or something. Another one. Maybe another building on my block would go for sale, and then I’d wind up owning the entire block and making it some sort of thieves’ compound in the middle of Old Town. Maybe I needed more sleep and fewer bizarre ration biscuits.

A short while later, someone walked downstairs rather loudly, and pulled aside a black curtain in front of the door. A curtain I hadn’t even realized was there. Careena glared at me, frowning.

She opened the door.

“Better be good,” she said.

“It is,” I replied.

She just stared at me for a moment, then stepped out of the way, gesturing for me to come inside. I smiled as I walked by, but her frown didn’t budge.

“Smart people are afraid of witches, you know,” she said.

For whatever reason, perhaps because I’d come so damn early, she didn’t take me into the store. Instead she opened a door that led to a stairway, and we went upstairs into her personal apartment. It was a nice little space, almost completely at odds with the store. Quaint and homey, with overstuffed chairs dominating the small living room. The walls were covered in Glaton’s equivalent of Thomas Kincaid. The kitchen took up a small corner of the place, with a tiny cooktop and something I assumed was a magical fridge. There was a cafe table, just a little two-top, where a steaming mug of dark liquid rested.

“Do you drink coffee?” she asked. “I’m afraid I’m all out of tea.”

“I do,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Then I’ll grab a cup for you,” she said.

“Thank you.”

“Sit.”

I sat. She pulled a mug out of a cabinet and had a steaming cup o’ Joe for me quicker than I could follow. As I sniffed the roast — good and dark — she was already sitting across from me staring intently at my eyes.

“Why are you early?” she asked.

“Early?”

“We were supposed to meet this morning, yes?”

“I didn’t know if Matthew’d told you.”

“Of course he did.”

“Oh. I, uh, should I leave?”

“You’ve already interrupted my morning, so let’s get on with it. But I expect something interesting.”

“There have been some interesting developments.”

“Have you been practicing magic?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been learning spells from books?”

“Nope,” I said. “But I have three books, and I wanted to see if you’d okay me learning them.”

She gave me a sassy and disappointed frown, then held her hand out.

I passed the spellbooks over.

She sighed as she looked over them, and then set them in a little stack on her table. She took a sip of coffee and gave me a look.

“You already know what I think about this,” she said.

“I shouldn’t do it.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, but—”

“But nothing. At this stage, despite how interesting these spells may seem, learning them this way is a crutch. And the more you lean on this crutch, the more you lower your potential.”

“Not that I don’t believe you, but why?”

She clenched her teeth together and sucked a breath in, then let it out slowly. “I feel I should have made you wait outside until I’d finished breakfast.”

“I’m just looking for an explanation.’

“Why do you think?”

“I’m learning spells but I’m not learning how to cast them.”

“That’s a rather awkward way of phrasing it. You are stunting your knowledge of magic as a whole in an attempt to learn spells. But you will never get the efficiency you need in order to cast the big magics.”

“Big magics?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like spells requiring thousands of mana to pull off.”

“Is there a limit to how much mana a person can hold?”

“Not that we’ve found. Or that I’ve heard of. And before you ask — I can see the curiosity in your eyes — I won’t tell you how much mana I’ve got.”

“Is that like asking to see someone’s character sheet?”

“You realize you can see someone’s mana on their character sheet?”

“So that’s a yes, I suppose. Impolite.”

“It is. I am not your mother, so I can’t tell you to not use these books. But, if you are willing to give them to me, I will teach you a spell in return.”

“Any spell?”

“Within reason, sure.”

“Deal.”

“Surely these,” she gestured at the spellbooks, “were not the reason Matthew needed me to meet with you this morning.”

“Yeah, I may have, uh, discovered a spell. A kind of bad one?”

“A bad spell? Explain.”

“It’s, uh, something that drains, uh, things from people.”

“Try and use your words. Or more of them.”

“I was trying to heal someone, but I only knew the spell heal self, so I tried to do the spell to him like I’d been doing to me. But somehow I wound up draining everything out of him and killing him. And in the process I got some of his, um, stats.”

She blinked at me, then frowned.

“Stats?”

“Skills and abilities and attributes. But I didn’t get any extra experience.”

“Small price to pay.”

“I know.”

“Give me access to your character sheet.”

“Isn’t that—”

“This is not a matter of propriety. You have come to me for instruction and advice, and I cannot do that if you withhold vital information I need.”

“Okay. Access granted.”

She closed her eyes, and I felt a light tingle on my body. Really faint, and if I hadn’t been sitting and waiting for something to happen, I probably wouldn’t have noticed it in the slightest.

“What’s this other new spell of yours?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, something that was supposed to be a secret.”

“Well-kept, Clyde. Now tell me.”

“The Outsider one?”

“We both know which one I am talking about.”

“Yeah, I got it in return for giving an artifact to someone.”

“Another book?”

“No—”

“This was taught to you?”

“The other other way.”

“They gave you all their spells?”

“I guess so. It was just this one though.”

“And you survived unscathed it would seem,” she said. “Interesting.”

“People die from that?”

“Yes. Oh yes. Be aware, I don’t know that much about the process. It’s frowned upon in any actual magic community. But from what I understand, the more powerful the spell, the more damage it does getting inside. Also important is where the magic comes from, culturally speaking. Some spells are very different from our own, and our spirit or brain or soul, whatever you’d like to term the insides, can have difficulty dealing with spells that are fundamentally different than us. I take it this was a painful experience?”

“Yeah. It sucked.”

“How bad?”

“I mean, I can’t exactly say I’ve experienced anything worse, so, bad.”

“Seems like it.”

“Yeah, well. Better than the thing that gave it to me.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

Immediately I realized I’d said more than I should have.

“I, uh, I think he exploded? There was just a scorch mark on the counter.”

“The counter?”

I needed to stop talking.

“Yeah, let’s just pretend I didn’t say that.”

“But you did,” she replied with a smile. “I will leave it alone for the moment. Have you cast the spell yet?“

“No.”

“Afraid?”

“I—”

“You should be.”

“I was going to say I was cautious, but afraid will work. I don’t know what an outsider is.”

“I doubt many do.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Is it like a demon?”

“A demon is like a demon. If it mentioned something about calling an abyssal guardian, perhaps it would be a demon. Demons come from the Abyss. Devils from the Hells. Angels from the Heavens, and here we are on this plane of existence.”

“Shadow creatures—”

“From the Shadow Realm. Exactly. So, if you follow—”

“I don’t.”

“Outsiders come from outside all of this.”

“All of what?”

“This. Everything here around us.”

She stuck her finger in my coffee.

“Imagine this coffee is everything we know. It is contained within the cup. This plane, the hells, the heavens, the abyss, the shadow realms. It’s all in this cup. Now, the outside is where?”

“Uh,” I stammered, and then pointed at the table.

“Maybe,” she replied. “We don’t know. That’s the problem. It could be anywhere, anything. I have never had contact with anything from the Outside. I have only heard of stories of things from the Outside. We know there is something beyond the limits of our knowledge, but that, unfortunately is the extent. So this spell that you have so cavalierly acquired is something beyond special.”

“Are we talking about the drain spell as well?”

“Oddly, I feel that is the lesser of the spells you’ve brought today. Rumors exist about drainage spells, but this is the first time I have seen one. Before we go further, I need to know to what degree you would be comfortable experimenting with magic. And to what limits you might be willing to experiment.”

“I don’t know what my limits are yet.”

“A smart answer. Calling the Outsider in is—”

“Out of the question?”

“I, myself, would hesitate to use that spell. There is no telling what might come when you call, nor what it might do once here. It seems as if it would be compelled to protect you, or something you designate, but what that might mean to a creature from outside…”

All of a sudden, I had a whole new set of questions for Gideon. Questions I’d probably never have the courage to ask the dude.

“Your drain spell requires killing. Are you willing to kill in pursuit of knowledge?”

“Depends what I’m killing.”

“Is it restricted to humanoids? Sentients?”

“You’ve read the spell. Seems wide open to me.”

“Then I would suggest trying it on anything you can find. Flies. Rats. Whatever you might stumble across that you’d kill anyway, try this spell. See what comes about.”

“What if I get some horrible ability I don’t want?”

“There are means of removing abilities and the like. You might want to save up some gold, though. Removals are always pricey.”

“Are you going to research the Outsider spell?”

“No. And you should mention it to only those you trust with your life. Even those such as myself who live outside the established magic system could kill you to keep that spell from being used. You have shown restraint in your magic use thus far, and I have agreed to shepherd you to being a real user. But this spell stretches the limits of my favor to Matthew.”

Maybe I needed to have a talk with Gideon.

Or maybe I needed to avoid him altogether.

“I need to think,” she said. “Put the spell I owe you on the back burner. Your only task this week is finding out more about your drain spell. And clean up your mana. It’s moving around you like sludge.”

She stood up and stomped up the stairs, leaving me there at her table, my coffee untouched.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Despite my morning tutelage, I managed to arrive at the new pit before anyone else. Slackers. This one looked like it had an old design. Or that it was built to hold something especially dangerous. The walls were made of huge slabs of stone held together with a dark mortar. The tops were covered with shards of broken glass that glittered in the morning sun. Though that could also have been the enchantment on the walls. Whatever was cast on top to keep the bad stuff inside the pit. And, I suppose, lookie-loos out.

The entrance gate was crafted from staunch bars of black iron, and, unlike the other pits I’d worked and seen, this one had a stone arch above it. It was almost like a miniature castle. Minus, of course, the keeps. And the crenellations. So I guess it was only like a castle in that it had big thick walls made out of stone. So, you know. Castle!

I peeked through the iron bars and saw the place inside was in shambles. But it definitely seemed like old shambles. The mess had been there for some time. Dried mud everywhere, as well as broken crates, wagons, and other bits of wood I couldn’t identify. Patches of vegetation grew, grass here and there, even a few bushes that had been there long enough to have some berry-looking things on them. I didn’t get the feeling there was anything horribly dangerous inside. But, then again, I hadn’t had that feeling at the previous pit either, and that was where Peregrine died.

“Got a good feeling about this place?” came a familiar voice from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder at Nadya. She looked well-rested, and her hair was particularly nicely done. I turned all the way around to get a better look at the girl. It almost looked like she’d gotten dolled up for the day.

“Are you—” I started to ask.

“What’s in there?” she interrupted to ask, pushing up next to me at the gate.

“Mud.”

“Anything moving?”

“Not yet.”

“Hrm.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not exactly. But I’m happy those bugs aren’t here.”

“The ones from the first pit or the second pit?”

“Either.”

“I’d like something to do beyond scrape up mud and scrap wood.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Nadya said. She turned away from the gate, and walked into the main part of the road, looking up one direction then the other. “Are we early, or is Matthew just late?”

“I’ve often considered him to have a relaxed sense of time.”

A beast of a human coming around the corner caught my attention. He had a piece of paper in one hand and a leather duffel in the other, and he wore a small hat, something like a bowler, but with a smaller brim. He probably had a neck at one point, but some bastard had replaced it with what looked like a third thigh. His arms were bulging against his shirt sleeves, his pants barely contained his legs. And most unusual, he had a mustache. Most everyone in the city was clean-shaven, but this guy had a big bushy mustache.

There were other people going about their business around him, but this guy was pretty noticeable. He didn’t move like any of the workers. He had more poise and purpose. And even though he didn’t at all look like he belonged, he also didn’t give a damn. He was just himself. And what a self he was.

I was really just watching the guy to people-watch, so it was something of a surprise when he stopped in front of the pit, looked down at the paper, and then up at the number above the gate. The crumpled up the paper and dropped it on the ground.

“Clyde and Natalie?” he asked.

“Nadya,” Nadya said, not even bothering to hide her iciness.

“Got it,” the guy said.

He stepped between us and pulled a small ring of keys from his belt. He flipped through a few of the keys before choosing the one he wanted and opened the gate.

“Excuse me,” I said, “would you mind telling us who you are?”

“How about we have this talk while we see what’s in here?” the muscle man asked, dropping the duffel and somehow pulling a gladius from it in one smooth motion. Then, he walked in.

I looked at Nadya. She shrugged.

I followed him in.

He’d already walked over to the edge of the pit, and was staring intently into it.

I came up next to him.

It looked like it was full of rocks. Large rocks, sure, but rocks. It was a big pit — not as wide as the last one, but larger overall than the first one. Plus there was more working area on the property, more flat space at ground level. Whatever had been going on with this pit required space. Nothing moved, not even the air.

“It’s very still,” I said.

No answer.

Which was because the guy had already walked away. It was eerie seeing someone his size move in almost complete silence. The beast of a man was now on the porch of the small pit house, peering in its one window. The house had certainly seen better days. Big holes in the walls where bricks had been knocked in. Or out — it was an even mix. The roof looked closer to a sieve than a structure, and more grass grew through the porch than anywhere else in the entire pit area.

He tried the door, but it was locked. One by one, he tried the keys, but nothing came close to turning the tumblers. The guy attached the keys back to his belt, then turned and looked at me.

“You,” he said. “Get this open.”

“The door?” I asked.

“Is there something else locked here?”

“No, but—”

“Matthew said you can unlock things. Unlock this.”

“Okay but first tell me who you are and why I should listen to you.”

“Matthew’s brother-in-law. Can you unlock it?”

“Probably.”

I slid my lockpick kit out from under my belt, not really being overt about it, but I felt a little awkward doing something rather illegal in front of someone who was a complete stranger. Though I guess in a technical sense, just picking a lock wasn’t illegal.

I knelt in front of the door, and did a little peek inside the lock, followed by a mechanical feel with the tools. Simple. A little shimmy and shake, a twist and a turn, and the the tumblers clicked over.

“Done,” I said.

He gave me a grudging nod. Then, like I wasn’t there, he stepped around me and pushed the door open. I followed him inside the little house. The interior was tiny and cramped. We found two humanoid skeletons. One at the window, like he’d died looking through the glass, and the second curled up in the corner.

“Interesting,” I said.

“Matthew warned me about this,” the brother-in-law said. “I take it he didn’t bother to warn you?”

“He tends not to tell me things.”

The Brother-in-law sighed. “Matthew can be like that.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Sorry,” he said, and he turned and gave me a bit of a smile, holding his hand out to me. “Godfrey Hayles.”

“Clyde, uh, wait. You know my name.”

We grabbed forearms, shook, and he laughed.

“That I do.”

His grip was crushingly strong.

“Mind if I ask why you’re here?” I asked.

“Not so much. I’m here because of you.”

“Me?”

“In a way. I believe you’re the one giving my sister a place to stay for next to nothing?”

“Oh, yeah. I had an open apartment.”

“And one for me.”

“I wasn’t aware of that, but, sure.”

“I don’t have to help move because I get to be here.”

I snapped my fingers, and nodded. “That’s right. He and Titus are moving in today.”

“And they’re moving me in.”

“Are you, I mean, I don’t want to be—”

“The short version is that my sister asked me to return home, and I just happened to be at the right point to do so.”

“Where were you?”

“Legion.”

“Ah.”

“Just happened to be at a retirement point, so, can’t fight the call of family.”

“How long were you in?” Nadya asked. She’d been leaning in the doorway.

“Twenty-five years.”

“Whoa,” I said.

He nodded. “I’ve only been back for three days. Came straight from the front.”

“Front?”

“There’s always a fight somewhere,” Nadya said.

Godfrey chuckled. “Girl’s right. This time, it’s a kerfuffle with Mahrduhm. Up in the corner of the Empire. They want to take a pass of ours.”

“What pass?”

“Rumib,” Godfrey said. “We were fighting out of Arenberg.”

Nadya nodded as if she knew about the area, but it was all nonsense words to me.

“Come on then,” Godfrey said. “Matthew mentioned this should be an easier site than the last one.”

“I hope so,” I said.

“Heard it was rough.”

“Yeah.”

“Partly why I’m here,” Godfrey said.

“What’s the other part?” Nadya asked.

“Keeping my nieces and nephews safe.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

A delivery was waiting for us outside the gates — a whole wagon full of tools and all the boring paraphernalia that goes along with physical labor. I definitely got some hardcore Miyagi-style training vibes from this.

Godfrey seemed to vacillate between two modes: hardcore work and chatty-Cathy. In work mode, he wasn’t keen on things like polite conversation or, well, polite anything. He preferred to bark orders and have them followed out. At least he was quick to ask questions. We moved the wagon into the pit work area, and started in on the perpetually exciting job of cleaning up.

Sweeping dust, piling up broken wood, fixing the holes in the house. We also sent for a cleric to deal with the bones in the cottage.

“Leave ‘em there too long,” Godfrey said, “they’ll rise on their own.”

“They haven’t yet,” I said.

“Betting you it’s because it’s day. Come back at night, they’ll be up and raring to kill anything living.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Nadya said, her dark hair a dusky brown with all the dust we’d kicked up, “he’s from a little hamlet where they never learned anything about anything.”

“Country mouse?” Godfrey asked.

“You’d think that,” Nadya replied before I could say anything, “but he doesn’t know anything about the country either.”

“Well, elves are strange folk.”

Then, chatting was done, and it was back to cleaning. A few times, Godfrey stopped moving and whipped the sword out, then stood for a moment. Poised to strike. Then nothing would happen, and Godfrey would slowly return the blade to the scabbard and resume work like nothing had happened. I wasn’t sure if it was a hyper-vigilance thing, or just the aftereffects of twenty-five years of relatively constant warfare. Had to do something to a man.

But, I mean, nothing was ever there.

Before long we reached a point where we were out of things to do, except for go into the pit itself and start the real restoration.

Godfrey corralled us out and then closed and locked the gates.

“Now what?” I asked.

“We need Matthew before we’re going in the pit,” Godfrey said. “I’m going to see my new apartment.”

And he was off.

“Well shit,” I said.

“You’re out of plans for the day?” Nadya asked.

“Yeah, I mean, I figured the day job would, you know, take the day.”

“You have night plans?”

“Not yet, but—”

“Want to go see something?”

“Sure, what—”

But Nadya was already walking away, her hips rocking back and forth. She knew what she was doing. And I followed because I’m weak. I mean curious. I was just curious. That’s it. Sure.

I had to run a bit to catch up with her.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Are you the type of person who likes surprises?” she replied.

“Not especially.”

“Then maybe you’ll be disappointed.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“I want it to be a surprise. Is that so weird?”

We walked in mild silence for a bit, allowing me to do some thinking on my own. It’s not that I didn’t like surprises — it’s that I was tired of being in a place with so many new things I had to learn and understand. That was definitely something a lifetime of games and books and movies all about new worlds had failed to impress upon me. Living in a whole new world is challenging, especially when the entire universe has a completely new set of rules. Having to understand things like monsters and magic. Having to deal with being in the middle of the food chain. That was a vastly different concept. Back in the old world, I hadn’t had to worry about something hopping out from a dark alley and eating me. Mugging me, sure. But that was something I knew how to handle. Acidic saliva, that was new. It was just a lot.

Surprises, on the other hand, at least from friends, were often pretty nice. Sweet. And it was increasingly apparent, even to a clueless clod like me, that Nadya was just trying to do something nice for me. Or, at the very least, show me something I’d appreciate.

“On second thought,” I said, “a surprise would be nice.”

She smiled and gave me a wink.

“Good,” she replied.

“You grew up here,” I said, “right?”

“I did.”

“Have you traveled much?”

“No.”

“At all?”

“Some. But what do you mean?”

“Have you seen other parts of the world?”

“I’ve seen different parts of the Empire.”

“Like?”

“If you can accept that I have a slightly different family than most people—”

“You mean the ruling family?”

“Yes, well, it comes with certain, uh, perks.”

“I’d imagine so.”

“We have a few estates. And so I have visited the family estates.”

“Any interesting ones?”

“Of course.”

“If you don’t want to talk about this—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk. I just don’t know what you’re asking. Are the estates interesting? Yes. Farms. Hunting grounds. There’s a place along the coast where the big ships come past before docking. And if you’re lucky, you can see some of the sea monsters trailing afterward.”

“I take it the monsters in the ocean are big?”

“Quite. At least the ones I’ve seen were. As big as the ships they trailed. Creatures with great tentacles that rise up out of the water as high as the towers on the Bastion. Creatures with mouths full of teeth that are as big as men. But according to the sailors, there are things much worse, farther out to sea. Creatures that dwarf even the dragons. Creatures that are as big as islands. Creatures that are so big that other creatures live on top of them in villages.”

“Have you seen the Erg?”

“I have. I haven’t been there, but it’s easy to see it. It’s huge.”

“What is it like?”

“Sand. It’s just sand as far as you can see. Huge dunes for miles. But it stops at a line of grass. It’s very odd.”

“You didn’t step over?”

“No,” she said, smiling at me like I was an idiot. “I was told that was unwise.”

“Were you told why?”

“There are things that wait there for foolish people to step over. Easy meals.”

“Monsters?”

“I suppose you could call them that.”

“Are there that many people who’d do that?”

“It’s at the edge of a city. There’s a long edge of grass, and very few trees. Then the Erg. From one ocean to the next.”

“And the city goes across from one ocean to the next?”

“More or less. There’s a road, and ports on either side. It’s the only easy way to get goods across between the Western Sea and the Gulf of Gaulmont. Quite a bit of trade there.”

“Why not build a canal?”

“I asked my father that once, and he pointed out that it’s a lot easier to tax goods than ships.”

“I guess that makes sense. What about the Emerald Sea? Have you seen it?”

“Not yet, but the stories I have heard… I will visit it some day. And I will travel within it.”

“Travel within—”

“It’s probably just legend, but there are monsters in there that make even the sea monsters seem tame and small.”

“And you want to see them?”

“I want to study them.”

“You don’t think they’ll kill you?”

“Right now, surely. But that’s why I’m not there yet. Biding my time. Leveling up.”

“Grinding.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yeah. Grinding. Doing all the boring stuff to build your skills and stats until you can get to the higher level zones.”

“Higher level zones? I haven’t heard that term before. Makes sense though. The Great Erg is probably like that too. Something intense and full of powerful, dangerous creatures.”

“Is it?”

“According to everything I’ve been told.”

“Huge worms that feel instead of see?”

“You’ve done some reading up on the Erg then?”

“Educated guess.”

“We’re here, by the way,” she said, coming to a stop and pointing ahead.

A large structure loomed in front of us. Like most everything in Glaton, there were high stone walls around whatever was there, this time out of worn black rocks. It had an ominous feel to it, but that was somewhat undercut by the brilliant blue sky and puffy white clouds above it. The summer weather was currently delightful, all things considered. In large letters curving over the arch was written: Beast Market.

“This is where pitbeasts are bought and traded,” Nadya said. “Among other things.”

“Is there something happening here today?”

“Every day.”

She smiled, and took me by the hand. Then she pulled me along after her as she fairly skipped across the street and through the arch. Leave it to a monster-trading shop to make the girl act girly.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The inside of the market looked something like if a zoo had had a baby with an employment agency. We saw some creatures in cages, some in wagons, and some in small pits. There were some covered in water, some in mud, and some just hanging out. And the people, the people were just as bizarre as the animals. Nowhere else in the city had I seen such diversity of races and sizes. There were several minotaurs around. And a few centaurs. There was even something that looked like a centaur, except with a scorpion body instead of a horse’s as its other half. He had a very impressive set of black carapace-like armor on his torso that did a pretty good job matching the natural armor on his, uh, the rest of his body. His stinger had been wrapped in silk so that it wasn’t quite as savage looking, and tied to the tail itself, I suppose in an attempt to make it look like he could just whip the thing out and stab you in the gut.

I did my best not to gawk at what I saw, but Nadya clearly realized I was having a moment. She smacked me in the stomach.

“Try to blend in just a little,” she hissed at me. “And these people don’t know the full extent of who I am, so—”

“Mum’s the word.”

She winked, then grabbed my hand again, and pulled me along through the maelstrom of monsters.

“Nadya!” a voice cried. An older woman who was maybe human waved at us, and gestured for us to come over. She had a small table set up, with tall guards on either side, their long spears heading high into the sky. The woman herself was of somewhat indeterminate height, considering she was hunched over impressively. She had something of an ugly face, framed by rough curly grey hair. As soon as she saw Nadya coming her way, she collapsed back down in her chair with a hearty grunt.

“Lila,” Nadya said. “Having a good day?”

“An interesting day,” Lila replied, her voice gruff. Up close, I definitely noticed an unpleasant odor coming off her. “Which makes it a good day.”

Lila chuckled, which was something more along the lines of a cackle than anything resembling an actual laugh.

“Is there anything I should be on the lookout for?” Nadya asked.

“Down on the back alley, there’s someone selling supposedly-tame grimelings,” Lila said. “I think he’s got ‘em on some charm spell or something. You looking to make a purchase of some kind?”

“Maybe.”

“That’d be a first.”

“I maybe found my own place.”

“Did you now?” she asked with a wry smile. “With this one?” Lila pointed at me, her knobby finger ending in a half-eaten nail.

“This is my friend Clyde.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said.

“Surely the pleasure is all on this side of the table,” Lila said with another cackle-laugh. “He’s into the beasts as well?”

“I mean,” I said, “if you can remove the sexual overtones and add an academic theme, then yes. I might say I am.”

“He’s a smart-one,” Lila said, her rheumy eyes sort of twinkling at Nadya. “The one you told me about?”

And right there, on the day I’d seen so many new monsters my brain was close to bursting, I saw something else truly shocking for the first time. I saw Nadya legitimately blush.

The blushing caused Lila to start cackling uproariously, which turned into Lila coughing furiously, a really hacking, phlegmy affair. One of the guards looked over with a raised eyebrow. Lila smacked the man’s leg to make him look back out and at attention.

Lila then waved Nadya away. “Go around, then come back.”

Nadya nodded, and meekly pushed me away from Lila.

“You’ve been talking about me to your friends?” I asked.

“You see that thing?” Nadya asked, pointing to a caged beast that looked something like a lion mixed with a bear then dumped in acid and covered with green flock, “I’ll push you close enough that it can grab you with its tentacles.”

I didn’t even see any tentacles on it, but sight was hardly a thing that would disqualify a creature from having tentacles capable of grabbing me.

We moved through the place slowly, looking at all sorts of crazy things. All around us, men, women, and others bartered with each other. Arguments would break out in different languages, and I’d smile each time I got something new added to my linguistic repertoire. It was especially amusing when I’d catch a phrase someone muttered while walking away from a busted negotiation. I filled up a whole mental notebook with incredible-sounding insults, most of which I didn’t really get because the references were completely foreign to me.

Nadya stopped me at a large pit with a railing. She leaned over, then motioned me to do the same. So I leaned over.

The creatures inside all looked up at me. They were a bit like hippos, with wide backs, grey skin, and huge mouths. But they had more teeth. Not just pointy ones, but molars and stuff. It was almost like someone had taken human dentures, supersized them, and shoved them inside a hippo mouth. Disconcerting to say the least. The creatures were big, but seemed much more mellow. Not like I’ve spent substantial amounts of time around hippos, but I did get the sense that they’re rather aggressive. These guys seemed more docile. Curious, but chill.

“Are these pitbeasts?” I asked.

“They’re a type,” Nadya replied. “These guys are—”

“Excellent at eating waste,” came a suave voice. I looked over to see a smarmy-looking man wearing all black leather, with a wide-brim hat cocked a jaunty angle with an exotic-looking feather shooting out the band. Somewhat the medieval equivalent of a black and grey pinstripe suit. The guy leaned back against the railing of his pen and gestured towards the creatures while keeping his attention on us. And by us, I mean, obviously, Nadya. “Fantastic at creating fertilizer, some of the best in the business. They’re Nedrys. All of them docile as can be.”

“Because they’re in a group,” Nadya said. “They’re very social creatures.”

“Nonsense,” the man said. “You just need one. They’ll grow fast—”

“These are juveniles?” I asked.

“That they are,” the man replied with his plastic smile back in place. “Young and ready to eat. They’ll—”

“We’re just looking,” I said, growing tired of the hard sell.

“Looking will turn to buying as soon as you find the right animal,” the man said. “And if you’re looking for something a little more, say, rugged, I’ve got that too. Just over here,” the man started to walk away, and while I took a half-step, Nadya’s gentle tug on my hand kept me where I was.

“No thanks,” I said.

The man harrumphed, and then walked away without another utterance.

“They are social,” Nadya said. “Very docile and happy if you keep them in a group. But most everyone buys just one. They eat a ton, they excrete a ton, and they get huge. Then they get lonely and violent. So they’ve got a weird reputation.”

“How do you know they’re social?”

“Lila. She’s one of the oldest people here. Kind of in charge, in a shadow way. She knows more about the creatures that come through here than anyone, and I think she’s a part owner of the place. Maybe. I don’t know — it’s very hazy who does what here. I think it’s on purpose so when some fool gets hurt by the merchandise, there’s no one there to take the blame.”

“Seems a bit shady.”

“It is very shady. But any business that deals with monsters is going to be a bit in the dark, you know? Besides, much more upfront than the Arena. Come on — let’s go check out those grimelings.”

As we got deeper into the market, I got a better feeling for it, and realized it was probably a city block. Maybe two. And the deeper in, the stranger the offerings became.

But, like Lila said, there were grimelings at the back, tucked away in something of an alley off one of the main pathways. It was lined with small wagons and small cages. The tiny monster alley, it seemed. One of the first cages was full of little monkey-type guys with wings. They were all pressing themselves against the the bars of their cage as hard as they could, straining their arms out as far as the little limbs would go, trying to grab any passerby.

“Plane Imps,” Nadya said, noticing I was staring at the creatures.

“Imps? Like devils?”

“That’s the theory. But they aren’t devils. Some people think they are descended from imps who got stuck here and reproduced. Hence the name. Lila, and me too I guess, we consider them pseudo-imps. I’d like to do some research, see how much of a connection they have to the Hells, if any, and put that matter to rest. But, that’s just one more thing to add to the list of thing to do later.”

“By plane, you mean this plane of existence. Not like, you know, rolling plains of grass.”

“Of course. Plane Imps. They’re found in forests, though, so I can see how the name can be confusing. Smart, but mischievous.”

“Do they have a purpose?”

“Not that I know of. Entertainment? Pets? I’ve heard of people using them as security in wooded homes. Put a group of them in the trees, and anyone who goes through those trees is going to have a hell of a time.”

Just as Nadya said that, one of the creatures managed to get hold of a man’s hair. The creature pulled with all his tiny might. Then all the imps grabbed onto the initial imp, and their collective strength was enough to bring the man against the cage with a clang. The man selling the imps smashed a cane against the bars of the cage, and the imps let go of the poor old man’s hair, chattering with rage at their captor.

I recognized one set of animals, each in their own seemingly too-small cage. Nivali’s. One of the bug-weasel type creatures I’d pulled out of a hole in my very first pit. The good old days when it was just so quaint and calm, this pit business. They all laid there quietly, watching the world around them. It was an interesting contrast to the continued cacophony from the imps.

But most of the people in that small alley were coming to and from a stand at the end of the alley — there was actually a bit of a crowd around the booth. The man standing in the front of the booth was hawking his wares with near wild abandon, talking so fast I could barely understand him.

“Tame grimelings,” the man yelled, “a new innovation in domestication has brought about a new possibility in home creature comforts. Keep your home clean and safe with a low cost solution for a problem that has plagued the world since time immemorial. Tame grimelings, they are the new solution!”

I had my doubts.

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Nadya said, her eyes narrowing. She moved forward with purpose, pushing more than one interested person out of the way in her attempt to get a closer look. I merely followed in her wake.

But what I saw made me doubt my doubts.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The best way to describe a grimeling is to say it looks a bit like a toddler described how to draw monkey to a god, and then that thing got dropped in a swamp. It had a tail, a small body, kind of stumpy legs, hands that were just barely not paws, and big head with big droopy ears. Wide eyes and a large mouth full of sharp little teeth. But they had soft fur all over their body, fur that reminded me of a seal. Something that was suited to a semi-aquatic life. Or a mud-based one. As they moved in their enclosure, one of the few where there was little to keep the creatures from leaping across and attacking the customers, I noticed the little guys, and girls, had webbing between their feet and hands.

Nadya was scowling at the grimelings.

I wasn’t quite so intrigued by them as I was their, well, barker. He was a character. He had a long leather coat, leather pants, and a stiff-looking white shirt. Impeccably white. His shoes were a patent leather of some sort, super shiny. He spoke very quickly and gesticulated wildly with his hands. The guy was either genuinely excited about his product, or a great actor.

And the crowd definitely bought the act. They were keeping the barker’s assistant busy, scooping up grimelings and popping them into wicker baskets. The duo was making a fortune in gold, and while Nadya and I watched, all the creatures sold. Except one.

I snapped my hand up.

“I’ll take it,” I said.

“Sold,” the barker said. “This last one is a real nice corker.”

The assistant, a harried looking woman who seemed ecstatic to be finished handling the creatures, snatched the grimeling by the scruff of his neck and popped him in a lidded basket. She handed him to me as I counted out coins to the man. Twelve gold. Steep for the common person, for sure, but I had the feeling that those who visited this particular market weren’t regular folk.

I walked away with the basket on my arm like I was going to a really macabre picnic, and smiled at Nadya. She just stared at the basket.

“Why did you get it?” she asked.

“For you.”

“I don’t want one. I don’t think they’re tame.”

“Aren’t you curious about them?”

“Yes, but, oh.”

“Right. For the lab.”

“I don’t have a lab yet.”

“You will. You’re renting the space.”

“There’s nothing in there.”

“Then I suppose you better hope this guy remains tame once you get him to your house.”

“Not happening. I can’t bring that to my home.”

“Why not?”

“Same reason I couldn’t bring Hellion there. A grimeling is a lot more noticeable than a freakin’ mimic, for one.”

“Maybe it’s the innovation in cleaning you’ve been waiting for.”

“I doubt that very much.”

“Is that because you don’t need to do your own cleaning?”

Our grimeling rustled in its basket, shaking enough that it bumped into Nadya. She let out a very slight yelp. I peeked inside, lifting the lid up ever so slightly. The grimeling had curled into a ball of sorts, and was asleep.

“You think he just drugged them?” I asked.

“Like a sleeping tonic?” she replied. “Maybe. Those don’t often last very long. He’d better be heading out of here quickly if that’s the case.”

“They sold well.”

“People like novelty. Do you want to see the real pitbeasts?”

“Yeah, of course.”

She gave me a bit of a smile, but I sensed some hesitancy as she looked down at the basket. Idly, I thought about how it probably would have been better if I had an idea what regular grimelings were like before I went ahead and purchased one. One I now realized was definitely going to wind up living with me until the lab got set up. I needed to get another point in Intelligence. Or Wisdom. Both, ideally.

The real pitbeasts, as Nadya called them, were inside a large structure tucked against the walls near the entrance to the market. You had to wind your way through a series of curtains to get in, which did an excellent job keeping all the light out. Inside, lights were low and the outside noise was muted to an astonishing degree. It was almost as if we’d somehow made it into the VIP zone. The clientele was different in here as well — they looked more like the people we’d seen at the bar with Matthew, the serious pit folk. Not just people out looking for monsters.

The creatures, as expected, were bigger and badder and in more robust enclosures. The first one we came across was half submerged in water. It had a rotund, almost spherical body balance over four short stubby legs. Large tentacles wrapped around the body and floated in the water. A final tentacle hung on the top of the creature, and had a very large eye in it. The creature waved its eye-tentacle about, looking at those looking at it. I felt a sense of intelligence to the eye. It really seemed to be paying attention to the world around it. Which could also have just been because it seemed to take an interest in me and stopped to stare at me for a much longer period of time than anyone else in the place.

“Vuilighelm,” Nadya said softly to me. “Lots of people consider it the pitbeast. They grow very big, get territorial. But they eat everything.”

“Do they, uh—”

“Poop out useful stuff? Yeah. I think so, at least. I certainly don’t know everything about pitbeasts, but—”

“You’re learning.”

“Bingo.”

“And you’re about to learn about grimelings, too!”

She frowned at me, then flipped her head around fast enough that I got a face full of pony tail.

I followed her as she moved deeper into the darkness, peering into pits and cages where I saw things that had formerly only populated my nightmares. There were creatures with tentacles, creatures with mouths, creatures covered in mouths, creatures covered in tentacles. There were blobs and oozes, things that looked like fish, things that looked like seals, and even something that looked a lot like an ear of corn, except every single kernel hid a tentacle and a mouth. And then there were things I couldn’t see. Shapes. Feelings. Lots of feelings. I’ve never had the deepest experience with ESP or anything in the realms of the psychic, but in that hall, I had the distinct feeling there were plenty of entities reaching out to touch my brain space. It was not pleasant.

Finally, Nadya seemed to have gotten her fill, and we headed back out into daylight. We’d been in the gloom long enough that it was more than little painful to walk into the sunlight.

We headed to the exit together, and then stood there awkwardly for a moment.

I held out the grimeling.

She smiled sweetly at me, raised her arm, and hailed an all-too-convenient passing carriage. One that was a deep royal blue. With a wink, she hopped on board, and the driver took off without even asking where she wanted to go.

I had the feeling I’d just been played.

I looked down at the basket holding the sleeping grimeling.

“Just you and me, Gizmo,” I said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Standing outside the market, I came to the realization that I missed subways. I missed taxis and busses — okay, I’m not that crazy. I didn’t miss busses. But I certainly could use a means of transportation. I had stables. I needed to fill them with things. Things I could ride and someone else could take care of. That was next on the to-do list. Right after becoming a master thief, mastering magic, rising to the top of the Biscuit’s Union, and a few other things I’d lost track of.

But I was really just getting tired of walking. At the same time, I suppose all that walking was good for me. Maybe I’d even get a walking skill at some point.

Cool Beans, you’ve uncovered the innate skill: Walking. Now you can walk.

I shook my head. Game world had a sense of humor. That had to be dangerous as all hell. Or hells. Still, might as well put that skill to use. I started walking.

By the time I got to the Heavy Purse, the nightly crowd was in full swing, filling not just the tavern itself but also a goodly portion of the street outside it. There were children playing outside of the bakery, some Glaton version of hopscotch. Or something. I didn’t stop to study the game. But they were having a good time. And watching over them — looming over them more like — was Matthew. I saw his brother-in-law carting a large piece of furniture from a wagon into the second building.

I gave a little wave, then leaned against the wall next to Matthew.

“Place coming together?” I asked.

“Never thought I’d see Titus much again. Now we’re neighbors,” he replied.

“Is that going to be an issue?”

Matthew shook his head, and gave me a small smile. “Not likely. Old friend. Just an odd twist of fate you are.”

“Me?”

“Don’t play stupid — it’s not your game.”

I shrugged.

“Godfrey had pleasant things to say about you.”

“Really?”

“Well, he didn’t say anything negative. That’s usually a glowing review rom him.”

“New pit is pretty dull.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No, but there doesn’t seem like we’ll find much in the way of, uh,—”

“Money?”

“Yeah.”

“You’d be surprised. This is more of a favor, a make-up for the last one.”

“It’s all rocks and mud.”

“Ah, but that’s the good stuff.”

“I’ll just have to remain skeptical.”

“What’s that thing you say? You do you?”

“Sure.”

“Do that.”

“How’s the apartment? Is it okay?”

“It is generous and great. More than I deserve.”

I definitely did a little blushing. I didn’t want the conversation to go any further down that track. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“A not-in-public conversation?” he asked.

I looked at him watching his kids, and Titus’ kids I assumed, and realized that he probably wasn’t keen on leaving them there.

“It’s definitely something of a less-than-legal nature, but I guess it can wait,” I said. “What’s going on with the kid situation? Has anyone figured out who’s taking them?”

“Not yet, and it’s still happening,” Matthew said softly. Not quite a whisper, but certainly purposefully keeping the volume low enough that the kids wouldn’t hear.

“Like a lot of them?”

Matthew nodded.

“I don’t want to sound like more of a rube than I usually do, but aren’t there, say, lots of things in the night that snack on children?”

“If you consider the wider world, I’d wager there’s likely a nearly infinite amount.”

“So what’s the deal with this particular missing kids thing?”

“Didn’t your parents teach you about this stuff growing up?”

“I guess we lived in a safer spot.”

“Not many places safer than Glaton. I might need to look into getting a home in this Denmark place of yours.”

“Denmark, right.” I wondered if a Hamlet joke had ever gone this far.

“The usual things aren’t working, which means whatever that’s running afoul of us here is not a usual thing. It’s something new. And it doesn’t seem to have picked a hunting ground. It’s happening all over the city. Hells, it even hit the the Bright last night.”

“Last night?”

“Minister of Agriculture. Her kids were taken.”

“Okay, something weird about that —“

“You about to say you were in the The Bright last night?”

“I was.”

He stopped looking at the kids and turned his head so his full attention was on me.

“Now where was you last night, while you were visiting the Bright?”

“I maybe stopped by the Minister of Agriculture’s house.”

“Was this an uninvited drop-in?”

“I came unannounced, yes.”

I saw the muscles around his jaw tighten.

“I had nothing to do with the kids though,” I said. “I never mess with kids. Ever.”

“Did you see them?”

“Yes.”

“You saw the kids?”

“I saw them asleep, yeah.”

“So they were there when you left?”

“I left when someone started screaming.”

“You didn’t cause the screaming?”

“I got out without being noticed. I have a good teacher.”

“Not the time for compliments.”

“Always the time for—”

He grabbed me by the throat and shoved me against the wall, hard enough that I felt my teeth rattle.

“The city is in panic, boy. You might not have noticed, but there’s a riot brewing. I know you think you’re being a right bit funny. Light hearted. And I want to believe you have nothing to do with this, but enough coincidences line up and it seems much more likely there’s a real problem here.”

“I’ve only ever helped kids, man,” I somewhat coughed out.

His hand slowly released my neck. It was a bit odd, because he watched his hand, no longer interested in me.

“Sorry,” he said, almost like an afterthought. “I’m worried. Out of sorts.”

“I can understand,” I said. “You’re thinking of your family.”

He shook his head. “I used to say the same sorts of things. I never really knew what it meant until I had kids. Still, I shouldn’t have done that. I’d like to think I know you, Clyde Hatchett. And from what I know, you like to take things to hurt the rich. But you’ve been good to the children I’ve seen you with.”

“I am. I, uh, yes. I think?”

“You had nothing to do with the minister’s kids being taken last night?”

“No. None. I had a meeting with some asshole, and on the way home, I noticed this house with laughable security. And I had nothing with me, no weapons, no gold, nothing. Since nights are dangerous, I took a peek inside. I mean, two guards at the front, one inside, that’s it. And the fences, you could step from the top of the fence to the window ledges. And in the back yard, you could climb a tree to a balcony. Very easy to get in an out. Whatever came after me, let’s just say that I’m not surprised something else was in that house. But they had to have been fast, because it wasn’t that long between me seeing the kids in their beds and when I made a break for it. I thought they’d discovered what I took.”

“Which was?”

“Jewels, a sword, some glowstones for your apartment, and some bonded journals. They were tucked into a secret room. I was going to give them to you to take a peek. Tell me if you knew what the hell is going on.”

“Those them?” he asked, looking at the basket I was holding.

“Uh, no, that’s, uh, well, it’s a grimeling.”

Matthew jumped a full yard back.

“Supposedly tamed,” I added, and I pulled the lid back just a bit. The creature was curled up and asleep, but then he opened one eye and looked around. Clearly he decided there was nothing to worry about, because he closed the eye and settled back into snoozetown.

Matthew held the basket open just a little, and peeked in.

“It is a grimeling,” he said.

“Supposedly tame.”

“Where did you get it?”

“Nadya took me to the beast market.”

“Of course she did.”

“Not like there was a whole lot to do in the pit without you.”

“And someone was selling tame grimelings?”

“Yeah. Is that so odd?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the salesman insinuated they’d do the cleaning for me.”

“And you believed him?”

“No, but curiosity got the better of me. Technically I bought him for Nadya, but she wasn’t willing to take him.”

“Kind of like the chest.”

“Hellion? Yeah. Kind of like him.”

“She’s got your number.”

“Let’s leave my number out of this. I’m just holding onto the grimeling until she’s got her damn lab set up.”

“Sure.”

“Can you just take a look at the books?”

“If you get them to me, I’ll see what I see.”

I gave him a smile, a surly one because I felt he was being just a tad salty with me, and then I went up to my apartment. Someone had cleaned the place up while I was out. I snagged the books out from the semi-secret closet hiding spot, and tucked the grimeling and his basket into the closet in their place. Then I darted back downstairs.

Matthew hadn’t moved. I passed the books off to him.

He hefted them once before tucking them under his arm.

“You write in these?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good. Decent chance no one knows they’re missing yet. Always an important asset in information gathering.”

“Did you ever do this for the government?”

“I had plenty of clients, all of whom relied on me to keep them out of my mouth. So while I’m happy to talk to you about most anything, that I won’t discuss.”

Realizing that Matthew was effectively ending our conversation, I wished him a good night, and I headed upstairs to my apartment once again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I checked on my grimeling before heading to the third floor and training. I focused quite a bit on free-running, especially moving in and out of small openings. I wanted to make sure I could run and slip through windows whenever I wanted. I also worked on changing directions on a dime, in case, say, a certain chest opened up and its long tongue tried to snatch me when I wasn’t paying attention. I got a good sweat going, and I fired up my stamina regen spell. I kept that going until I was mostly out of mana and well and truly exhausted.

Then I took a nice long shower and wrapped myself in a fluffy towel, a leftover from Etta. I appreciated the various creature comforts she’d left behind. It meant I didn’t need to spend much money on the basics. It was a bit like getting a cheat code beginning. I had the feeling that if I was truly playing this game, I’d feel a bit like I’d cheated to get where I was. And yet, this was a life, and sometimes, in life, it was okay to take advantage of the foibles of luck. Besides, I felt like I was also spreading the wealth around in a good way. That had to make up for getting the push ahead, at least in some capacity.

I didn’t bother to put my clothes back on, though I did wonder about laundry. So far I’d been rewearing clothes after airing them out, but that mostly only worked because I didn’t have much of a nightlife, or a personal life, and my work clothes were gross from the start. I hadn’t seen a washing machine or a dryer of any kind, anywhere really, and there weren’t laundry lines strung up, so professional laundry services had to exist within the city.

These were the thoughts permeating my brain as I wandered up the stairs wearing only my towel, and I meandered into my own apartment half-naked, relatively brain dead. Once there, I took a cursory look around, realized no one else was home, and the grimeling was snoring. I moseyed to the bed, and I collapsed, not even bothering to take the towel off.

All to say I’m not sure who was more surprised when Shae walked into the apartment, made me shoot out of bed, and my towel fell off.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. She turned around to leave, only to bump into a man who’d decided he was going to break into the apartment.

He had a rusty looking knife and had taken care to wrap a scarf or bandana around his face to make it almost impossible to tell he was one of the surly regulars in the Heavy Purse. I recognized his greasy combover and marked him as one of the drunks who spent their evening leering at anything remotely female. Tonight, he’d drunk enough to act upon his baser desires.

Combover shoved Shae out of the way with surprising strength, and the pretty girl tumbled to the ground, coming quite close to braining herself on a table.

“All your coin,” he said, pulling a cloth bag from his pants. “Now.”

Okay, so I was marginally mistaken about which base instincts he was following. I wanted to be angry about him robbing me, but that’d be a bit hypocritical. He was just doing my job. Sure, with a little less class, but basically the same.

“And I’m going to give it to you,” I said.

“Right you are,” he growled back at me. “or I’ll gut you and the missus and tie a knot out of your entrails.”

“That’s disgusting…and specific. Have you actually done that before?”

“More’n once, I have.”

“Let’s just keep our guts separate, shall we?”

“That’s up to you, moneybags.”

“Okay, I maybe have some coin, but moneybags?”

“You own this building and the next — you must be rolling in gold.”

“Or I’m leveraged in debt up to my eyeballs.”

He blinked, and looked around the room as if he was trying to gauge the ruth of the statement.

“Didn’t think of that did you?” I asked.

“You got gold here, I can smell it.”

“Quite the skill.”

“It’s an ability, asshole.”

Should have known. My mind whirred as I tried to come up with a good idea on how to deal with this drunk. All my weapons were on the other side of the room, save the sword I was born with, but I hesitated using that even against a rusty knife. Also, I needed to stop sleeping naked. And maybe put a better lock on my doors.

“Gold,” he said. “I’ll count to ten, and then—”

“No need to tax yourself,” I interrupted. “I used up most of my gold buying these places, but everything else I have is in a chest one floor below here.”

He seemed to think that through, then decided it made sense.

“Get your towel,” he said. “you come with me.”

I got my towel, wrapped it around my elven body, and I walked over to the robber.

Shae looked at me with tears in her eyes.

I just gave her a wink and smile.

Which pissed off my robber. He lashed out and gave my arm a rather vicious cut.

“Hey,” I shouted.

“Faster,” he snapped back at me. “And no communicating with her. I’ll not have you planing your escape.”

“My escape? You’re taking all my money. You’ve got full control in the situation.”

“You just remember that, elf.”

I frowned, not exactly a fan of racism.

“After you,” I said.

“Aren’t you the clever one,” he snapped. He pushed me in front, and I shrugged as I walked down the stairs. I opened the third floor apartment door, and went inside.

The lights were on, because I hadn’t figured out how to turn them off. I knew it was a bit wasteful, but, well, my time was valuable and I didn’t feel like looking around for a switch. If there was a switch. Most of the time, I turned the lights off my taking the glow stones out.

Rusty Knife was right behind me, and as soon as I was inside the apartment, he was as well, pushing me forward with one hand on my neck.

I thought about pulling of a cool judo move, flip him over my shoulder or something like that. Reality kicked in pretty quickly when I realized I was picturing Steven Seagal doing it, not myself.

Rusty gave me a shove, and I purposefully took a tumble, tripping with a solid thud. Which made me grimace because I didn’t want Lothar to hear noises above him and involved in this mess. Rusty grinned at the chest, excited, maybe, by the size of it. Or the look of it — it looked like a nice chest.

Dutifully, and even before he asked, I held the key out.

He snatched it from my hand.

“Any traps on that thing,” he said, “and I’ll cut off your fingers and feed them one by one—”

“There’s no traps,” I interrupted. “And you don’t need to go through these descriptions. Your threats are really just too weird to be scary at this point.”

He spit on me.

Which was gross, but not that impactful, really.

And then, licking his chops, almost literally but mostly metaphorically, Rusty strode towards the chest like he was about to have a great damn payday.

I really wish I could have seen the look on his face when he bent over and tried to put the key in the hole. Because that’s when Hellion opened up his mouth — a big mouth by the way, lots of crazy ivory-colored teeth — and the huge purple tongue lashed out and wrapped all the way around Rusty’s head.

There was definitely a muffled scream, and then Hellion pulled. The thief resisted a bit, but Hellion just chomped down in an incredible display of power and brutality. His teeth, each about as big around as my arm, punched through the poor man’s body from both top and bottom. It was just awful. Blood and other fluids poured out.

Then Hellion’s teeth started to move, essentially pulling the body the rest of the way into the mimic’s mouth. There was some chewing, and I heard the bones popping and snapping under the pressure of the mimic’s jaws. Not something I’d like to hear again. Finally, stillness.

But just for a second though, because Hellion kindly cleaned up after himself. His big purple tongue came out and lapped up all the expelled blood. And everything else.

After a moment, there was a slight belch, and then Hellion spat out the metal bits of the man. Including a gold tooth.

So, you know, that was gross.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Lothar was running up the stairwell when I walked out.

“You’re bleeding,” he said.

“Unpleasant visitor.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do we need to, um, dispose of the body?”

“Nope. It’s been handled.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“Boy okay?”

“He’s asleep.”

“Keep the window’s locked tight.”

“I will. Thank you. How did the intruder—”

“He followed someone inside.”

“The girl.”

“That’s the one.”

“Is she staying long?”

“As of yet undecided.”

“She’s probably trouble.”

“She’s definitely trouble.”

“As long as you know what you’re doing.”

“Would it surprise you if I said I have no idea?”

“Not at all,” he replied with a smile. “Good night.”

“Night.”

The girl in question was standing at the door with a sword in her hands.

“He’s gone,” I said.

“He took your money?” Shae asked.

“No,” I replied with a shake of my head, “of course not. He tried to open Hellion the Mimic, and Hellion the Mimic did as mimics do, I guess, and ate him.”

“Oh.”

“Isn’t that what always happens in these sorts of situations?”

“No.”

“Different strokes for different folks, I guess,” I said.

I stepped around her, and the sword, and paused, faltering a little as I walked. Had this been planned? Had she been part of the gambit? When I completed the quest to save her, it said she’d always be loyal to me. Or something along those lines. I wished there was a way to look over quests again. If there was, I hadn’t found it yet. Nor had I found someone I could tell about my actual origins so I could ask all the stupid questions I needed answers to. Instead, I just stumbled about like an idiot making Hamlet jokes no one else got.

I turned around to look at Shae. She was trying to lean the sword against the wall next to the door, but the sword kept sliding to the floor. I just didn’t see it. She had so little guile as to be, well, almost stereotypically a naive waif. That stereotype came from somewhere, in theory at least, so maybe there were people like that. Maybe Shae was one of those people. Or, she was playing the part, and she’d cut my throat while I slept and steal all my gold. At which point, I’d respawn, find her, kill her, and steal my gold back. Probably better to just trust her and enjoy the time around her instead of becoming a paranoid douchenozzle.

That settled, I smiled. And got dressed. And then I sat down at one of the workbenches I’d used to eat once.

“So,” I said.

“Yes?” Shae replied, stifling a yawn.

“I figured we should probably talk about your living situation.”

“You’re kicking me out.”

“I didn’t say that at all.”

“But that’s where this is going.”

“Knock that shit off. Wait for me to be an asshole before you decide I’m one.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m asking what you want.”

“I, what?”

“What do you want? Do you want to stay here? Do you want to go somewhere else? Do you want to try and get your own place?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had my own place.”

“Now could be the time for that.”

“It’s, I mean, I’m scared of being alone.”

“There’s more than a million people around you in this city. You’re not alone.”

“Knowing that makes me feel more alone, Clyde. I only know, I think, twelve of those million plus people.”

“Bah, pretty sure half the neighborhood passed through the bar to stare at you last night. The other half was probably there tonight.”

“That’s not true.”

“Don’t play that game. You know—”

“I’m just saying, there’s not that many people that go through the bar,” she said, a slight smile creeping up at the corner of her mouth. “But you know that’s not the same.”

“You can stay here, then,” I decided. “I’ll get Lothar to bring up another bed, we’ll set it up—”

“You don’t need to do this.”

“It’s already been done,” I said, getting to my feet.

“You need to sleep.”

I frowned, and tried to assess myself. I wasn’t feeling that tired. I’d gotten a bit of sleep the previous night and a bit of sleep this night. Not a ton, perhaps not enough, but I was wary of sleeping too much. I didn’t want to get into the habit of sleeping every night if I didn’t need to. I’d be giving up a giant advantage.

“The thing is,” I said, “I really don’t sleep that much. So you should take the bed tonight.”

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“I am,” I said, and I gave her a smile, as genuine as I could. I got up, got all the various supplies I needed to survive in the outside world, and I left.

Which, admittedly, was a bit of a mistake, because I think Shae wanted to talk more. It certainly seemed like it, but I didn’t want to talk. Especially since I had the distinct feeling that talk would be more along the lines of feelings and relationships, and that wasn’t something I was willing to engage in just yet. Not in this new world where there was still so much to be discovered.

I went down the stairs quickly, before I could change my mind about anything, and I stepped out into the cold night thinking I’d do a little healing magic until the wound in my arm closed. But as I stood there outside my front door, I shivered a little. It was much colder than I’d anticipated.

Which was weird. It was still summer, so why the cold snap?

I didn’t feel like shivering for hours on end, so I went back inside and up to the third floor. Before I did anything, I peeked inside and took a careful look at Hellion.

He was just chilling. Like a chest. As chests do. Though he seemed a mite bigger. And shinier. If I hadn’t been paying such close attention to him in recent days, one of the by — products of having a monster as roommate and pet — I probably wouldn’t notice it, but the trappings of the chest had gone from iron to brass. The wood looked to be of a finer grain. It was a legitimately nicer chest. And all that because he ate someone. I wondered if he leveled up. Unlike some games I’d played back in the Old World, monsters seemed to get levels. So it was entirely possible the new level brought about additional options for Hellion’s physical appearance. I had no idea. Maybe I could convince the creature to give me a peek at his character sheet. I could probably cast the identify spell at him, but I wasn’t sure if Hellion would pick that up, if he’d know I cast a spell on him. I was worried he’d take it as an offensive gesture, and I didn’t want the mimic to lash his tongue out at me just because I was being curious.

I got closer to the chest, carefully. Just a step at a time. I wasn’t sure how long his tongue was, and I didn’t relish the idea of getting licked and stuck into the mouth of the beast. And yet, I wanted to see the various bits of metal left over from the erstwhile and unlucky thief.

There was the knife, of course, the gold tooth, and some coinage. And it was among the coins where I found the exciting stuff.

Two account coins, one of which I recognized. Seemed like it was time to make another visit to Gideon. Twice in two days. Lucky me. At least now I had a reason to brace the cold.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

But it wasn’t cold out.

I stepped through the door, wrapped in a blanket I’d found in my training apartment, and it was back to normal outside. One more step in the blanket, and I’d be sweating.

Looking around, I couldn't see anything that would dictate a reason for such an extreme temperature swing. It was really creepy. I tossed the blanket back inside the building, and headed over to Gideon’s shop. It was time to close out another account.

There were more guard patrols out than usual, and I was definitely a person of interest now. I got more looks that one night than I had any night before. There’d definitely been a shift in mood that day. I suppose that’s what happens when a member of government is suddenly impacted.

No one confronted me though, even though they had every reason to question an Elf walking around alone at that hour. That’s when I realized that it was just for show. The minister had clearly rattled some cages, and whoever was at the top of the City Guard heap put more guards on patrol. But any orders to really crack down hadn’t been given.

Gideon was in when I got to his shop. Naturally. The lights were on, the curtains pulled back and the door was open. However, he hadn’t regained his pallor from yesterday. He still looked pretty shitty, his skin almost elephant grey and droopy to the point where I questioned if his skin suit needed restitching. One more nail in the coffin of the man actually being human, which I didn’t believe at that point anyway. But it was interesting to see such obvious proof. It was almost like his human suit needed to be tailored a bit. If that’s what it was. I’m not saying he was wearing a suit, just, well, whatever. He was freaky-looking.

“Evergreen,” he said with a slight bow as I walked in. “Two nights in a row. We are honored with your visit.”

I smiled back at him, and put my coin on the counter. He picked it up, reached out to me, did the thing with the warm and the cold, and then put my coin back on the counter. Which I’d never really thought of before. How could he hold the coin at the same time as he was holding both my hands?

“What is it we may help you with?” he asked.

“I, uh,” I stammered a second because I kind of really wanted to ask him about the whole two hands and a coin thing. And yet, he loved secrecy. Maybe another night. “I found this,” I said, and I put the thief’s account coin on the counter.

“Do you wish to claim the account?”

“I do. This guy’s not coming back.”

“Information we do not need,” Gideon said with a slight smile. “We will retrieve the holdings.”

Gideon closed his eyes, and some of the little cloaked figures rushed out and opened crates and pulled apart boxes. One climbed up a set of shelves to pull a long case off of one of the rafters above. His storage system was a damn mystery, but not to his little workers. I guess that added a certain layer of security to things. A moment later, and there was a wide array of goods on the counter.

“There is no credit remaining in this account,” Gideon said. “Merely these goods.”

There was a pretty thick layer of dust on some of the containers. I think Gideon noticed me noticing the dust.

“It has been some time since that account holder has been here,” Gideon said.

“Hopefully there’s something of value here,” I said.

Gideon nodded ever so slightly, which I took as a sign of agreement.

I started with the long thing case, which looked something like a pool cue holder built out of dark wood. I flipped the little latch open, and looked inside.

It was a spear. It had a very long thin handle, starting dark and shiny at the bottom and then wrapped with something that looked like bandages. Tattered and somewhat yellowing though. The spearhead was, obviously, pointy. But the sides of the spearhead glinted in the light, and they looked really damn sharp. The bottom of the spear head was kind of bulbous, so, looking at it in the right way, it appeared as if someone had flattened a bell. And, given the slight yellow tinge to the metal, that might have been the case.

“Can you identify this?” I asked.

Gideon closed his eyes and nodded once.

I felt a flicker of magic out in the world, and then it was done.

Death Knell

Item Type: Mythic

Item Class: Two-handed Melee

Material: Bronze, Obsidian

Damage: 50-120 (Piercing)

Durability: 800/1000

Weight: 5.1 lbs

Requirements: Str 12

Description: A bronze haft tipped with an obsidian spear point, there are several muted bells attached with black ribbons below the spearhead. When Death Knell kills a creature, there is a chance the bells will sound. Any creature having suffered damage recently will be required to make a death save, or die.

I was impressed with the weapon, but it didn’t seem like something I could use.

“Selling that,” I said.

“Credit?” Gideon asked, almost too excited.

I sighed, and nodded. I needed to use up more of my credit getting useful items and not just identifying things I’d then sell back to Gideon.

Up next was a small chest, about the size of a ream of paper. Opening it up, I found paper. Well, probably parchment. A stack of it. All full. Notes, hand-drawn maps. A real collection of information that might have been useful, or might have just been the ramblings of a drunk. Either way, I could see that Gideon had no use for the paper, but seemed itching to have his box back.

“I’ll take the parchment,” I said.

He nodded, and quickly stacked the paper in front of me. He passed the box to a waiting figure, who disappeared it into the back of the shop.

Next was a crate filled with weapons, all common, all bladed, all small. Daggers and short swords and everything in between. I bet the old man had stored his armory with Gideon on the off chance he lost all his weapons. There wasn’t anything I was interested in. Nothing was better than the few blades I had on me, and I didn’t need a a massive collection of crap weapons.

“Credit.”

Gideon nodded.

There was some more junk, a box of silverware and silver flatware, all sorts of silver really. It was a bit depressing really, because I felt like I was disposing of the man’s retirement fund. Or savings. Though he’d probably have been willing to kill me. I realized I’d never bothered to heal the wound on my arm. Maybe that’s why all the City Guards had been looking at me.

Anyway, there was the silver, some rare books (non-magical, unfortunately), a few loose gems. Really just a collection of things the man had stolen but hadn’t gotten around to selling yet. From my estimation the spear was the highlight of the collection. And after twenty minutes opening containers and emptying them out, I had nothing really to show for it except a few more coins to my name at Gideon’s place. I really hoped he wasn’t about to pick up and take off. That’d suck.

“See you later, Gideon,” I said.

“Evergreen.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

I headed north. I had plenty of time to kill before work, and I figured I’d go explore the city. Look for trouble.

I’m sure you’re shocked to hear that I didn’t get very far before trouble found me.

There I was, just minding my own business, strolling up the street like I had somewhere to be. I noticed two shapes step out in front of me, and go along in the direction I was traveling.

Which wasn’t that odd in itself, except that I also heard people walking behind me. A glance over my shoulder revealed two people walking about ten feet back.

The men in front stopped. I stopped, which meant the two behind caught up to me and grabbed me under the arms. They frogmarched me into an alley and then shoved me onto the floor of a waiting carriage. It wasn’t the nicest sort of thing, it had a real utilitarian flair to it but was ultimately kind of a piece of shit. But since I didn’t even have a piece of shit, I had no choice but to envy this piece of shit.

I picked myself up off the floor and got up to a seated position. Almost as soon as my butt hit the poorly-cushioned seat, the carriage began bumping along the cobblestone road.

A familiar man sat across from me, dressed elegantly in all black and eating very plump grapes.

“Hatchett,” he said, “Clyde Hatchett.”

“Isn’t that my line?” I asked.

“Saving you the trouble.”

“Due thanks.”

He smiled, and offered a grape.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He shrugged, and popped another into his mouth. I could hear it burst as he bit down.

“I felt it was time we had a meeting,” he said.

“The Iron Silents.”

“You remember! How pleasant.”

“I try.”

“On the one hand, I am happy to tell you that our desire to purchase your building has waned. We are no longer planning to pursue that project.”

“Good.”

“It was an interesting chat we had with your handlers. That dandy you sent after us was really quite the talker. I admit to being rather surprised that you are in the same game as us, and yet you never let us know. Nor did you seek membership in our organization.”

“I just figured you were too elite for the likes of me.”

“Now now, no need to go about being so modest. We’ve seen some of what you’re capable of, and though others amongst the Iron Silents prefer to remain unimpressed by much of anything, I was pleasantly surprised to see how you handled yourself in the Bright.”

I wanted to hide my surprise better than I did. The asshole just smiled.

“You’d be surprised by how much we see around the city,” he said. “And just what connections we have.”

“I don’t suppose you’re about to tell me?”

“That ship has sailed, Mr. Hatchett. Unfortunately, we find ourselves on opposite sides of things. You chose poorly, and so you are on the losing side.”

“I didn’t know we were fighting each other.”

“Our business is a zero-sum game, Mr. Hatchett. I don’t expect you to know the term, but it means there can only be a single winner.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.”

“That’s because you lack intelligence, Mr. Hatchett. I have seen your kind before.”

“Is this a weird sort of threat?”

“This is professional courtesy,” the man replied. “This is us letting you know that you’re operating within our territory. Should you wish to continue, you’ll need to pay a tax.”

“A tax? A thieving tax?”

“You can call it what you will, Mr. Hatchett, but we expect 2,000 gold once a month.”

“And if I don’t pay?”

“We will ask you to leave Old Town.”

“By leave, do you mean you’re going to kill me?”

“That remains to be seen. We expect to receive payment once a month. Now, since it’s the beginning of the month, and we’re feeling a tad generous, the tax will be due on the first of next month.”

“And what do I get by giving you this payment?”

“You get to remain in Old Town.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to offer, like, protection? That’s how this racket goes normally, right?”

“Maybe if you were some shopkeeper we were hoping to swindle out of money. But you’re in the game. You know the reality of the situation. So why add layers of nonsense we don’t need?”

“I mean, you should at least take me out for a drink before you bend me over like this. Two thousand gold? That’s not chump change.”

He just smirked. I really wanted to punch him in the mouth, but considering that his stooges were all riding the carriage, I knew that wouldn’t go over well.

“Again,” the man said, “you chose poorly. I believe, however, this is your stop.”

I looked out the window, and saw something unfamiliar. It was a deeply purple stone wall that rose up rather high into the sky. Behind the wall came an ethereal and creepy green glow.

“I think you’ve got my destination a bit wrong.”

“No,” the man said, “we don’t. This is where you need to be. Get your levels up. If you had been, say more forthcoming with us, we probably would be willing to help you, but you seem to, instead, enjoy being glib and sassy. We are betting on you, so a good performance might elicit a little leniency on our part. Do try not to die. Which is really the lesson you need to learn tonight. Enjoy!”

“What do you mean you’re betting on me?”

The door opened, and the four men were right there again. They grabbed me before I could react, and carried me across the street to an iron door.

One of the thugs pounded once on the door, and then it opened. It got pulled up into the wall.

The thugs tossed me through the portal, and I landed on soft dirt on the other side.

I scrambled to my feet and lunged for the opening, but the iron door dropped shut with a clang, leaving me on the wrong side. I turned around to see where I’d been tossed.

There was glowing green in the air itself, dead trees sprouting up out of dark soil. Death was everywhere. As were tombstones, mausoleums, and grave markers. I was in the Shade. And I wasn’t alone.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Howls and groans echoed around me. The noises sent shivers down my spine. It was like my brain was hardwired to respond with fear.

I took a few deep breaths, and looked around. Like, really looked around.

Graveyard, as far as I could see. It was basically flat, save a few dead trees and some mausoleums. I could also see a small tower with a burning flame in the distance. I had no idea what it was, but since it was the only thing that looked anything like civilization, I figured it was probably a good place to head.

There was, of course, the wall. It was right behind me, and it towered over me, at least 50 feet up, made out of a strange purple sort of stone. Magic seemed to come off the stone in a steady trickle, and that made me guess there was a strong enchantment on it. Probably to keep all the nasty undead stuff on the inside. Which didn’t do me any good. I had no idea what the Iron Silents had done to get me inside, and I had no idea who might be on the top of the wall watching. What I did know is that I wasn’t super keen on dying.

Or was I? Maybe dying might be a smart tactical retreat from here.

But then the Iron Silents would know about my Earthly origins, and I really didn’t want to give them that info. Not unless I absolutely had to.

It was certainly a tough spot. I could see movement in front of me — something below the surface was trying to push through.

Time to do something. I decided the quickest way out of the place had to be over the wall. So I tried to climb it.

It didn’t matter what I did — I couldn’t get a grip on the stone. Nothing worked. Jumping up, I’d just slide right down. It was a little like the surface was much smoother than it appeared, and someone had sprayed the entire thing with an industrial-strength application of PAM. I bet a fried egg would still stick on it.

Scaling the wall was out, so I turned around to try and gauge how far away the flaming tower was. But thinking it through, it probably wasn’t the best idea to go for the tower.

It wasn’t so much the distance, but rather what was between me and the tower. At present, it was a lot of shambling corpses, a few ambulatory skeletons, and at least one creature that seemed to have been several skeletons combined into a new, much worse transformer skeleton creature. The singular silver lining was that nothing was sprinting. This was a world with slow-moving zombies. Small miracles do happen.

A hand burst from the ground in a shower of dirt and slapped around my ankle. It had a crushing grip, like someone using their full strength without realizing it. I pulled, but the hand had me. I started to worry I had fallen prey to the first rule of slow zombies: always pay attention.

I pulled out my dagger, and swiped at the greying flesh.

It cut through the flesh like it wasn’t there, but the hand’s bone was a different matter. The dagger bit into that and got caught. This was not my night.

I did have a few aces tucked up my sleeve. I could call up an Outsider Guardian. Sure, I might call down some elder god who’d eat the entire world to keep me safe, thereby directly causing the end of all things. But at least I wouldn’t die getting caught by a slow-ass zombie. Or, I could try one of my other offensive spells. Well. Singular. My other offensive spell.

I knelt down and grabbed the forearm, swallowing the revulsion from touching rotting flesh. I got some mana together, and I cast drain.

The creature started screeching from under the dirt. It was pretty muffled, and easy to ignore because of this remarkably unpleasant feeling inside myself. Burning pain and a searing excruciation bursting all over my insides.

Then, blissfully, it was over.

The zombie’s hand had withered to basically nothing. A hand version of a shrunken head.

GG! You’ve killed a zombie (Lvl 6 Undead)

You’ve earned 0 xp (cost of drain spell)! What a mighty hero you are.

Whizz-bang! You’ve absorbed the following from a zombie: +3 HP. + 38 Baking.

Baking. And three hit points. Well, at least I wasn’t losing anything, right?

The spell worked okay. Not great, just okay. A bit hard on the mana, it took a third of my stores to drain the bastard, and a bit hard on alertness. It basically took me out of action for a hot minute. If I did the spell in the middle of a group, I’d be killed. Or eaten. Likely both.

Another hand came out of the ground near me, and I just booted the thing like I was kicking a field goal. The arm bones snapped, and the hand went flying. It would seem my potential enemies were largely pushovers. But they had numbers. I counted another eight hands pushing up through the dirt all around me.

Which meant it was time to move. I didn’t move quickly — that wasn’t a good move. Not against this many enemies who moved so slowly towards a wall. Instead, I paced myself. I was still in the city, this was just another neighborhood, and it probably had similar dimensions. So I just had to walk my ass out.

Like a good cult leader, I soon had quite the following. Sure, they were mostly braindead and drooling, but I figured they like me for who I was on the inside, not just the sounds I made. Sadly, there were no calls of braaaaaaaaaains. That really would have made my night.

It took about ten or twenty minutes before things changed. There was a guttural roar of sorts, and then a grey-skinned humanoid with a long tendril of a tongue and horrible claws coming off its hands came screaming towards me. There were vague remnants of clothing on the thing, which made me think it could very well have been human at one point. There was little left of its humanity, though. Just hunger and madness.

I pulled my dagger out and dropped into a ready stance. With the speed the thing had, there was no real chance I’d outrun the beast. I did take a chance and fired off a quick identification spell.

Ghoul

Lvl 9 Undead

I guess, then, it was time to have a ghoul old time.

The ghoul was on me, but thanks to the hours I spent dodging attacks in the pit, I had no trouble faking the guy out. Just a little shimmy-shake, and the ghoul lunged to the right. I stabbed him in the back as he passed by. The dagger must have struck something inside, because the momentum of the ghoul ripped the blade right out of my hand. Other than that, it seemed to have no effect.

The creature slid around on the loose soil, but as soon as the ghoul got his footing back, he was after me again.

Then I was saved by an unlikely source. A zombie finally managed to get himself up and out of the grave, and was promptly bowled over by the ghoul.

It was classic slapstick, the two undead tangled up in a ghoulish mess. I took the moment to jump up and stomp on the ghoul’s ankles, and heard a satisfying crunch of bone.

The ghoul reared up with a roar, and then promptly bit down on the zombie. And started to devour the rotting flesh.

“That’s really gross bub,” I said. But the ghoul seemed totally happy with his feast, so I just plucked my dagger out of the ghoul’s back. It came free with a sickening pop, and then I walked away, mere yards ahead of the encroaching zombie crowd.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Ten or so minutes later, I’d regained a sizable lead over the horde. However, the horde was growing. As I crossed the graves, more and more bodies rose and shambled after me. As long as I could keep going, then I’d have a decent chance at survival. And yet, I’d seen once how foolish that line of thinking could be.

When I looked around, I saw other, larger, creatures in the distance, barely shadows in the green-tinged fog that seemed to be getting thicker and thicker.

This was definitely one of the creepiest, if not the creepiest place I’d ever been. Which isn’t saying that much — I was never much for horror films or haunted houses.

I kept my eyes open for a new weapon. My current rogue skills and weapons weren’t exactly the most useful against the undead. Zombies didn’t get surprised, and they didn’t seem overly concerned with stabbing damage either. If I remembered my meta-gaming, undead and blunt weapons were the key combination. But it’s not like there was an overabundance of weapons or general stores in the hood.

I had no idea what happened to the zombies or the ghouls or the whatever when there weren’t living people in the graveyard, but they didn’t just lay down. There were empty graves all over the place. I suppose I could have hopped into one in the hopes I’d find a ceremonial sword or two, but that’d be death. Getting back out of a six-foot-deep hole with plenty of loose earth in and around it was a no-go. I’d be zed-snack in no time.

There was a bunch of movement in front of me as a smaller pack of fast moving things — they looked like ghouls to me — dashed from one mausoleum over to a particular gravestone.

Not wanting to deal with all of them at once, I headed towards the mausoleum.

It looked like a small stone house, about ten feet high at the edge, and another four or so feet to the tippy top of the slightly sloped roof. I peeked through the iron bars that made up the door and saw enough room for three coffins on each side, plus an altar at the back with quite a few glow stones around a bas relief carving of a haunted-looking man.

Whatever the ghouls had run from was around back. So I went around back, leaning out from the wall to take a look.

I saw a fresh corpse wearing burnished golden armor and looking very much like it had just dropped a mace and a shield. This might be my lucky day.

The corpse coughed lightly.

“Shit,” I said in surprise.

Slowly, the head turned my way, and then the figure raised the visor on its helm. There was a human beneath the visor, a man with a big bushy blonde mustache and blood coming out of his mouth.

“Didn’t expect to see anyone like you here,” the man said. He had kind eyes, but his eyebrows were out of control. “You fancy becoming a meal?”

“Hey buddy, at least I’m upright.”

“Got me there, you do.”

“Do you think you’ll have long to live?” I asked.

“Likely not,” the figure said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Really depends on how long the ghouls are distracted.”

He coughed, and more blood came out of his mouth.

I took a few steps closer to the man and eyed the mace on the ground. The figure’s hand reached for the haft, but there was no strength left. So I took the mace. Not like it was going to be useful for the guy anymore.

“Thanks,” I said. “And, I mean, sorry.”

“Good luck,” he said, and closed his eyes.

I peeked around the edge of the mausoleum, and I noticed that the horde following me had been distracted by whatever the ghouls had been interested in. Nothing was paying attention to me — I could make a break for it.

But I heard a cough behind me, and while I really wanted to just bolt in the direction I hoped might be an exit, I hesitated. I knew I should just look out for myself and screw everyone else, but I couldn’t leave someone to die. I just didn’t have it in me. And maybe if the guy was, I don’t know, more upset about things, or something, I’d have left him. But he was just so accepting of his fate that I wanted to alter it.

So I turned back to the armored figure, and I knelt at his side.

The man turned his head and opened one eye in a squint.

“Back again?”

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing here,” I said, “and I have basically no idea what these creatures are capable of, so, uh, I don’t think the best move is me fighting all of them off.”

“Likely not.”

“So what should I do?”

“First plan was the best plan.”

“Taking your weapon and leaving?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, that didn’t work. This weird feeling welled up inside, and—”

“You were sent for me.”

“No. Can’t say that’s the case.”

“She spoke to you?”

“Let’s hold off on an investigation of where my sense of conscience might have come from, okay?”

I stood up and peeked around the corner.

Whatever was keeping the ghouls interested was definitely wearing off. Now the ghouls were falling on the zombies in a feeding frenzy of sorts that was rather grotesque to watch. I almost felt sorry for the zombies. Almost.

Back to the armored man, who was smiling.

“I’m taking the smile as a sign you’ve got a plan,” I said.

“Enjoying that you’re trying,” he replied.

“Yeah well, pretty sure only one of us gets to lay around. Got any more of whatever you threw to get the ghouls to run away?”

He used his chin to gesture out towards a small pouch laying forgotten on the dirt about twenty feet away from us. The drag marks from that spot led directly to the wounded warrior. I knew time was tight, but I could make it. I crawled across the graveyard and snatched the pouch. It held a single red vial and a small black stone.

I looked back at the man, making sure I had my best what-the-hell face on.

He mouthed the word ‘stone.’ At least, I think he did because his big-ass mustache covered most of his mouth.

The stone? I thought. It was smooth and fit nicely in my palm. Seemed like it would be something good for, say, throwing or skipping. But for the life of me, or the un-life of me, I had no idea how it might attract or interest the undead.

Still, magic had weird ways of working. I stood up and I threw the stone as hard as I could. It flew pretty straight, pachinko-ing off a number of grave markers until it settled to the dirt about thirty yards distant.

I crawled back over to the man and showed him the vial.

“Healing potion?” I asked.

“A lesser lesser one.”

“Two lessers?”

“Very weak.”

“Better than a poke in the eye. Take it.”

“You should—”

“Let’s ease back on the martyr train, okay?” I snatched the vial back from him, flipped the cork out with my thumb, and jammed it through the face whiskers and into his mouth.

He swallowed it, and almost magically, well, it technically was magic, his face regained a little color. Not a whole lot — he still looked like hot shit — but at least he no longer seemed on the threshold of death.

“The bloodstone?” he asked.

“I threw it that way.”

“Did you put blood in it?”

“The stone? No. I just threw, oh. You need — yeah, that makes sense.”

“Blood. Makes the stone work.”

“Got that now. Looks like we need to get up.”

“I might be able to move some, but I fear my ribs are still quite broken.”

He pulled his tabard to the side, and I could see that the armor over his chest and abdomen was dented in major ways.

“Ghouls hit hard?” I asked.

He laughed a little, then groaned and grabbed his sides.

I grabbed his hand, feeling a little weird because he had on a metal gauntlet and my hand was just, well, flesh, but I pulled him to his feet. He was definitely unsteady.

“Up top?” he asked.

“Gives us a bit of room from the roving hordes.”

“Let us hope they’ve not learned the fine art of climbing.”

“How about praying to that god of yours?”

“Sure, once we’re up.”

I interlaced my fingers and put my back against the wall. He put his foot onto my hands, and I gave as much as I could to the armored man, lifting for all I was worth. It was just enough to get his fingers up and onto the edge of the building. But dude was strong, because was already pulling himself up, despite making some real utterances of pain. But the real issue, and probably one major reason why rogues usually forwent plate armor, was that metal on stone isn’t particularly quiet. So a lot of scraping and banging and clanking happened.

Which the ghouls heard. Suddenly, they all got rather quiet.

“Well shit,” I said.

I shoved his feet, and he disappeared over the edge.

The rumble of undead feet smacking the ground vibrated through my body. I grabbed the mace and shield and threw them up to the roof, hoping my new friend was fast enough to catch them.

Then it was my turn. I ran at the building, jumped, kicked off the wall, and grabbed out. I’d fallen short. I wasn’t going to make it. And I could see the first of the ghouls sliding around the corner, slavering at the chance to get some tasty living flesh.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Two hands reached out and snagged my wrists, then wrenched me up.

I tumbled onto the roof, landing on some of the pointy bits of the man’s armor. I heard cries from down below. I rolled off the man, got to my feet, and grabbed the mace. I peeked over, trying to see if the ghouls were climbing.

Not yet.

Plenty of them were jumping up and clawing at the stone. None of them seemed to have grasped the basic concept of grasping. At least not at inorganic non-food objects. I shook my head, feeling like we might be actually get a little luck.

We had very little room on the roof. Which was somewhat to be expected, considering, you know, it was a roof. Of a mausoleum. A small flat area, maybe two feet wide, ran all the way around. Then there was a very gentle upslope to a point, and finally, along the ridge-line of the roof, some decorative spikes. But that took up a decent chunk of the space. There was a spire at the far end, sticking up about ten more feet, with a religious symbol of some kind on the top.

My armored comrade was laying back on the roof, breathing hard.

“You want some help getting that armor off?” I asked.

“I suppose… breathing… might be… nice…”

I shook my head, but knelt at his side and started undoing buckles.

The undead below were loud and made a tremendously diverse amount of noise. Roars, groans, screams, yells, shouts, chatters. And then there was the rhythmic thump of flesh on stone. All together, it was a cacophony of horrible, nightmare-inducing noises, loud enough I had trouble thinking.

Once I got the armor loose, the man did the rest on his own, stacking up his golden armor carefully by his side before leaning back and taking in great big lungfuls of air. His torso was pretty messed up. There were lots of indentations that looked recent, with some incredible colors coming on line. Massive contusions filled with blood. Plus there were more than a few ribs poking out more than they should have.

Still, the man was seriously muscled. Muscle on muscle. And given the road-map of scars over his body, I had the feeling he’d been fighting a while. He looked a little older than I’d expected, though, and some wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gave me the idea that he probably smiled a lot. He did seem to be a jovial fellow, despite the rather grim circumstances. He had blonde hair and blue eyes, and just an incredible amount of scars.

I took another glance over the edge, though that was not a great idea. As soon as I did, the ghouls on the edge went nuts, trying to grab me. The herd of zombies had taken up position on the opposite side of the mausoleum, but, so far, they were much easier to deal with. They didn’t jump at all. Rather, when I went to look at them, they just reached for me, seemingly oblivious to the gaping distance between us.

“Shall we trade names, or would you rather remain a mystery man?”

“Clyde Hatchett.”

“Well, Master Hatchett, I am Sir Leofing Walrond,” he struggled for a second, but he couldn’t manage to get to his feet. “I would give you the bow a meeting such as this requires, but alas—”

“No bow needed. I’ve always felt the undead bring any situation a certain informality.”

He chuckled, then grimaced.

“No humor, please,” he said through clenched teeth. But even with that, he had a hint of a smile. “Any particular reason you chose to spend a night here?

That was a tough question. Well, it was a question that had any number of answers. I had no idea what this man was connected to, or who he might be connected to, and I wasn’t really sure the power levels in the city. I didn’t want to just throw the Iron Silents name around.

“A terrible prank,” I said.

“A prank? You’re in the Shade as a prank. Risking your life?”

“At the time, I didn’t know how dangerous it was.”

“You are my kind of fool,” the guy said, shaking his head.

“New to the city. I had no idea what this place might be like.”

“The Shade is famous the world over for the undead inside.”

“Sheltered upbringing, I suppose.”

“It would seem so.”

There was an increase in screaming and wailing, and I looked over to see another group of ghouls headed our way.

“Seems like there’s more trouble on the way,” I said.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ghouls,” I said.

“Bah, ghouls are hardly an issue.”

“They seemed to take you down.”

“This? This was the result of a ghast.”

“Not familiar with any of those.”

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“Should I be on the lookout for them?”

“They’ll find us fine.”

“I’m a little concerned with your attitude.”

“No sense getting worked up when death is inevitable.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You’re so happy and yet so fatalistic. It weirds me out.”

One of the ghouls was getting some real air. His horrific grey head was popping up at a regular interval.

I grabbed the mace, teed up, and swung for the far hole.

The big round ball of metal on the end of the stick connected with the bridge of the ghoul’s nose, and there was a glorious yet grotesque spray of grey matter, rotten flesh, and flecks of yellow bones. I felt like Tiger Woods. Or Ash Williams. Tiger Williams? Ash Woods? Ash Woods. Good ring to it.

“Fantastic,” the man behind me said.

“Thank you.”

“Have you trained with the mace?”

“Not a whit.”

“You are a natural.”

“No, I think it’s just an adjacent skill. Golf.”

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Not Quite Golf. Now you can swing things and pretend you’re playing golf without actually playing it. Bonus for also having the skill, Lying to Yourself.

This game-world certainly seemed to up the snark, and it made me wonder if there was something else going on.

“Haven’t heard of that weapon. The golf.”

“Really a useless one. You’re here for a calling?”

“It is a pilgrimage of sorts. For my order.”

“Yeah, I noticed the gold armor. God of Justice.”

“Pshaw,” he said. “Those fools chose their armor after ours.”

“Both gold though.”

“Ours is burnished gold. We wear our armor to fight, not look good. At least I do.”

“Well there’s a hint of passive aggressiveness. Should we have a heart-to-heart in the middle of this delightful graveyard?”

He chuckled, then grimaced.

Bear in mind, we were basically shouting at each other to be heard over the undead din below.

“I, too, am new to this city,” he said, well, shouted. “I came to test myself in the Shade Gauntlet. To spend a month within the Shade, fighting against the very darkest of the undead, and helping to prevent an undead horde from pouring forth into the city itself.”

“A month? Like, thirty days?”

“More like a night lasting thirty days.”

“Where do you sleep?”

“See yon tower, with the burning flame atop? We sleep there. We rest, heal, eat, sleep all within the safe walls of that blessed tower.”

“Except you got taken down by a ghast.”

For the first time, I saw the smile leave his face. “I was cast out.”

“I can tell why — you’re such a jerk.”

He shook his head. “If that were the case, I would welcome this shame. But I was pushed out because I was the only paladin who was willing to sally forth every chance I got to fight back this undead menace. The others only wanted to feast. Drink. Fornicate. It became a tower of hedonism. And though I spoke out against their actions, that this was not the duty we were ascribed, they jeered. Told me this was how it has always been. A respite from the world, from their regular duties. That this time in the temple was sacred as a celebration. So I let them have their play-land, but I fought. And when I last returned to the tower, with but two bloodstones and a single lesser lesser health potion remaining, I found the gates locked. My shouts to the tower went unanswered. At least by the other members of my order. I attracted the attention of plenty of others, however, and so I had no choice but to retreat. And it was not the first ghast that took me down. It was the third.”

“Holy balls, what level are you?”

“54.”

“I think you’re the highest level I’ve come across.”

“You need to get out more.”

“You’re not wrong. And three ghasts took you down?”

“A combination of ghasts, ghouls, corpse-gobblers, zombies, grunters, and the like. It was a long day before I returned, and it has been a long night since then. I had done my best, and I was willing to lay down and accept whatever it was the goddess had brought to me. Then you showed up.”

“Yeah, let’s not make me a savior here.”

“Are you not my savior?”

“Not yet.”

“Ah, but even if I die here, at least I was not torn apart by the ghouls. I am more likely to die of my wounds peacefully here.”

“Enough with the peaceful. How about you stoke some rage at the assholes who left you to die?”

“They will get their due.”

“Not if you just lay down and die.”

“Admit the goddess sent you. Tell me that, and I will get up and follow you for life.”

“I don’t know, maybe she did. I don’t even know who your goddess is!”

“Help me to my knees.”

“What are we doing here?”

“We are doing nothing. You are helping me up, and I am praying to my goddess.”

“You need to do that on your knees?” I asked.

“It helps,” he replied, reaching his hand out for mine.

I pulled him up to his knees, and he started praying. Which looked a lot like him bowing at the waist and resting his head on the stone of the mausoleum while muttering something under his breath.

With a shake of my head, I turned around in time to see a ghoul catch itself on the ledge.

“They figured it out,” I said. “We’re going to have company!”

“Bit busy myself,” the paladin said.

I lashed out with my foot, punting the ghoul right in the head and knocking him off the building. Which just gave the next one a step up.

Ghoul Two grabbed the edge, just like the first had done, but he swiped out with his talon-like fingers, forcing me back. I replied with an overhead swing of the mace, hitting his hand into a flesh-bone jelly against the rock. Hell, I hit hard enough the a chunk of the rock broke off, and Ghoul Two fell.

And much like the first, two just gave the other twenty a basically literal leg up.

This time, two jumped at the same time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

On the one side, I had 20 ghouls jumping and climbing onto the mausoleum, having somehow figured out the key to getting on the roof, which had eluded them for the whole time the stupid praying paladin and I had been up there. And on the other, I had the aforementioned stupid paladin. Still busy praying.

Not the best situation.

Not the worst either, I suppose. Considering there could be bigger and badder creatures attacking us. Twenty ghouls jumping wasn’t the hardest fight. It was mostly just timing. They jump and I swing. I wished for a slightly longer mace, but I had to make do with the thing I had.

Mace

Item Type: Common

Item Class: One-handed Melee, Two-handed Melee

Material: Steel, Oak.

Damage: 30-40 (Bludgeoning)

Durability: 20/20

Weight: 6.4 lbs

Requirements: Str 9

Description: A spiked metal ball on the end of a wooden handle.

On the fourth death, I realized I was getting some nice xp.

GG! You’ve killed a Ghoul (lvl 12 Undead).

You’ve earned 500 xp! What a mighty hero you are.

And then on the tenth, I got a skill:

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Mace. Now you can swing dull objects and likely not hurt yourself. Soon, maybe you can hurt others. +5% damage. +5% skill.

And another:

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Skull Crushing. Aim for the head, and crush it like a melon. +5% damage. +5% particulate spray.

Not a bad morning, all things considered.

But even though I’d killed a fair number of the undead, the crowd wasn’t thinning out. And I was slowly but surely building the bastards a ramp.

“Getting crowded here,” I said.

Nothing from Leofing. I was starting to see why the others may have tossed him out.

A ghoul got farther than the others and lunged at me. I twisted out of his way, swinging the mace down on the creature’s back with a dull thunk as he passed by. Then I grabbed the stumbling half-paralyzed ghoul by the neck on my second spin, and assisted him down the far side, right over the still-kneeling paladin.

Back to the problem wall, and there was a smiling ghoul there. Like he was waiting for me to turn around because he wanted to scare me or surprise me.

“Idiot,” I said, and swung the mace in a beautiful underhand, smashing the bottom jaw hard enough it cut the long green tongue off. The creature lost its balance fell in and amongst its kind.

Then it was hit to the left, hit to the right, trying to keep two encroaching ghouls off-balance enough that they’d fall. I had a mild advantage in space — they were all at the edge, and constantly stepping on each other, both literally and figuratively. So a jab or a push in the right direction might take two of them down at once. Which was always a nice feeling.

With the group below still growing, and somehow getting sneakier and smarter, I had a feeling we were really up against the end of it. Well, at least I was. Sir Knight the Useless was still doing his thing with his goddess.

Four more ghouls were up, five total. With no other option, I grabbed the shield and used it as a ram. I shoved three back hard, then flipped the shield over and smacked another across the face with it.

The last one grabbed me, and I did a good ol’ foot-stomp and shove. It was definitely not pretty fighting — it was almost embarrassing. I’m sure if there was anyone watching I might have felt a modicum of shame, but I didn't think the other ghouls really cared. But having shifted tactics from killing the undead (weird concept) to shoving them meant that I wasn’t building the ramp up higher any longer, but I also wasn’t thinning the herd.

So the ghouls decided to help me out.

They stopped jumping, and instead, bizarrely fought amongst each other in a frenzy of violence. No eating, just fighting and killing. Or whatever the appropriate term is for ending the un-life of the undead.

I watched, mouth agape, at the really confusing sight.

“Hey Leofing,” I called out, “weird shit is going down!”

“I am in the midst of a mystical and arcane process,” he shouted back. “Please give me a moment or two of respite!”

I gave him a look over my shoulder, mustering my best you-have-got-to-be-shitting-me look. But he didn’t even see it. He was back to praying.

Then, as if things weren’t strange enough, the ghouls somehow found a new gear. The remaining ghouls, injured though they were, started stacking bodies up, just straight building a ramp with their dead. Undead. Re-dead. Corpses. And it wasn’t long before the ramp was big enough that they could just walk right up onto the roof of the mausoleum.

“Might want to think about moving,” I said.

“If you interrupt me again, I will be forced to start over again,” Leofing said.

“I’m starting to really dislike this goddess of yours.”

No response.

I held the shield in one hand, mace in the other, and readied myself to receive the ghouls. I had no other option: it was time for man-on-ghoul fighting. I wasn’t about to give up one of my respawns for these assholes. The last advantage I had is they were injured after their fight, and I was still fresh as a daisy.

The first stepped onto the roof, and I swung low as the creature blocked high, smashing it in the kneecap. One of the things I’d realized about the ghouls, they may have had slightly different physiology than normal humans, but their bodies still relied on physics to work. No knee, no forward movement. Plus, even though I was a crap fighter, so were they. They relied on speed, surprise, and numbers to win. So in a stand-up fight, it was mine to lose.

Sort of. They still had numbers.

The first few went down easy, but the only reason I wasn’t overwhelmed was because their corpse staircase (corpsecase?) had limited stability, so the ghouls weren’t able to run up the thing.

I wished for a sword, because at least then I could lean into Peregrine’s involuntarily donated skill. Then, in the midst of braining a ghoul that looked like the guy who set my frog on fire in Biology lab, I wondered why these were such different skills. Fundamentally, swinging a mace and swinging a sword were similar. One-handed weapons with reach. Sure, one was stabby-stabby and one was clubby-clubby, but still. They were analogous.

It felt like a light went off in my brain, and I got a funky notification.

Hey-ho, let’s go! You’ve discovered an ability: ONE OF THESE THINGS IS ENOUGH LIKE THE OTHER. You’ve found that, in a pinch, weapons have an awful lot of similarities. You may utilize weapons that are similar to each other with significantly decreased penalties to use.

Aha!

And just like that, I went from going on the backfoot to pushing the ghouls back. Parrying arm strikes and breaking elbows, smashing foreheads with thrusts and jabs. I was still pretty shit with the shield — it was mostly just me holding it against my side and occasionally bashing out with it — but at least it gave me a little extra protection. Teeth and claws scraped against it on the regular.

Swing and smash, thrust and push, and the ghouls were either dead or not moving.

I was covered in sweat, cycling my stamina regen spell on instinct, down to half my remaining mana. But even though I was breathing hard, the important thing was that I was still breathing.

Which is why it was so disturbing when I saw a lithe figure in all black walking towards the mausoleum, giving me a slow clap.

“I so love it when my meals put on a show for me,” the figure said. Its voice was grating, and very wrong. Like it was composed of two voices acting in concert, one high and one low.

I wanted to say something to it, make a retort, but my brain had basically shut down. I blinked and my mouth moved, but that was about it.

The figure idly walked up the ramp of ghouls, ascending with remarkable style and skill. New ghouls to the party were actually supporting either side of the corpse pile, which made it a bit easier, I’m sure, but there was definitely something else going on.

As the figure came closer to me, I felt the air temperature plummet, and I saw under the hood of the thing. Its skin was beyond white, so devoid of color that it almost hurt to look. Except the eyes. The eyes were an extremely pale green-yellow, like glow-in-the-dark plastic, with stripes of jet black throughout. Its chin and ears were pointy, its nose pert.

Wholly inhuman. Wholly terrifying.

I was frozen in place. Brain stuttering, as if trying to reboot.

But then I remembered something. I was taking the bus to Alphabet City to visit a girl I’d met in an after hours club — it was middle of the day, and this woman got on, and sat down in front of me. I was sitting on the upper level, first seat by the door so I could just swing out when I needed. She was right below me, so I could see her lap. She pulled a ziplock bag from her purse, which was filled with a white substance. She opened the bag, and I caught a whiff of something I recognized: mayonnaise. The woman reached into the bag, and she scooped out a handful. A big, impressive handful, and it went straight to her mouth. And again. And again. Lady was just chowing down on mayonnaise out of a bag on the bus. Just a tasty snack, no big deal.

That lady was weirder than this one.

And with that beautiful memory of the greatest city in the world, I came back to life. A smile cracked across my face as I came eye to eye with this white-skinned weirdo.

It opened its mouth.

“Nah,” I said, “let’s not.”

I jabbed my hand out and grabbed the thing by the face.

I have the feeling it was so shocked that I wasn’t frozen in fear that it just didn’t do anything. And since it was the lone enemy I was facing, I pulled out my only big offensive weapon.

I drained the fucker.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I hate that spell.

I mean, I love it too. But I mostly hate it.

Immediately, there was pain. And resistance. So I poured more mana at the problem. I shoved and shoved all the damn magic I had into the creature, with zero concern for how it was going to affect me.

“Take it all!” I yelled.

The thing, in response, made a horrible noise, a screeching wailing sort of sound that seemed to transcend being just auditory and somehow was a physical force that pushed against me. So much so that I had trouble holding onto the pale white flesh. But there was this burning rage inside me, that this creature was so full of itself that I thought I was just going to roll over for it. Maybe the paladin would, but not me. I would go out fighting or go out on my own.

I doubled down, forcing all the mana I had left in one last mystical shove. Then, I was flying. The magical burst from whatever just happened sent me flying like Marty McFly at the opening of the first Back to the Future. I slammed my back against the spire, which was probably for the best because otherwise, I would have fallen off into the graveyard. I slid down, and for good measure, got a spike in the elf-balls for my effort.

Wincing, I fell over, and rolled down the roof, coming to a stop against Leofing’s leg.

“Good news,” he said. “The goddess said she wants me to watch over you.”

“Fan-tastic,” I sputtered, and I swear smoke came out of my mouth.

Whizz-bang! You’ve absorbed the following from a Corpseking: +8 Constitution, -2 Wisdom, +12 Intelligence, Undead Control, Undead Mastery, Disease Immunity, +95 Humanoid Anatomy, +55 Necromancy, +10 Religion, and the following spells: Raise Dead, Animate Skeleton, Animate Flesh, Stitch Flesh and Bone, ReAnimate, Disrupt Life, Vicious Wrench, Heal Undead, Hold Monster, Hold Humanoid, Banish Undead.

GG! You’ve killed a corpseking (lvl 41 Undead Master)

You’ve earned 0 xp! What a might hero you are!

Effective. But on the other hand, I only had three hitpoints remaining, and was currently under the paralyzed and poisoned conditions. I had, according to my handy dandy info screen, 114 broken bones.

Finally Leofing was up on his feet, jumping around and shaking out his muscles like he was about to work out. I noticed that his wounds had healed nicely, his bones had popped back into place, and those rather horrific hematomas had disappeared. He gave me a small smile, and very quickly had his armor on again. He winked, and plucked the shield from my hand.

“Allow me,” he said.

He set me up, frowned, then laid his hands on me.

There was a massive warmth that started at my abdomen before spreading out across my entire body.

“Limit to what I can do at the moment,” he said, “but that should allow your natural healing to do the rest.”

I was up to half health. And my conditions were healed. Finally, it was nice to have a paladin around.

Leofing smiled, then kicked his mace up into the air, snatched it and gave the weapon a light swing around. With a little flourish. A wee bit of hotness. He nodded appreciatively at the ghouls all around, but he knelt down at the remains of the corpseking. He scratched his head, poked at it with his mace, then shook his head.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing with the mace.

“Corpseking.”

“No shit?”

“That’s what the notification I got for killing it said.”

“Looks like the goddess was right about you.”

“Why?”

“Said you had something to you. But you needed guidance and protection.”

“Great. She sounds lovely.”

“She’s a tempestuous mistress. But, such is life.”

“Are you about to tell me she’s the god of life?”

“Close. The Goddess of life.”

“Ahh.”

“Are you ready to move?”

“I feel like hot shit.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, and he hoisted me up on his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

“Hey—”

“Can you walk?”

“I think so.”

He carried me down the corpsecase and set me on my feet on the soil.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Out,” he said, slamming the visor down on his helm.

I had a sense of what levels meant, how someone a few levels higher might have more strength or skill or something, but I had never really grasped the difference someone that much higher might have. Which also made me wonder how he’d been taken down. Or how many undead had come at him to get him far enough down in health to be close to death.

We got about a hundred yards before a roving horde of zombies caught sight of us.

I hesitated at the fifty or so undead monsters.

Leofing did no such thing. He strode right into the middle of the group and punched the ground. Bright white light exploded off of him in an expanding orb, and basically disintegrated the zombies it touched. A single, shambling figure remained, and it stumbled towards me. Leofing stood up and threw his mace at the creature. The mace shot straight and true, going through the creature’s head. Then Leofing held his hand out, and the mace shot back, the haft smacking into the paladin’s leather palm.

Just like it was any old walk in a graveyard, he was moving again. Just strolling along.

He noticed I wasn’t following him, so he looked over his shoulder, lifting up his visor a bit.

“Coming?” he asked.

And that was just the start. The man was magnificent. He moved so fluidly between attacks, sometimes just using his mace, sometimes just using his magic, sometimes combining both of them. It didn’t matter what was coming up against us — nothing was too much for him. All I had to do was avoid the spray of rotten flesh and the like as we, well, took a walk in a park.

I’d lost count of how many of the risen dead Leofin had put back down when we came to a lit pathway leading towards a tall gate looming out of the grey-green fog.

“The exit,” Leofing said, gesturing at the gate.

I pretended not to notice the goop he flung off his fingers inadvertently while gesturing.

He hooked his mace onto his belt and lifted the visor from his helm. He wasn’t even sweating.

I shook my head in disbelief, wondering if I’d ever get to that high a level.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “The sooner the better.”

So the two of us walked down the lit pathway to the exit.

Except the door was closed. I mean, the giant gate doors were closed as well, but there was also a small door sized for humans and not giants or wagons. That was the door everyone used. From the looks of things, the big doors had rarely, if ever, been opened. There were some very large gouge marks on the heavy stone, which was a pretty clear indication something big and bad had engaged in a concerted effort to exit, but didn’t seem to have been successful.

Leofing walked up and banged on the little door.

A torch dropped from above.

Leofing picked the torch up and held it near his face while he looked up.

“Still alive,” he called up.

“Two to come out,” came a call from the top of the wall.

The door opened, and a host of guards greeted us there, all with weapons pointed in our direction. Or the direction of the Shade.

We went through the door, and entered into a caged area.

The door closed behind us, and it was like we’d entered a completely different world. It was quiet. Warm. Dry. I hadn’t realized how awful the Shade was, the perpetual gloom, the noisiness of the perpetual screams and cries and the like. Leofing leaned against the metal bars and pulled his helm off. He shook out his hair a little, wiped his hand on his tabard, and then smoothed out his mustache, adding a slight curl on either end.

Outside the cage was a more typical room. There were racks of weapons, spears mostly, along one wall, some benches and chairs, a small bookshelf, and a pitcher of what I assume was water. The guards had mostly relaxed at this point, and were busy replacing their weapons. Two stayed next to us, spears leveled, ready to strike at either Leofing or me. It didn’t seem to bother the paladin in the least.

An older man in black robes came into the room, and chains were removed from his hands. A mancer. He rubbed his wrists for a second while staring at Leofing. Then at me. Then back to Leofing. The old man shook his hands out, and I was struck by how long and bony his fingers seemed.

He closed his eyes and extended his arms out towards the cage.

I felt a little tingle pass over me.

The mancer’s eyes went a little wide, and he stepped close to the cage, looking straight into my eyes.

“Boy,” he whispered, “who is your teacher? Tell me quick and tell me true.”

“Uh, Careena?”

He nodded, then turned back to guards and announced: “They are living and there are no passengers.”

Immediately, the room relaxed, and all the guards stood down. Some actually sat down. The guards unlocked one wall of the cage, and pulled it out the way. Leofing walked out, helm under one arm, shield hanging on his back by a leather strap.

I followed.

We went through a few corridors before finding another door and another guard. He smiled at Leofing and me, then opened the door. I’ve never been quite so happy to see sunlight.

The city was awake, and morning was upon us. I strode out into Glaton feeling like I’d had a second chance at life. Well, that’s a bit much. It was more like coming out of an all-night binge without losing your wallet, your phone, or your friends. Nothing terrible seemed to have happened, and I had some good stories to tell.

Someone slapped me on the back, hard enough I took a few steps back.

“Good ride in the Shade,” Leofing said, “eh?”

“Sure,” I said. “Regular party.”

I hailed a carriage and hopped in. I was definitely a little surprised when Leofing jumped in after me.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“You’re coming with me?”

“Did you already forget my mission?”

“Clearly.”

“The goddess said I’m to look after you.”

“I thought that just meant getting me out of the Shade?”

“Might come as a surprise to you, but talks with gods are rarely that direct.”

“Okay, well, what do you think?”

“I think I might see where you’re going.”

“I’m going to go home and get changed.”

“Wise move,” he said, leaning back in the chair. “We are quite disgusting.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

I felt vaguely human again after a shower and a change of clothes. Which wasn’t quite right, seeing as I was an elf. Tough to remember to change those common sayings around. Leofing was in the midst of polishing his armor. Then he asked if he could use the bath as well.

I told him it was fine.

We had a fantastically awkward moment where I had to teach him how to use a shower, since this was the first place he’d been with indoor plumbing. The fact that it was capable of hot water blew his mind.

I didn’t let him follow me, waiting for him to be in the water before calling out that I’d be back in a bit. Then I raced down the stairs and jogged through the cobblestone streets until I got enough distance from the apartment building that I figured he wouldn’t be able to follow me.

At which point I beelined for the Biscuit’s Union. We needed to talk.

The place was busy, which made sense. A coffee shop in the morning. They were slinging coffee and breakfast goodies around at a rather breakneck pace, though as soon as one of the workers noticed me, they opened a door to the back. I stepped around the counter and went into the kitchen. It was going full tilt, and even the short walk through to the guild master, Victor Woolf’s office was enough to make me sweat. I had no idea how people could possibly work there full time.

I knocked at the door to the Woolf’s office.

I waited.

And waited.

And snatched a cinnamon roll from a passing cart before waiting some more. I had no idea how long I was there — one of the joys of life without a watch — but it seemed like the length of a bible and a half before the door finally opened to reveal a smiling Rowland.

“We were just speaking about you,” he said, revealing Victor the guild master sitting at the desk.

I walked into the room and sat down without waiting to be asked.

“So, I’m curious about something,” I said. “What exactly do I get for being in this guild?”

“Protection,” Rowland said. “Opportunities for advancement, plenty of—”

“Exactly. Right there, first thing: protection.”

“Did something happen?” Woolf asked in a tone that almost made me believe that he was concerned.

“I’d say so,” I snapped. “I got thrown in the Shade last night. With nothing.” Okay, so I lied a little. A minor embellishment.

“That’s unfortunate,” Rowland said, leaning against the guild master’s desk. “I have never had the misfortune to step foot inside that accursed place, but I have heard plenty of tales.”

“It’s as bad as you think.”

“But you made it out okay. Looks like you’re whole here this morning. No limbs missing.”

“Or new limbs grown,” Woolf added.

“That can happen?” Rowland asked the guild master.

“Three-Legged Thomas.”

“I thought that was because of his—”

“No, he went into the Shade, came up against something particularly nasty, and walked away, one leg split into two perfect, if smaller, copies. Though walk might not be the correct verb — it was more of a hobble.”

“I have all my limbs,” I said, “but I think you guys are missing what I’m saying. Just because I made it out okay doesn’t mean it’s something that should have happened.”

“Are you blaming us for this?” Rowland asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It happened because of you.”

“We didn’t throw you in there. Do you think this is some sort of hazing or initiation—”

“It was the Iron Silents. They picked me up, they threw me in, and they did it because you talked to them, and I guess they didn’t like that.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Oh? Tell me you have something more to say.”

“Of course we do,” Woolf said. “But we are trying to discover what things are happening in the city. What has happened in the city. We are getting the lay of the land.”

“You know they’re trying to claim Old Town. They want me to pay protection money to them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Rowland said. “They can’t do that.”

“And yet they are, and insisting on an absurd amount of coin as well.”

“How much?” Woolf asked.

“Two thousand gold.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from both men, very clearly surprised at the amount.

“That’s rather steep,” Rowland said.

“It’s certainly a means of making a statement,” Woolf replied.

Rowland pushed off the desk and walked around to the couch, where he plopped down and put his feet up. He pulled a pipe out of somewhere, and stuck it in his mouth.

“The question is why,” Rowland said, lighting his pipe. “There must be more to this.”

“I’m sure,” I said, “but I don’t know what is. I know they don’t like me because I refused to sell my building to them.”

“And now you have two buildings,” Woolf said. “Do you think jealousy is a factor?”

“Why would an entire gang be jealous just because I’ve got two buildings?”

“Because in that same time period, they have nothing.”

“Less than nothing,” Rowland said. “I did some extra digging into them, and though they’re quite new, they’ve made some interesting, um, shall we call them choices?”

“Rowland,” Woolf began, putting his feet up on the desk, “I am disappointed you didn’t lead with this information. If you knew something about these Iron Silents, I should know it. And given your charge’s interactions with the group, don’t you think he should be informed as well?”

“I considered the matter resolved.”

“And yet that is clearly not the case. Continue, however.”

“The Iron Silents looked to make a play cornering food and beverage markets in certain neighborhoods clustered around Old Town. They managed to get enough funding, where from I don’t yet know, to purchase virtually all the taverns, restaurants, and pubs in the district. Except yours. And I suppose that’s where things fell apart. They clearly needed money to keep their gambit running, so they raised prices at all the other eateries, which sent the crowds to the place with the continued cheap drinks, The Heavy Purse. So they saw a decrease in revenue from their purchases, but still had to make their ends meet. So they were forced to sell everything. And now they are flush with money.”

“They must be working with a more established gang,” Woolf mused, looking at the carvings on his ceiling. “Someone else is guiding them. Putting them into an already running program.”

“I would believe that,” Rowland said. “Because they are got their gold from someone because they clearly had to pay it back to someone on the quick. Else I’m sure they would have tried to ride their gambit out a bit longer. But whatever they’re doing now, they seem to be pulling in enough coin they are no longer looking for ridiculous schemes.”

“And they had a nice carriage,” I added.

“Not exactly the sort of sign that carries an immense weight,” Woolf said. “Rowland has a completely atrocious carriage, but supposedly has more money than most in the city.”

“That carriage is an heirloom,” Rowland countered.

“All I’m saying is that mere possession of a carriage is not a reliable indicator of wealth.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Might you hazard a guess to which greater gang they have hitched their wagon?”

“From all stories, the Iron Silents are quite vicious.”

“That’s been my experience as well,” I said. “And I’ve heard they’re working with the White Hand these days. No idea if that’s who they were bankrolled by originally.”

“The White Hand is bad news,” Woolf said.

“Were they behind those half-ogre assassins?” Rowland asked.

“Turns out it wasn’t the Iron Silents or the White Hand,” I admitted, just a little sheepish.

“Ah,” Rowland said. “So there has been even less interaction than I thought.”

“Even a little is a lot,” Woolf countered, finally seeming to take my side of things. “We can’t let our members be pushed around. There was a time we would have retaliated with blood for something like this.”

“And yet, we are not what we once were. To begin with, do we even have a member besides the young elf who might be in a position to dish blood out?”

“Another issue to address,” Woolf said.

A heavy sort of silence settled over the room as the two men stared at each other. There was definitely more going on here than I knew. Which wasn’t exactly surprising. The guild hadn’t been particularly welcoming to me as a new member. I wasn’t even sure why they took me on. Other than I suppose one of them was bored and wanted something to do that didn’t revolve around baked goods.

“Are you sure that’s the direction the guild wishes to go?” Rowland finally said.

“I’m sure that’s the direction it needs to go,” Woolf replied.

Rowland puffed his pipe, his face impassive.

“Hatchett,” Woolf said, “this is moving into a conversation you need not participate in. Rest assured, the issue with the Iron Silents will be resolved, you will not need to pay.”

“Thanks,” I said, not at all mollified. Still, there was a limit to what I could do, and while I was very tempted to remain and listen to the fight about to happen, I knew that wasn’t going to be possible.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

I was late for work. Which sucked. I hated being late. It was something that really irked me about my new world, I’d been late all the time since I moved over to this new world. I made a habit of being punctual in the old world, it was an easy way to stand out from my slacker co-workers. That was one way I did my best to get the choice assignments at the ice cream place. And I was the only one who could still toss the dough by hand, which kept me in the back for my time in the pizza joint. But it instilled in me a hatred for lateness, which then made me be too early for most things, and it really just wound up being something of a problem in my social life because none of the people I hung out with had their own more fluid version of time.

Once again, I hopped a carriage to get across the city. As the horses ran on and I watched the world blur by, I realized I’d basically burned through my week’s pay at the pit in a single day of carriages. I had to come up with some alternate means of travel — it was seriously cutting into my profits.

By the time I arrived, the new pit was humming with activity. Matthew and his brother-in-law Godfrey were up top, and Nadya was down in the pit. I hopped out of the carriage, paid the driver his damn gold, and ran through the gates.

“Took your damn time,” Matthew called out without even looking up.

“Had a rough night,” I replied.

Matthew had rigged a large crane that arched over the pit, dropping down a wide basket. Nadya was loading up the basket with big spherical rocks, sweating and cursing as she went along. Then the basket got lifted up and dumped out into a pile. That’s where Matthew and Godfrey came in, grabbing the rock balls from the pile and smashing them into a frame on a table. They added a bit of water and did a little shaking of things. Then the frame was taken over to a pile, and set there to dry. A peek inside the stack of frames revealed the biggest surprise: sheets of perfectly flat, perfectly clear glass.

“Holy balls,” I said.

“See the value in this place?” Matthew asked.

“I mean, sure. I don’t know how expensive glass is, but—”

“It’s a fair amount. Not too many people willing to chance this.”

“Is there some horrific creature hiding in here?”

“There might be,” Matthew said. “But leaving this place alone so long seems to have done the trick and gotten rid of the danger for us.”

“Provided we don’t stick around after dark,” Godfrey said.

“Don’t listen to him,” Matthew said. “Now get in there and help Nadya.”

Which I did.

She gave me a sweaty, dirty smile when I got to the bottom.

“Good night?” she asked.

“Hardly,” I replied.

“The pretty girls are never very good, are they?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I got kidnapped.”

“What? How are you here then?”

“They threw me in the Shade.”

“Doesn’t exactly answer my question.”

Thankfully the basket touched down right then, meaning it was time to work, so I had time to figure out my story to Nadya. Definitely wouldn’t let her in on the draining thing. I needed to find time to talk to Careena, see what she knew about the Shade. And what might happen to me if someone found out I suddenly had access to a fuck-load of necromancy spells. Couldn’t be good.

The work wasn’t bad. Kinda refreshing in its own way. I was starting to question why I even had a day job in a place where benefits weren’t a thing. And it’s not like I really needed a cover identity, since there weren’t paper trails in this world. At least none that I’d encountered. And yet, I still wanted to be there. It was the one group of people who’d really made me feel welcome. And on this day, where there wasn’t something trying to kill me or eat me or hurt me even. It was just, well, nice. Calming.

Grab a stone, put it in the basket.

Fill the basket, and sit and talk with Nadya.

Basket comes down again, and go find another stone.

Repeat ad infinitum. Because this was a really big pit, much deeper than I anticipated. We started the day about twelve feet from surface level, and after a solid day’s work, we managed to get down ten more feet. If this pit was anything like the first one I worked, there could be another fifty or sixty feet to go. And even though I came up to the top covered in a fine layer of silt, it was much better than the muck all over Godfrey and Matthew. Though Godfrey managed to have a clean pipe sticking out of his mouth, a thin trail of blue smoke following him along.

The shadows were getting long, and the sky dark. It was time to go.

“Quick now,” Matthew said, “we’re heading out.”

“It’s dangerous here after dark,” Godfrey said.

“Allegedly.”

“The skeletons in the house are a pretty clear indication.”

“Only that someone died here.”

“Someone starved here rather than walk outside. Seems like something serious to me.”

“It might have been,” Matthew said, almost pushing us through the gate before locking it behind him. “But whatever might have been here has clearly expired now. It’s totally safe.”

“Sure,” Godfrey said. “Totally safe.”

He started walking. Except it was more like marching. He hadn’t really left military life behind; he was just bringing it with him where ever he went.

“Mind if I invite myself to dinner?” Nadya asked.

“Uh—” I started, but Matthew answered for me.

“Love to have you.”

She smiled.

“I want to hear Clyde’s Shade stories.”

“His what?” Matthew asked.

“Yeah,” I said, “about that.”

CHAPTER FORTY

The abbreviated version of the story held their interest all the way back to the apartment building, where the tavern was in full swing. The crowds had settled down somewhat, which made sense to me, knowing the Iron Silents’ rather foolish attempt to take over the food and beverage industry of Old Town was now over.

I went upstairs to my apartment to freshen up a bit before eating. It was blissfully empty.

Or so I thought.

As soon as I made the slightest bit of noise in the apartment, I heard rustling in the closet. And grunting. And scratching. I maybe freaked out a tiny bit, definitely not because I was worried about some giant spider-monster, until I remembered what I’d stored there the previous night.

I shared this apartment with a grimeling, a creature I knew almost nothing about. Suddenly, I was feeling pretty stupid about the whole thing. And yet, who would think that something as simple as buying a monster from a scuzzy back-alley monster salesman could lead to anything unsavory happening? No one.

Right?

I took a few tentative steps over to the closet.

The rustling stopped.

A few more steps.

My hand was on the knob, but I hesitated. Should I find Leofing? I thought. Have him stand here in his armor and open the door? That seemed like overkill.

So I opened the door.

There was a blur as something furry rocketed out of the closet as soon as there was even a hint of an opening. It bounced around the room, knocking virtually everything over that it possibly could. IT turned on the water and kicked a plate hard enough it went through the window and shattered on the street below. I heard a few curse words yelled up at me, or my apartment, but since no one came upstairs to pound on my door, it seemed like no one was hurt by the errant plate.

But with an exit in place, the grimeling made a break for it, and practically flew through the busted glass, heading out into the wilds of the city. I ran over to the window and tried to watch as the creature scrambled across the side of the building, running almost as fast as it had on level ground. It was gone in a heartbeat.

“So, did it wash that dish before throwing it out the window?” Nadya said behind me.

I turned to look at her. She was grinning, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Okay, so I was wrong,” I said. “You were right. Probably would have been better to keep it in your lab.”

“Safer, maybe. But far less entertaining.”

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Something of an unintended consequence of my building management style was the family atmosphere that happened when schedules lined up and everyone ate at the same time. That night, we were the largest party in the tavern. The children were playing together, laughing and having a grand ol’ time. The adults were eating, chatting. It was just nice. Preternaturally nice.

As I sat there, enjoying something that looked and tasted a lot like coq au vin, I noticed Matthew staring at me. Naturally, as soon as I looked over at him, he gestured towards the back room with his head, a not-at-all-subtle signal for me to join him there.

So I got up from the table, ignoring the curious looks Nadya and Shae gave me, and walked my elven butt through the tavern and into the backroom.

Matthew wasn’t the only one there.

Godfrey and Titus were also in attendance, each with a large frothy mug of mead, from the smell of it.

“What’s all this?” I asked.

“A meeting of the minds,” Matthew replied.

“What are our minds meeting about?”

“The emperor,” Godfrey said gravely.

“Gents,” Titus said, and he took his mug of mead out with him back to the bar.

“Why does he get to leave?” I asked.

“Because he doesn’t have anything to do with our little chat in here,” Godfrey said.

“Why was he here in the first place?”

“To show me where the door to the basement is,” Matthew said.

The way the two were talking back and forth gave me the feeling I was about to be tag teamed.

Matthew led the way through the storage room, through a thick door and down a set of stairs. It was a tight fit for Godfrey, which I knew because he grumbled about it the entire way down. We landed in a surprisingly expansive space, filled to the brim with barrels and crates. There were tiny aisles left between the wooden containers. It reminded me of a particularly well-organized episode of Hoarders.

“Are we going down to the sub-basement?” I asked.

“There’s a sub-basement?” Matthew replied, looking around.

“Yeah,” I said, “but something lives down there.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Something lives down there.”

“Something or someone?”

“Thing. An unknown entity.”

“Why is it unknown?”

“That’s a question you’d have to ask Titus.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I don’t have an answer. Titus knows about the thing, but he’s afraid to go down there.”

“He’s never been down there?” Godfrey asked.

“Nope.”

“How does he know something is living there?”

“He’s heard it.”

“But he never checked what it might be?”

“Correct.”

“So it could be some vagrant who’s found a safe spot to hide out,” Godfrey said, staring at his brother-in-law, “or some monster responsible for snacking on all the children of the city.”

“It’s not a monster,” Matthew said. “Otherwise it wouldn’t be happy sitting in the basement.”

“Sub-basement,” I corrected.

“Whatever you want to call the level beneath the basement—”

“I’m calling it a sub-basement.’

“It doesn’t matter,” Matthew said. “As long as the thing that lives down there is happy to live down there and we have no reason to use that space, I say we let it be.”

“What if it’s the thing going out and stealing children?” Godfrey asked. “Don’t you think it might be a wise idea to check?”

“No, not unless it starts breaking down the door to the basement.” Matthew glared at me, as if daring me to challenge or correct him.

“That’s the correct location,” I said. “The only way out of the subbasement is into the basement, so—”

“We’re all shutting up about the basement,” Matthew said.

“For now,” Godfrey added.

Matthew rolled his eyes.

“The real reason we are down here is simple,” Matthew said. “We need to know what’s going on with the Emperor.”

“Matthew told me you have some information regarding his life,” Godfrey said.

“Or his death,” I replied.

“What do you know?” Godfrey asked.

“Not a ton. Just that Valamir is pretty keen on killing his brother. And he needs a fair amount of coin on hand to, well, that I don’t know.”

“All you know is that Valamir wants to kill his brother?” Godfrey asked, eyebrows raised. His mustached seemed to bristle ever so slightly, and he looked over at Matthew. “Please tell me there is more than just this.”

“Carchedon is in on it,” I added. “As is Lord Tollendahl. Tollendahl is providing some, if not all, of the coin for the gig.”

“Well that changes things.”

“And I did some digging myself,” Matthew said. “There is more to these stories. Groups are preparing for what will come after the Emperor dies. They must have gotten a timeline from somewhere. Valamir himself has started summoning mercenaries, using the problems with the city’s children as his reason to bring his own soldiers in. With the added bonus of portraying his brother’s soldiers as inept and corrupt.”

“The Thingmen?” Godfrey asked.

“What are thingmen again?” I asked.

“That’s the crux of it.”

“What?” I asked.

“Thingmen are the Emperor’s private army,” Godfrey said. “Tends to be made up of ex-Legionnaires.”

“Right,” I said. “I feel like I’ve heard of them before.”

“They are renowned for skill and brutality.”

“And the fact that nearly all non-Legion folk hate them,” Matthew added.

“Why?” I asked.

“They tend to get used for all the unsavory tasks the Emperor decides are important,” Matthew said. “Clearing neighborhoods of residents in order to build new palaces. Putting down rebellions. That sort of thing.”

“We continue to move away from the important task here,” Godfrey said. “I am still committed to serving the Empire, and I cannot imagine an imperial succession will go well now. If we have reliable information about a plan against the Emperor, I think the Emperor needs to hear it.”

“Okay, one, I think it’s reliable,” I said.

“That’s because you were there,” Matthew replied. “You saw the men talking. We have to take your word for it.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“No. I know you, but the Emperor does not. His people do not.”

“Fair point,” I said, “but my second part is where I’m more concerned, do you even have a way to talk to the Emperor?”

“Matthew does.” Godfrey said. “I don’t think you’re lying, but it stretches credulity to think these men are plotting something so treasonous and can do so without tripping any alarms.”

“According to Matthew it’s common knowledge that Valamir would like the Emperor dead,” I said. “I just happened upon a real timeline.”

“And I’ve heard a lot recently,” Matthew said. “Plenty of interesting things out there, but nothing that can be confirmed. Mahrduhm seems to have pulled back some of its troops, at least from the southern sector. Not sure what’s going on in Rumib.”

“We pushed them back hard when I was there,” Godfrey said, hopping up to sit on a barrel. “Unless something spectacular happened, we still hold the pass. I could check with my Legion contacts, see if Mahrduhm is doing anything differently there. Or in the south. We had seen some activity on the other side of the KingsEnd Highlands and the plains there.”

“What about Carchedon?” I asked. “Has there been an invasion or anything there?”

“Not since the last one,” Godfrey said. “But we walloped them pretty hard the last time they marched on the isthmus. I doubt they’ve recovered properly yet. Not that we have nothing to fear, but I would be surprised if they wanted to come at us already.”

“Might they make a play if the Emperor dies unexpectedly?” Matthew asked.

Godfrey took a sip from his mug and looked at the wall.

“Tough to say, really,” Godfrey said. “Soldiers are a superstitious bunch, and might be hesitant fighting then. Also, no telling who’ll be in charge of the Legion. Might pull garrisons in from the borders to sit in the capital. Might push Legions out to take territory, try and boost their own bonafides. I suppose that might be an opportune time for an invasion. Especially if they knew something about our military plans. Or our military leaders.”

“Titus and I have to stay removed from this,” Matthew said. “We can’t be too involved in sussing this matter out, or else we might be seen as getting back in the game we promised we’d leave. Otherwise, I would be helping you here.”

“Me or Godfrey?” I asked.

“More you. I’m pretty sure Godfrey can handle talking to some old Legion buddies.”

“Speaking of Legion buddies,” Godfrey said, quickly swallowing a gulp of mead, “I saw the weirdest thing on the way up to Rumib — I saw my old captain and he was running a caravan.”

“Doesn’t seem that weird,” I said.

“It was weird because that captain had been sent on a secret mission under the auspices of the Emperor himself. I can’t imagine a secret mission having much to do with sitting on a wagon filled with basic trading goods. Benedict Coggeshall.”

“Did you talk to him?” Matthew asked.

“He’s on a secret mission,” Godfrey replied as if Matthew had just asked the dumbest possible question. “I didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest.”

“Maybe the mission is over and he retired.”

“Maybe,” Godfrey said, but it was clear he didn’t believe it.

“Not sure this conversation is germane to the rest of what we’re doing here,” Matthew said. “We need to get confirmation of what Carchedon is up to. If they are preparing something, they clearly have to have gotten their information from somewhere—”

“Tollendahl,” I said.

“I know, we get it, that’s your theory,” Matthew said. “But we don’t have confirmation. I will not abuse what favors I have left to have you tell the Emperor rumors and conjectures he most likely already knows.”

Silence in the room. It was the first time Matthew intimated he had some sort of connection to the Emperor himself, that we might actually be able to deliver the warning to the highest power in the land. I was more than a little flabbergasted, and my estimation of my mentor shot up.

“What about those paired journals?” I asked.

“I had some hopes for those, but looking into them, it’s nothing more than the agricultural minister attempting to control the market enough to boost her own profits.”

“What? Really?”

He nodded. “She was working with a few unsavory types to over-report grain yields, and then buy up supplies. I suppose potentially the minister has some knowledge of upcoming events, and so she’s stocking up on food in case things in the capital go truly tits up. But I doubt it’s anything more than vague political corruption.”

“Can we, I don’t know, report her?”

“Already done,” Matthew said. “It’s likely she will be replaced and reprimanded in the very near future.”

“Okay, so you want me to sneak into the Carchedon embassy?” I asked. “See what I might find?”

“Probably also the Mahrduhm one,” Godfrey added. “More so than Carchedon. I fear they will get in the middle of anything big that happens here.”

“Sneaking into two embassies. Probably not a big deal.”

“It will be a pain in the ass,” Matthew said. “However, both are enemies of the Empire, off and on. This means there are definitely ways imperial spies have slipped in and out of the buildings to get information for the Emperor or the Senators. I know for certain there are secret passages in the Embassy of Mahrduhm—”

“You’ve used them?”

“I have had contacts who’ve used them.”

“Great, so where are they?”

“That I don’t know. Somewhere the public is able to reach, but that’s the limit. As far as Carchedon, I know less. That one will be a bigger challenge, but I’d be willing to bet it’s something you can figure out. The most important element is finding proof we can deliver to the emperor. Can you do that?”

You have been offered a quest by Matthew Gallifrey:

One Wrong Turn Rights Another

Sneak into the Mahrduhm Embassy and/or the Carchedon Embassy and retrieve proof of Valamir’s plot to kill his brother.

Reward for success: Unknown

Penalty for failure (or refusal): Unknown, perhaps the end of the Empire

Yes/No

Obviously there was a singular choice I could take: “Yes.”

“Good,” Matthew said. “And, for the time being consider your time at the pit on hold. This takes precedence. And I don’t think I need to say this, but just in case either one of you is feeling stupid at the moment, nothing discussed in this basement will be mentioned anywhere outside of this basement.”

“What about the sub-basement?”

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

My stupid joke got a smile from Godfrey, which I considered a win for the day.

Upstairs, the crowd was getting rowdy around a familiar blonde bearded warrior who looked a bit odd when he wasn’t wearing his armor. Leofing stood at the bar, holding court. He saw me come out of the back room, and his face broke out into a big smile.

I knew having a holy knight follow me around while I attempted to infiltrate government agencies through illegal means was not going to work out well. So I introduced Leofing to Matthew, got him accepted as part of the group. Then, I told Matthew it was his job to get Leofing into adequate housing.

Matthew made a face, but I was already on my way out of the tavern.

I made it about two steps outside before Shae caught up with me.

“Where are you going?” she asked, still holding her mug of ale.

“Just, uh, have some errands to run,” I said.

“Errands? It’s night out.”

“Errands wait for no man. Or woman.”

“Seriously - what do you ned to get done at this hour?”

“This hour? It’s barely after nightfall.”

“Still dark out, dangerous…”

“Nothing I can’t handle, and my errands are nothing too exciting.”

“Can’t they wait?”

“No,” I said. “Sadly they can’t.”

“Oh,” she said. She gave me a wan sort of a smile, and headed back into the Heavy Purse.

I started my walk uptown, wondering if there was something intrinsically wrong with me for ignoring the beautiful girl quite obviously trying to spend more time with me. Why was I getting involved in such massive politics? It wasn’t wise. There wasn’t much to gain, at least not at any level I could discern. Best-case scenario, I save the Emperor and return to anonymity being a mid-level thief in a guild run by old folks who preferred baking cookies to committing crime. A guild that seemed to no real advantage for long-term membership.

I grew tired of walking pretty quickly, and as soon as I got to one of the major north-south avenues, I hailed a late-night cabs. As usual, the driver looked to be the type of weirdo who’d anything in order to make quick gold. I did my best to ignore his attempts at conversation.

It didn’t work.

“You got kids?” the guy asked through a mouth of broken teeth.

“No,” I replied.

“Good.”

He got the horses moving. The beasts were surprisingly good-looking for the carriage. And the man. They were huge, nicely muscled, with sleek coats and full manes.

The carriage, on the other hand, was a really rough affair. Shoddy wood and a surprising number of iron bars. Something I really only realized once I was inside the thing. Which was really a sign I should have noticed prior to getting into the rolling cage.

“Shit,” I said.

The driver cackled, and pulled a lever. There was a loud clank, and I could see that I was now locked in.

“You catch on quicker than some of the others,” the guy said.

“Yeah, I’m a real smart cookie,” I said.

He chuckled.

“Might as well sit on back,” he said. “Got a long trip ahead of you.”

“That really interferes with my plans.”

“Oh I bet it does.”

“Do this often?”

“Sure do.”

I looked between the bars and saw that we were taking a hard left. Heading towards the port. Of course.

“Selling me down the river?” I asked.

“Never heard it like that,” he said. “Mind if I use it?”

“Can’t see why not.”

“Appreciate it,” he said. “You be nice, and I’ll maybe have a word with the captain, get you a topside cell.”

“And if I’m not nice?”

“Chained downstairs with the rest.”

“Don’t suppose I could pay my way out of this.”

“Don’t suppose you can, being that I’ll be taking all your worldly goods as soon as I hand you over.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I suppose I should just rest here.”

“I wish all my captors were as relaxed as you.”

“Comes with the territory, I suppose.”

“Territory?”

“Territory might not be the right word. I’ve just come to, I suppose, a certain realization.”

“Life flows through some gods’ will?”

“No. If I’ve got a horrible disease, what does it matter where I go to die?”

He looked back at me, the horses continuing on as if they knew the way. It made sense they were such big powerful horses considering how heavy the iron wagon had to be. Ol’ Toothless gave me the once over, then the twice over, really doing his damndest to figure me out.

“Nah,” he finally uttered. “You look fit as a fiddle.”

“Mainly because I have my pants on,” I said. “Foul things happening down below. But not to worry. I’m only contagious if you touch me. I probably won’t infect much of the ship, right?”

“What is it, this disease of yours?”

“No idea,’ I said. “Got it working the pits.”

“You work the pits?”

“I did.”

“You quit?”

“Got sick, had to quit. Too many open sores to work in that muck any longer.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re telling me. I had to look at all the pus leaking out.”

“Pull your pants down.”

I nodded as if this was just normal, and stood up. “Not gonna see much in this light,” I said, “going to need to get up close. But the smell’ll probably get you first.”

He reined in the horses, and pulled to a stop near a glowstone lit lantern. Then, he turned around in his seat, and got really close to the bars, peering in at my nether regions.

It made it the perfect point to stab him in the eye.

He didn’t even scream.

And I almost felt bad. Almost.

GG! You’ve killed a Human (lvl 14 Slaver).

You’ve earned 750 xp! What a mighty hero you are.

His fault, really.

I scanned the area for a lock, for something I could pick to get out.

Nothing. It was mechanically closed, and not something I had the strength to bust through. I could use shadow step to get out, but I was still scared of the spell. Well, scared of the creatures it called to me.

Finally I spotted what my driver used to trap me. It was a simple sort of lever. I used the driver’s belt to loop around the lever, contorting my arm through the iron bars until I could get the proper leverage to pull the thing and release the door.

I heard a loud, satisfying clunk. The clunk of freedom.

I got out of the carriage, grabbed the corpse, and chucked it in the back. My initial impulse was to drive to the Senate district and make my visit in style. Perhaps style isn’t the right word. But as I looked at the carriage, I knew I’d stick out up there. As much as the horses were gorgeous, the wagon was hideous. There was also the corpse in the back, and that probably wasn’t going to be easily overlooked by the powers that were busy protecting the embassies.

“Back to the apartment,” I said.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

And there I was, thinking driving a wagon was easy. It took me nearly twenty minutes to get the damn horses turned around, and the carriage with them. Then I had to figure out how to actually drive the thing. The horses were reasonably compliant — I hated to think what kind of mess I’d have gotten in if they’d been more stubborn animals.

We limped along together, going slowly through the gates to Old Town as if we were just world-weary travelers. No one seemed to notice the trail of blood we left behind. Perhaps the city was just so jaded after generations of violence that blood hardly seemed like a signifier of anything important.

I knew there was a back way to the stable, but I wasn’t sure which alley was ours. And, frankly, I was a little nervous about driving the horses through the dark. So I just pulled up in front of the tavern, and hopped down. The horses stamped a little at the crowds, but no one seemed to mind them.

I walked into the light, and realized no one was super keen about me being near them. Which, I suppose, had something to do with all the blood I was covered in. Maybe the eye juice from the kidnapper was the real nasty nasty, who knows? In any case, I was gross. Which meant it was a good idea I’d come back, because I didn’t want to attempt an embassy invasion smelling and looking like a murderer.

Titus came out in a flash, knowing automagically that something was upsetting his clientele. When he saw it was me, he half-smiled, but shook his head.

“What in the hells happened to you?” he asked, grabbing me tight by the shoulder, and steering me back outside.

“A little argument over a carriage fee,” I replied.

He stopped when he saw the carriage sitting outside the tavern. Then, he hauled me down the street far enough that we had a modicum of privacy.

“What kind of argument was this?” he asked.

“Fatal?”

“And you took the carriage?”

“Seemed stupid to leave it behind.”

“Don’t you think someone is going to come looking for it?”

“No. I don’t think anyone is going to want to claim this as their property.”

“And why not? Those horses—”

“It’s a rolling cage,” I interrupted him to say. “I got in, the bastard trapped me, and was headed to drop me off on a boat. Selling me down the river.”

Titus shook his head again.

“The body’s still in there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He stared at the wagon. Then at me, then at the bar, and then finally he looked up into the sky.

“You wait here,” he said. “I’ll get someone to drive it around back. You need to get cleaned up before being seen in public again. Meet us in the stable.”

I went into my apartment, took a quick shower, and got another set of clothes on. Clean again. I threw the clothes away. My laundry situation was getting dire.

I went through the empty bakery and out to the stable.

Matthew, Leofing, and Godfrey were standing around the wagon, the horses nowhere to be seen. Though given the noises coming out of the stables, I figured they were settling in to their new home.

“This is an interesting find,” Matthew said. “You came on this randomly?”

“It was random for me,” I said. “I can’t tell you if the driver had been watching me. Is the body—”

“It’s been taken care of,” Matthew said.

Godfrey hauled his bulk up to the seat, and pulled the lever. There was the loud ka-thunk and the carriage cage was sealed once again. I watched both Matthew and Leofing try to pull the door open, but once it was shut, nothing short of a giant (ha) was going to get out of there.

“You know who’d do this?” I asked Matthew.

“The White Hand,” he replied, his attention on the wagon.

“Is this—”

“Tattoo on the body.”

“Oh.”

“And they’re just about the only ones deep enough into kidnapping and selling humanoids to go to the trouble of making something custom like this.”

“So I need to watch out?”

“You always should. But if you’re asking about the White Hand coming after you specifically, maybe. Depends if anyone saw you with this.”

“What do we do with the wagon?”

“Take it apart,” Godfrey said. “Scrap it.”

“And quickly,” Matthew said.

Leofing had a large selection of tools he dropped on the ground with a bit of a clang, and the guys were on the carriage cage with a vengeance.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Matthew called out to me.

I nodded, and started walking away.

“And be more careful about getting into strange carriages!” Leofing yelled.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Both of my targets were near the Senate and the Imperial Palace. It made sense, keeping all the government entities close together in a world where instantaneous communication was rather limited. Fortunately, they weren’t on the same street. I was hoping to hit them both on the same night, but if they were close together and I mucked up at one joint, the other would be on high alert. Though I imagined that any muck-up would land me on the chopping block. I doubted spies were treated particularly well in a world like Vuldranni, what with the perpetual violence around every corner.

I passed by imposing structure after imposing structure. The embassies were huge and largely utilitarian, eschewing most of the elegant architectural features favored in other posh districts. That meant getting inside was going to be more complicated. Which I didn’t like. I wanted easy.

I posted up in an alley along Mahrduhm’s embassy and began observing it. The place had high walls made out of sheer stone. Climbing it would be a real logistical challenge. There were also pointy bits at the top, and given how they glinted in the moonlight, the pointy bits were in fact very sharp. Not exactly fun to land on.

The building continued up above the walls, and I could see an intricate, copper-colored roof with a lot of angles, and unguarded balconies. The building to the left of the embassy looked to be offices, or maybe apartments, but a bit newer than the embassy, and decidedly taller. If I could get on top of that and make a really good jump, I could land on the roof. Granted, that would probably result in my sliding off and hitting the dirt, but at least I’d be in the grounds.

I tapped my chin, wishing I had a good thinking playlist. Just a little hard rock to clear the brain. That was probably the biggest thing I missed from the Old World: music on-demand. A wealth of styles, artists, and whatever, all at the tap of a finger, blasted straight into my brainspace. Now, I was lucky if I heard a frickin’ lute in the corner of a tavern as I passed by. Wasn’t quite the same. Especially since I didn’t know a single song they were playing.

I left the alley and took a lap around the block. From what I could see, the embassy had a single entrance, right at the front. A large iron gate for carriages with a smaller inset door for individuals. Inside there was a small guard shack lit with something I hadn’t seen in a while: a lantern. The flame flickered in the breeze. Two guards stood at attention, wearing shiny black plate armor and holding really long pikes. Which had to be purely for effect, because two pikemen did not a phalanx make. My guess, at the first sign of real trouble, they dropped their pikes and grabbed the wide-bladed swords at their belts.

But after seeing the stable in the back of my bakery building, I realized that many of the blocks in Old Town had an entrance to the inside, sort of like a private interior courtyard area shared by all the buildings on that block. I bet these buildings were old enough to have something similar. And sure enough, there was another entrance down a few buildings from the embassy. It was just an arched opening, seemingly cut through a building. A few lights were on in the windows above the arch, which was pretty cool. And there wasn’t even a guard there, though it wasn’t exactly embassy property yet.

Sidling through the shadows, I walked unseen into the interior area of the block. It was darker inside — no more city lights pushing back the blackness. There was a bit of moonlight coming in, but with only one of the four moons full, it wasn’t exactly bright. But with darkvision, what does that matter? Sure, it’s a bit dull because everything is a shade of grey or green, but what’s color useful for anyway, right?

The backs of the buildings on the block almost all had large wagon openings, as well as large walls. All the gates were closed and locked up tight. Down at the far end of the courtyard was a singular figure standing just inside Mahrduhm’s gate. It was the only source of light in the whole place, and the guy had to be new because he was standing just behind the light, meaning he could see nothing but pitch black.

I walked along, doing my best to both be quiet and as if I had every reason to be there. There were zero indications anyone saw me. Or that there was anyone around besides the noob guard and me. As I got closer to the embassy’s back entrance, I angled over to the wall until I was basically sliding along it, but I didn’t stop until I was right next to the gate. Still covered in shadow, I was only feet from the guard.

Perfect position, if I only had a plan.

I did have a little magic up my sleeve, though, so it was probably time to use some of it. I cast minor illusion and had a nasty looking ooze make its way towards the gate.

Naturally, the guy heard the ooze first, then saw the ooze, and then had a freak out. Totally normal reaction. The guy hoofed it, running fast as he could towards the embassy.

I took his momentary distraction to climb the gate. Its open iron bars made for a pretty easy climb, both up and down. Once inside, I bee-lined along the interior wall until I was safely ensconced in the darkness of a shrubbery.

The guard returned with what I assumed was the rest of his platoon, making quite the racket as they ran, in full armor, with long spears tipped with a flaming substance. They were clearly well-versed in ooze attacks. Or, you know, just knew to kill oozes with fire. In any case, they charged out through the gate and made quite the commotion in the common courtyard.

I took the moment to stroll right inside the embassy. The door the guards exited through had thoughtfully been left open, and who was I to ignore a wide open door?

I entered something that looked like a mud room. There were small wooden lockers lining one wall, and a series of weapon racks opposite. It held big swords, smaller swords, spears, hammers, and a few things I couldn’t identify. Or, rather, I didn’t want to take the time to identify. There were benches in front of the lockers, and, another surprise, candles along the wall and hanging from the ceiling. I hadn’t seen a single glowstone.

I had come prepared for this trip, at least in a tiny way, and already had a nail tied to a string all ready for detect secret doors. I cast it immediately, but nothing in that room. I wiped my shoes off as best I could, and slipped through the next door. It was a barracks, thankfully empty. For a moment, I considered pulling some of the dark armor on. I always liked the idea of impersonating guards, but I just couldn’t see it working in reality. Even in this new reality of mine. For one, I had no idea how to move in armor. I’d make a lot of noise and get noticed. Second, I knew nothing about the country of Mahrduhm, except it had just lost a fight against the Empire over a place called Rumib Pass. Which made me wonder what the heck was going on in the embassy? Were they ready to kill Imperial citizens at any moment? Was there any sort of, I don’t know, decorum in place for an embassy of a country at war?

Thoughts for a different day.

I could hear some shouting behind me, the unmistakable sound of someone being chewed out. And that meant the barracks was about to fill with irate soldiers. I had to move quickly. I went through the only door available to me, which led to a hallway. I had my secret door spell going, just in case, and as I went along, I glanced at it as often as I could.

As I moved down the hall, the finishes and decor got gradually nicer. There were plenty of doors, which made me think I was in a wing of offices for administration of some sort. I got to the end of the hallway, but stopped and pushed up against the wall. I’d almost walked right into the main lobby. Which had several people in it. The super quick glance I’d gotten showed mostly professional types along with some guards. Heavily armed and armored guards.

Naturally, this was the moment I noticed my secret-door-detector-nail was sticking straight out, pointing into the lobby.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

I snuck another glance into the lobby to get better stock of the situation. It was a large room, maybe a hundred feet long and fifty wide. Staircases went up on either side, blocking off most of two walls. The last wall was where my little hallway came out. Obviously the employee’s hall. Taking up a fair portion of my wall was a sort of receptionist area, with a long desk that had multiple seats both in front and behind. A spot for quick business to be conducted, I supposed. On either side of the double doors that served as the main entrance — which was massive, by the way, soaring nearly twenty feet high in the air — were seating areas. Nice couches, comfortable looking chairs, and the Vuldranni equivalent to coffee tables. No magazines on them, though. There were some potted plants about, though none were species I recognized. It was quite bright in the room, thanks to three massive chandeliers, the first sign of glowstones in the building.

Two guards flanked the main door. They stood ramrod straight, eyes front, weapons gleaming. But they also seemed like they were sleeping with their eyes open. A young man and a young woman were sitting behind the reception desk, but neither one paid attention to the world around them. Both had their eyes glued to books. Another guard leaned against a banister, chatting up a young lady. Some professional types sat around the leftmost couch, engaged a hushed discussion.

My nail pointed towards the side of the staircase nearest me. It was covered in panels of wood, with a tall, funky-looking tree in front of that, making access to the area challenging.

No one was looking my way, so I strolled out, completely nonchalant. It was a bold and stupid move, but I really had no idea what other option I had. Still, maybe I had enough luck in my stat block, because I managed to slip behind the tree without anyone saying or doing anything. Never underestimate the power of being boring.

I knelt down behind the pot and tree and looked out at the lobby. Nothing had changed, except that the guard seemed to be getting somewhere chatting up the girl.

I pulled my door-detector out one more time and pumped some more mana into it, well aware that it was draining me faster than I would have liked. The nib pointed to a central panel on the wall, and after a little touchy-feely action, I found a tiny recess, about the same size as a fingernail. I slipped my nail under, prayed it wasn’t going to shove some sort of poisoned spike up my nail bed, and pulled.

I heard a very soft click, and the panel relaxed a little, like it was no longer held in place. A little push, and it swung inward. It was a dark square that seemed to lead to a secret passageway. And not a terribly large one either. It was going to be a bit of a logistical nightmare to get my body inside, and I was rather concerned I’d make a spectacle of the thing. I needed a distraction, so I checked my mana.

A little over a third remaining.

Not much. Certainly not enough for another illusion. Well, not that kind.

I cast satisfaction on the girl flirting with the guard, and she gave him a really wide smile, then leaned over to whisper in his ear.

He blushed.

Which caused the two guards to make some catcalls. The the two desk attendants looked up, followed by the professionals.

I slipped inside, nearly knocking the plant over in the process. I shut the door behind me as quickly as I could.

It was dark and tight inside. One real disadvantage to darkvision is being able to see all the stuff lack of light hides. Like bugs. And spiderwebs. And dust bunnies the size of large cats. I felt gross immediately. The space I’d scrunched myself in was very, well, structural. A complete lack of finish work, really, which also meant there were plenty of nails, staples, and other bits of carpentry to catch on clothes or skin. So, you know, that was fun.

I crawled along, sometimes moving to more of a slither, because the size of the passageway changed. I was definitely worried, more than once, I’d get stuck somewhere, and then have to go through the long, slow process of starving to death. But finally after an indeterminate amount of time (again I longed for a watch), I got to a junction. Up or down.

Given the subtle stench wafting from below, I had a feeling down led to the sewers, at least in some capacity. Suddenly I realized why the guards were so well-versed dealing with oozes. I wonder if they ever wondered where all their ooze problems came from?

Obviously, I chose to go up. There was something akin to a ladder attached to the wall, but it was more like off-cuts of wood nailed to the wall haphazardly. Very few pieces were straight, some were only hanging on by sheer nail tenacity, and most felt like they were going to give way under my weight. I tried not to think about it too much. There were also plenty of spiders to go around, tiny ones dropping down from above, and big ones crawling over the walls. All four sides.

I climbed about forty rungs up, which, by my extremely rough math, probably put me somewhere on the second-ish floor, and came to another junction. I could continue up, or go to the left. Left was a much nicer sort of secret passage, one I could basically stand up in. I couldn’t walk normally — I kind of had to stand sideways and do a little shuffle step — but not having to stop and brush crap out of my hair was enough of a win for me.

The dust on the floor wasn’t as thick as some of the other places I’d seen, which made me think this path may have been a useful one. My clothes did a fantastic job cleaning all the detritus off the walls as I scooched on.

About twenty feet or so away from the ladder, I found my first, um, thing: a peephole. It was a very small hole blocked by a piece of wood. Lifting up the wood, and I could peek into what appeared to be a secretary’s room. An outer office, perhaps. I could see a desk, one that was rather messy, and a chair. Beyond that was a doorway, open to a hallway lit with the flickering light of candles. A second door, this one closed, was on the wall to the side of the desk, and I could hear someone speaking in there. Muffled and low. And it was in the direction of my little secret tunnel.

I put the piece of wood back over the peephole and shuffled along to the side, going as quickly as I could. I had no idea what the conversation happening was about, but I wanted to hear some of it, see if this whole passage thing could actually get me some useful information. Another ten or so feet, and I got to a small bump-out with enough space to turn around and actually breathe. There was another peephole, this one with a small place to rest your chin on while looking through. I pulled the piece of wood away, and looked in. I saw a large office, really posh. Plush carpets on the floor, tall bookshelves lining the walls, and a roaring fire in the fireplace. Which seemed excessive to me — it was still summer. A large painting hung above the fireplace, of a beautiful young woman who was damn frightening in her severity. She had a small golden crown around her forehead, and was standing in front of a very impressive set of mountains covered in trees. It was like someone had painted her portrait on top of the best Bob Ross painting.

A man stood in front of a desk, wearing what I took to be formal attire. A dark red robe with some heavy gold chains. He was reading over some papers, and kept looking over his shoulder nervously. A young woman stood by the door to the office. She, too, was clearly nervous.

They were speaking Mahrduhmese, a language I’d so helpfully picked up during one of my strolls around the port. What was odd, to me at least, was that I recognized it as a different language, and yet, at the same time, it hardly seemed like they were speaking any differently.

“And you are sure these are accurate?’ The man asked.

“Yes, your eminence,” the woman replied. “ I double-checked the numbers myself.”

“They seem high.”

“It has been costly keeping things afloat.”

“She’s not going to like hearing this.”

“Nothing pleases her.”

“Success does. Victory does. She still angers over the defeat at the pass.”

“You warned her of that.”

“Hardly something she enjoys. I am lucky I haven’t been subjected to one of her re-education camps.”

“I think those are merely myth. Something to keep—“

“They are all-too real.”

The girl gulped, and her face drained.

“Fear not,” the man said. “As long as we remain out of the country, we will remain out of her direct purview. She won’t know what we’re doing.”

“We are going to get caught.”

“It’s nothing,” the man said, putting the papers aside and walking towards the young woman. “Love is nothing—“

The woman put her hand up. “Not here. Not where she might be watching.”

The man looked over his shoulder at the huge painting, and he nodded.

“Get out, then,” he said, “before she comes. Better to be unnoticed.”

The young woman nodded, but gave the man a smile. “She still likes you, I’m sure of it.”

“Let us hope so.”

The girl slipped out the door, while the man returned to standing over his desk and looking at papers.

A strange noise came from the painting, and when I looked over at it, I realized the background was moving. Bob Ross’s fluffy white clouds blew across the sky over swaying happy little trees. It was an idyllic sort of scene, somewhat ruined by the woman standing in front of it. She wasn’t moving, yet, but as I watched, the paint faded and dissolved to become intensely photorealistic. It looked like I could reach out and touch the woman.

“Ambassador, your report?” The woman asked, her face impassive and her voice like sprung steel. She sounded like the type of person who’d never had to wait on a line, and understood that to be her god-given right. An ultimate boss-level, I’d-like-to-speak-to-your-manager Karen. I hated and feared her instantly.

The ambassador turned and kneeled, bowing his head before her.

“My queen,” he said.

“Up,” she replied. “I am short on time this night. Give me good news.”

“I’m afraid I have both good and bad to share with you.”

She screwed her face up, scowling at him.

“Bad first,” she said. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Our efforts here have been more expensive than we initially anticipated. It appears we are in need of additional gold.”

“Why?”

“Why is it more expensive?”

“Yes.”

“Partly because the economy seems to be humming along here. In order to get anyone to work, we must pay more.”

“I wouldn’t be too worried about their economy for much longer.”

“Is this something you will share with me?”

“I have yet to decide.”

“Yes, your majesty. We are seeing success with our agents on the ground. There is certainly growing dissatisfaction with the Legion. Their recruitment numbers have been declining.”

“Declining does not mean stopped. I want them stopped. The Legion must stop growing.”

“I cannot see that happening entirely, my lord.”

“I grow weary with you. You simply do not seem to understand how to think outside the box.”

“What box, your majesty?”

“The box. The proverbial box, you know.”

“I’m afraid you have me quite flummoxed, your—“

“I need you to use your imagination and think of things I have not. Okay? Do you understand that?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“If I gave you more gold, what would you do?”

“How much gold, your—“

“Pretend I have limitless reserves. What would you do then?”

“Recruit mercenaries.”

“Why?”

“I would pay more than the Legion. There are plenty who’d desert for higher wages. Especially if there is a war looming. Or an unpleasant fight somewhere.”

“Would you suggest I continue to throw troops away in Rumib Pass?”

“I would not presume to give you strategic military advice, my liege.”

“It’s something I’ll need to think on,” she said, tapping her picture-perfect chin. “For the moment, consider your request for funds granted. Triple your usual amount. I want the Legion to shrink.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Now, you said you have good news?”

“I have some, yes.”

“The Emperor?”

“Yes. His reign will be over soon.”

“Are you sure of this?”

“Yes. His brother is about to put his plan in motion.”

“And what is his plan?”

“I’m afraid I have no specifics, but I have it on good authority it will be happening very soon.”

“What is this authority?”

“One of our largest outlays this month has been lining the pockets of a Lord Tollendahl. He is providing the bankroll for Valamir. And Valamir is taking the money now, which means the assassination cannot be far off.”

“Excellent. Have you found a candidate for us to back?”

“There are a few possibilities. I have my assistant writing out the names and profiles of my top three choices in our shared book as we speak, to save time for discussions here.”

“Now that is thinking, Ambassador Quince.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“And the daughter?”

“She will not take the throne.”

“Can you be sure of this?”

“No,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “Not unless you would like me to take a more proactive approach.”

“What is your current approach?”

“I fear I must ask you what you hope to gain from this, else I might not play things correctly here.”

She stared hard at the ambassador, then looked at something, uh, off-camera. Something on her end.

“The Empire is a juggernaut, a being of immense power that runs on bureaucracy. The only way to fight something like that is to kill it from the inside, make it destroy itself. There is no easy way for a new Emperor to rise, not if Valamir kills his brother. I want you to ensure the transition to a new Emperor is as painful as possible. That it lingers. That nothing happens as those desperate for power fight to take it, ignoring everything happening besides that power-grab. They will be fools, and they will be weakened, and that is when I will strike from a position they are not even aware of.”

“A brilliant plan, your majesty. I have positioned an asset close to the daughter. He acts as an advisor to her and has gained significant trust in recent months. He will steer her in the direction we desire.”

“Get her to the northwest if you can. That will be our in-road.”

“A northwest passage?”

“Sure.”

“I was not aware one existed.”

“It only partly does. But it will be a perfect launching point. We will take Osterstadt and the Emerald Sea, then push south. And when they finally see we are marching on the Empire and they rally the remaining Legions, we will come across Rumib and attack from the east. And around the south.”

“A brilliant plan, my liege.”

“The future of our world depends on it, Ambassador. And me. We are living on the precipice of destruction, and we must face it united. And I am the only one powerful enough to do it.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“That is one reason we must have such ironclad discipline. For now, I will overlook your dalliance with your secretary because you seem to actually love each other. And it has yet to affect your work. Do not let it.”

The painting went back to rigid, and the ambassador dropped to his knees, his body shaking with exertion.

For a moment, there was stillness in the room. Then the secretary rushed in, sliding to her knees next to her boss and lover. She bent over him, smothering him with affection and murmuring softly to him.

That was my cue to make a break for it, back towards the peephole near the secretary’s desk. I’d heard a lot of secrets and knew plenty to help the Empire. But none of it meant anything without physical evidence. And I knew where I could find something like that.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

From the outer-office peephole, I could clearly see a journal open on the secretary’s desk. There were several sheets of paper next to it, and a pen laid across almost haphazardly. I just had to figure out how to grab it.

I leaned against the wall, and I could feel a give, like there wasn’t a whole lot of structure there. Frankly, it seemed like it was just wood paneling between me and the secretary’s desk. But pulling a Kool-Aid man seemed like an excellent way of letting everyone in the building know I was there.

New and different sounds were coming from the ambassador’s office, so I shuffled on over to the ambassador’s office peephole, and I took a peek on through.

There was certainly some hard-core consoling going on.

I felt wrong to watch, so, instead, I took a better look around the secret little room I was in. I saw a little something I’d missed before. There was a very thin hinge at the bottom of one of the panels. And just across from that was a little latch with a string attached.

A way out.

A second peek through the peephole, and the two were pretty, uh, involved.

I lifted the latch and pulled the panel inward, then tucked myself into a small package and crawled through into the office.

The first thing that struck me was how soft the carpet was, deep and plush and really some of the most impressive carpet I’d ever felt. Bonus, it did a phenomenal job of cushioning any noises I made. Though the grunts and groans coming from ambassador and friend were probably enough to mask even me running across the room.

I crawled along towards the door, doing my best to remain focused on getting to the secretary’s desk and avoiding any interaction with the couple. As I didn’t make any big motions, I’d be able to sneak by, so I kept it slow and steady.

Once through the door, I edged it a little closed with my foot, and scrambled behind the desk.

The notebook was laying open, in the middle of being written in, and I stopped my hand about an inch from touching it. Stealing the notebook would be easy. Relatively speaking. But it would also be extremely obvious someone had snuck in and snaked the book. Then plans might change. Intelligence was only useful insofar as it was accurate.

I gritted my teeth and looked around for other options. I was super tempted to read through the journal, just as an extra, but given the approaching crescendo of noises from the office, I was on borrowed time. There was a small stone bowl to one side of the desk. The interior was black from ash and smoke. But sitting unburnt, yet, were lots of hand-written pages. I scooped the pages up, and gave them the quick once over. Discarded notes for the meeting. The ambassador’s talking points. Expenses. Cost overruns and details the ambassador was prepared to offer the queen if he needed to cover his ass.

Perfect.

I stuffed the papers into my pants, and then just walked nonchalantly back into the ambassador’s office. I saw that the climax was about to occur, and moved quickly behind the desk. There, I ducked down, crawled across the last bit of floor as the Mahrduhmese finished up, and disappeared back into the darkness. I closed and locked the panel just as the secretary was chiding her boss-lover for workplace misconduct.

Whatever. It was time for me to go.

Shuffle off to Buffalo. And by Buffalo, I meant taking the ladder down to the sewer.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

As I climbed down the ladder, the smell grew in intensity. The ladder ended with a bit of a drop, maybe ten feet. Just enough to make it difficult for things to jump up. Except, you know, slimes that could climb the walls. Which, given the slime trails I saw on either side of me, was something they did on the regular. Whatever else had visited, however, left without any trouble. There was an arched tunnel leading off.

I dropped onto the stone floor, doing my best three-point superhero landing, dagger out and ready to attack anything waiting in the tunnel.

Nothing but stink.

I stayed in that ready position for a solid thirty seconds, just listening. I had no idea what I might encounter in the sewers. Or, rather, more accurately I had only the barest sense of what I might encounter in the sewers: slimes. I’d been told the sewers held all sorts of other horrors, and here I was about to find out.

The stone floor was surprisingly slick. The path wasn’t straight, so I had to follow a few twists and turns before getting to another arched opening. Which appeared to open right into the main sewage lines. It was a bit like being in a subway tunnel, one where the walkway is nearer the top of the tube than the center. The bulk of the tube was filled with slowly-moving sludge, the source of the horrendous smell. I wasn’t exactly sure what direction I faced, but I surmised the flow went towards the Pits. It’s ultimately where sewage was ‘treated.’ I looked upstream, then downstream, trying to get some sense of which way might be the quickest, safest exit. There were no signs. Besides the flow direction, there was literally no difference. I pulled a coin out and I flipped it up into the air.

I grabbed for the coin, but bobbled the catch. It slipped free from my grasp, plinked off the stones, and flipped up just high enough for me to see the sewage come up and snatch the coin out of the air.

So, you know, there was that.

At least it wasn’t reaching out for me. Yet.

I had to make some sort of a choice, so I went downstream. Ultimately, if I followed it long enough, I’d get to the Pits.

As I walked, though, I saw the sludge coming up towards me, so I scooted over to the wall as far as I could. The sludge pseudopods waved a bit, but couldn’t reach me. Safe. Ish.

I’d gone perhaps twenty yards down the path before seeing a junction up ahead. A cross-sewers, if you will, where two pipes came together. Helpfully, small bridges crossed the sludge rivers, rising up higher than you’d expect, but I guessed that was so the poop-monster-hand-thingies wouldn’t be able to reach up and pull pedestrians down into the shit.

While I was deciding which way to go, I heard something that sounded like whistling, except more sibilant. Like a snake trying to whistle. I dropped to a knee, and pulled a dagger out. Ready.

I could make out footsteps, multiple people coming my way. Or maybe a creature that had plenty of legs. Who also liked to whistle. And who somehow managed to walk so that all the legs weren’t falling in a rhythm of any kind.

The first thing around the corner was a snout, alligator-like. Followed quickly by the rest of the head of the creature. It looked like a tiny dragon, about three feet tall and wearing a hodgepodge of armor and clothes. Given the darkness, I couldn’t really make out colors, but there was definitely no priority placed on matching, well, anything. All of the creature’s belongings looked as if they’d been scrounged and fixed and/or ‘improved’ in some fashion.

I immediately shot him with an identification spell.

Kobold

Lvl 12 Tunnel Rat

Huh, I thought.

He paused, sniffed the air, then dropped into a half-crouch, and pulled a small spear off of his back.

Then he saw me.

He took a step back involuntarily, then sent a quick hand signal to the rest of the group.

“You are lost,” he said.

“Or are you?” I replied.

“No, I know exactly where I am.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Is here. Right here.” He pointed between his feet. “Where you think here is?”

“You might be right.”

“Am right.”

“Or are you left?”

He looked to his left, which was the wall, and I think he gave me the kobold equivalent to a smile.

“Where you going?” he asked.

“I need to get back up to the streets,” I said. “Where are all of you going?”

He paused, eyes just widening ever so much.

“Is just me.”

I glanced over at the corner, and saw a little bit of a snout. And something that seemed like feathers.

“Man,” I said, “elves have darkvision. I can see you, and I can see your buddy’s nose.”

The kobold looked over to the side, and said something in a sibilant language.

Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Common Kobold.

“— said he sees you,” the kobold finished.

And now I knew Kobold. Definitely one of my favorite skills. Or Abilities. Whatever.

“He can’t see me,” the other kobold said. “I am hidden. Tell him you are alone.”

I shook my head. These guys were fun, but I wasn’t quite sure if I should let them know I spoke their language yet. Though realistically, I couldn’t imagine they had much in the way of information I needed to glean carefully from them. But they did seem very comfortable in the sewers, and that made me think they might be able to guide me around. Provided I was nice to them.

“Nope,” the fully visible kobold said. “All alone.”

“Okay, well,” I said, “I don’t believe you.”

“You should. Am very honest.”

“What about the other one? Is he honest as well?”

“Yes. Both of us, trustworthy.”

“So there are two of you here?”

The visible kobold looked over at his buddy, and I could almost hear the ‘hidden’ kobold sighing. The guy stepped out, and looked over at me. He was a little different looking than the first. Similar clothing and armor, all scrounged and ‘improved,’ but instead of the pebbly dragon sort of skin, he was covered in long, fine white hair. Or feathers. Hard to tell. The kobold was very hesitant when he saw me looking at him, almost like he was afraid I might just leap and attack him at first sight.

I gave the formerly hidden one a little nod.

“You kill me now?” the hidden one asked.

“Uh, no,” I replied. “Why would I?”

“Most humans kill snowbolds on sight.”

“What’s a snowbold?”

The formerly-hidden guy, apparently a snowbold, pointed to himself. I also noticed that the other kobold helpfully pointed to his buddy.

“Well, I’m an elf, so I don’t know about that. Any particular reason I’d attack you?” I asked.

“Nooooo…” the snowbold said.

“Okay, so there might be a reason,” I said. “But no, I’m not planning on it.”

“Don’t tell him about us,” came another voice from around the corner, again speaking in kobold.

I sighed.

“Guys,” I said, this time using their language, “can we cut the crap?”

There was a stillness as the two kobolds I could see stared at me. And then the eight other kobold heads popped around the corner to stare at me.

“You speak the language,” the first kobold said.

“The language?” I asked, a little stunned at the presumption their language was The language. But whatever, it was natural for them think highly of themselves. I suppose that’s sometimes how people view New Yorkers when we call it The City. But, you know, we’re right. It is The City. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

All of the kobolds and snowbolds — there were two more of those in the group — stood just around three feet in height. The main area of difference between them all, other than color or slight differences in facial structure, seemed to be in musculature. Some were heavily muscled, though still short, and others were almost emaciated. But from my perspective, it was impossible to discern if those discrepancies were indicative of any hierarchy. It definitely didn’t come from what they wore, since everyone was custom-scavenged armor. They all had low-quality weapons, and at least three had helmets they had to continually push up in order to actually see out from under. One of them had a full coverage helm with the visor ripped off to allow its snout to come through. It was quite a sight.

They looked from me to each other, then back to me. Finally, one who had affixed a number of spikes to a helmet that didn’t at all fit him, muttered something, and the other kobolds turned to look at him.

And then this happened:

Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Ancient Kobold.

Awesome.

“… says we should just leave him,” Spikes finished up.

“Aww, come on,” I said in Ancient Kobold, “you don’t have to go and ditch me. I’m cool. I can hang.”

Another snout came around the corner, and an eleventh kobold peeked out at me. This kobold wore robes, with a large hood hanging low off the back. The robe was made out of almost random bits of cloth sewn together in a pseudo-quilt pattern. A mess of chains hung around the creature’s neck, and it didn’t have a weapon. Just a big stick.

“How you know this language?” Robe asked.

“I’m a special man,” I replied.

A harsh, guttural sound came from around the corner, and while I thought it might have been a monster of some kind, I got another notification:

Smashing! You’ve learned a new language, Ancient Draconic.

“… And he knows the old language?” finished the creature around the corner.

I took an involuntary step back because, won’t lie, I was starting to think I might have stumbled on a kobold invasion. And maybe that there was a dragon around the corner.

“Who goes there?” I asked in draconic, doing my very best to sound like I was not about to poop my pants in fear. I mean, dragons? Come on.

A pause.

A very old-looking kobold came around the corner, his face covered in the wisps of white hair. Or feathers. His eyes were rheumy and he seemed to require a staff to stand even remotely straight. He extended his hand out, and I saw that though his fingers were tipped in talons, they had been dulled down over time.

All the kobolds shivered at the same time. I felt a familiar tingle as a blip of magic rolled over me.

The old kobold nodded.

“Good trick,” the old one said in draconic.

The other robed figure tilted his head to the side, looking to the older kobold. The older kobold just gave a toothy smile.

“How you do this?” the very first kobold asked.

“If I tell you,” I started thinking I might have found a bargaining chip to get out of the sewers, “you guide me to where I want to go.”

“Where you want to go?”

“Out of the sewers.”

The kobold pointed to the sludge river.

“That take you out.”

“Isn’t there stuff in there that will eat me?”

“Is death not an exit?”

“Wow, that’s deep. Not exactly the exit I’m looking for, though.”

“You tell, I take you where you want to go.”

“It’s an ability of mine,” I said. “I pick up languages real easy.”

The kobolds looked at each other, confused the answer had been so simple, relatively speaking.

“The exit?” I asked. “I’d like to get to Old Town. Or, you know, just anywhere not in the sewers.”

The old kobold nodded to the first kobold I’d seen.

“This way,” first kobold said.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The sewers under Glaton are insane. Twists and turns everywhere, junctions at seemingly random intervals. Sewage coming in from pipes that just come out of the wall. A truly bizarre system. And yet, the kobold seemed to know exactly the path to take. And when to pause to let sewage flow in. He rerouted us around big monsters, small monsters, creepy monsters, all sorts of things capable of killing us. The whole time my little buddy remained in absolute silence, despite me trying to get him to chat.

Finally, we got to a stone door. The kobold pulled a large key off his belt, and shoved it into a hole. He opened the door and pulled me in after him. I caught sight of something large coming out of the sludge river. He slammed the door. Whatever it was on the other side started pounding on it.

The kobold let out a long breath he’d clearly been holding in.

“Safe now?” I asked.

He nodded. “Short distance to exit,” he said, and resumed walking.

We were in a different sort of place, somewhere with newer construction. It was a square tunnel, not a tube, made of large seemingly hand-hewn sand-colored bricks.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Boris,” he replied.

“Boris?”

“Real name is hard to pronounce.”

“Try me.”

“Rather not.”

“Okay.”

“Your name?”

“Clyde.”

“Real?”

“Yeah.”

He grunted, but kept on moving.

“How many of you are down here?” I asked.

“One,” he replied.

“Let’s not do this again—”

“I am only me here.”

“I meant kobolds.”

“Oh. There are more than one.”

“How many more than one?”

“Ten?”

“So there are eleven of you?”

“One of me.”

“Eleven kobolds?”

“Is that more than ten?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. Eleven.”

“Would you say there are more than eleven?”

“How many eleven?”

I stopped walking, and held up my fingers to him.

“Eleven is one more than all my fingers,” I said.

He looked down at his claws, then at my fingers.

“Not as many fingers,” he said, showing his hands. Sure enough, only three fingers and a thumb on each hand. “More than eleven then.”

“Not really great with numbers,” I said softly.

“Boris know all the numbers.”

“Oh?”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and zero. All numbers.”

“You’ve got me there.”

Another twenty yards farther, and we reached another door. Another key, and when that door opened up, there was a metal ladder leading up.

“Exit,” Boris the kobold said.

“Where does it go?” I asked.

“Out,” he replied.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Out.”

“You are ever so helpful.”

He gave me what I thought was the kobold equivalent of a smile.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment, and then I started climbing.

At the top, there was a metal cover. It was pretty hard to push up and out of the way, but once I did I was suddenly out of the foul smells and in the cool night air. And a small park. Thank gods. Something pushed at my butt. I looked down to see Boris.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Waiting for big butt to move out of the way.”

“Why are you coming up here?”

“Ooze coming.”

Clearly tired of waiting for me to climb up, he just wriggled between my legs, up the ladder and out onto ground level. He took about twenty steps into the little garden, and looked around.

Meanwhile, I glanced down, and saw the entire ladder tube filled with an intense red gelatinous ooze coming up remarkably quickly.

I scrambled out, pushed the metal cover back in place, and stood on it.

Boris darted over and slid locks in place just as the ooze hit.

The metal cover buckled ever so much ,and ooze spread out around each of the locks.

“You think this will hold?” I asked.

“No,” Boris said. “Last one broke.”

Then he turned and burned, running for it.

I followed suit.

A sharp kap-thawng noise rang out from behind me, and, well, the ooze decided to follow too. And, for a gelatinous thing the size of city bus, it could really motor.

We were in a small city park, somewhere in the Senate District. I could tell from all the grandiose statues of people who thought they were important that lined the pathways. An iron bar fence surrounded the park, ostensibly to keep the rabble out of the garden. Which meant that though Boris had a head start on me, once he hit the wall, that was it. He turned around, and held his spear out in trembling hands.

I did’t really stop so much as grab him and throw him while on the run.

As soon as I heard him splat against the cobblestone street on the other side, I started climbing up.

The ooze just went through the iron bars, the gelatinous stuff splitting and re-forming around the bars like it was nothing. The shiny red thing just cruised down the road after us.

I had a good idea of what to do. But if humans really killed kobolds on sight, I had a bad feeling it wouldn’t work out so well for Boris.

He was still trying to get back to his feet, so I just hoisted him up by his custom-made armor. Or at least I tried to, because as soon as I grabbed at it, the flimsy leather shoulder straps snapped, and the armor fell off and onto the ground with a light clank.

I skidded to a stop, grabbed him by the tail, and got him over my shoulder. The ooze was crashing towards us like a horrible red wave. I ran.

And ran.

In a straight line, I sprinted at top speed, blazing my stamina regen spell at full tilt, burning through both mana and stamina. A glorious combo.

Boris, meanwhile, had a perfect view of our pursuer, and I think he was rather terrified of the whole thing, as evidenced by the warm kobold piss running down my torso. Not the best of nights for me.

Ahead, though, was my destination.

At least, sort of.

The Imperial Palace loomed over the area, and even at night there was an impressive amount of light. Also, because it was the center of power for the entire Empire, there were a metric butt-ton of soldiers around. Legion, Watch, and Thingmen all had their own troops watching. So when I came screaming like a bat out of hell into the front public courtyard of the Imperial Palace with a ginormous red ooze following behind me, the response was quick and violent.

Everyone with a weapon fell on the slime with wild abandon, all trying to prove their own faction was the best. That gave me the perfect out, letting me slip away in relative obscurity. No one even noticed the kobold I was carrying over my shoulder.

As soon as we had some space between us and all the violent folk at the palace, I put Boris the kobold down.

“I wet you,” he said, ashamed.

“Happens to the best of us.”

“You pee yourself too?”

“Not this time,” I said. “Thanks for showing me the exit.”

He nodded.

I nodded.

And we stood there for a moment.

“Okay,” I said, “I’m going this way.”

Boris nodded.

So I started walking.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

I got a block before I glanced over my shoulder.

Boris was right there, barely inches behind.

“Jesus,” I said, jumping away from him.

He turned around and had his spear out to face whatever danger might be coming behind us.

“Why are you following me?” I asked.

“Who is following us?” Boris asked.

“You are following me.”

“Oh,” he replied, lowering his spear and turning back to face me. “Yes.”

“Any reason why?”

“Others would have left me. Use me to make sure they can outrun ooze. I prefer you.”

“So you’re just going to follow me now?”

He nodded, and smiled his kobold smile. Which seemed more about baring teeth than anything else, and was not at all pleasant to look at. Especially because, at least in my limited one-night kobold experience, they almost always had something stuck in their teeth. Usually not something I’d been able to identify.

“Okay,” I said, “well, you do you.”

I continued on down to Old Town.

Boris was never more than a few inches behind me, and the few times I looked at him, he was busy staring at the whole world around him, as if he’d never seen the city before. It might be the main reason why when I stopped to let a speeding wagon pass, Boris didn’t. He stepped right into the street.

Instinctually, my arm went out. I snagged the kobold by a horn on the top of his head, and ripped him back to me.

His legs went out from under him, and his tail got hit by the wagon with a loud thwock.

The wagon’s driver turned to look and see what he hit, but he never stopped, or even slowed down. I think, because he didn’t see anything moving, he didn’t care.

“Got to watch out,” I snapped. “That was close, man.”

“Tail hurts,” he replied, holding his tail up to me. It definitely had an angle to it I didn’t think it should.

“Looks like it.”

“Can fix it?”

“Me? No.”

He looked at his tail again, and then dropped it. He definitely winced as it hit the ground, but, otherwise, seemed happy to ignore it.

“We still have a long way to walk,” I said. “You going to be okay?”

“Be okay,” he said. “Only maybe broken.”

“Dude, it’s definitely broken.”

“Definitely maybe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Stop.”

“Already stopped. Waiting to go.”

I was regretting my decision to save the kobold. Twice. So I walked on in silence, while the kobold now seemed emboldened by his new lease on life, and he was chattering on like we were old biddies at a tea party.

We finally got to the apartments as the sun was coming up, just as Titus was unlocking the front door to his tavern.

“You look like a pile of hot shit,” he said.

“Thanks,” I replied.

“Smell like one too. And what’s that with you?”

“Kobold.”

“Oh shit. There goes the neighborhood.”

“Only if you want to have an intellectual conversation.”

The kobold peered around me at Titus.

“Who is that?” asked Boris in kobold.

“Friend of mine,” I said.

“You speak their language?” Titus asked.

“I’m an elf of many talents.”

“Also speaks—” Boris started, but I gave him a nudge to stop him.

“Is he moving in?” Titus asked.

“I—” I started to say no, but then I saw Boris’s eyes wide at the thought, I suppose, of not living in the sewer. “Maybe.”

“Am I feeding him?”

“Yeah.”

“What does he eat?”

“He speaks Imperial.”

“You do?” Titus asked Boris.

“Yes,” Boris replied.

“What do you eat?”

“Garbage. Bugs. Fresh ooze.”

“You eat oozes?” I asked.

Boris shrugged. “When necessary.”

“I’m pretty sure he’ll be fine with anything that’s edible,” I replied.

Titus shrugged. “Hey man, you’re the boss.”

“I always thought Angela was.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

“Does he get his own apartment?” Titus asked.

“No,” I said. “He can stay in mine.”

“Might need to buy the building next door at this rate.”

“Is it for sale?”

Titus squinted at me, I think trying to determine if I was serious or not.

“Might be,” Titus said. “Surprising number of owners moving out.”

“Any reason behind that?”

“How would I know? I just moved in. Also, you mind bathing before you come into the tavern?” He sniffed me. “You stink.”

CHAPTER FIFTY

I thought I’d just go up to my apartment and shower. Seemed basic enough. But the damn kobold followed me up there. To be fair, it’s not like I told him he couldn’t go with me. But go with me he did. I tried to be quiet enough that Shae didn’t wake up when I walked in. Not so much with Boris the kobold.

For a small guy who made zero noise in the sewers, somehow in the civilized portion of the world, Boris couldn’t help but be the loudest damn thing ever invented. He walked into the apartment, and then into a table, and then knocked over a chair, which in turn hit a plate off the table and onto the floor, and somehow launched a fork across the room and through the window the grimeling had so carefully exited from the previous evening.

Naturally, this woke Shae. And, because reasons, she somehow saw Boris the kobold before she saw Clyde the elf. This resulted in her screaming and launching herself from bed with a dagger.

Boris the kobold had his spear out, angled at her, ready to take her charge.

I had to leap between the two, catching the dagger in my torso and the spear in my right butt cheek.

“Hey!” I shouted, pulling the dagger out of my body and tossing it to the floor, instinctually cycling mana to heal myself. “Both of you calm down.”

Shae stepped back around the bed, and I grunted as Boris wrenched his spear out.

“Boris,” I said, “this is Shae. Shae, this is Boris. You guys should be friends. We’re probably going to live with each other.”

“Shae,” Boris said.

“Boris,” Shae said.

Then, she walked up very close to me, and leaned next to my ear.

“Is Boris a kobold?” she asked.

“Boris is a kobold,” Boris said.

“He’s got good hearing,” I said.

The kobold pointed to his ears, which I realized were tucked under his horns, and were rather large and floppy.

“Sorry,” Shae said, pulling her nightshirt a little lower on her legs. “You are the first kobold I’ve met.”

“I meet many humans,” Boris said.

“He’s also rather literal,” I said.

“Can read kobold and draconic,” Boris said.

“And apparently humble. I’m going to take a shower.”

When I got into the bathroom, I could still hear the two of them talking. I have to admit my curiosity was shooting skyward.

Getting clean, though, felt tremendous. I hadn’t fallen in the sewage, but just being in the tunnels was enough to deposit sludge-funk on me. And there was the sweat from the night. Even though nearly everything had gone right going into the Mahrduhm embassy, I was a ball of nerves the whole time. My clothes had been drenched, and it was something I just didn’t realize until I got home to take them off. Finally getting under the hot water was like stepping into a tiny slice of heaven. I spent much longer in the shower than I normally do, just taking a break for a moment.

If I only I had realized how much of a rollercoaster the near future was going to be, I probably would have just stayed in the shower until it all blew over.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Somehow, Shae and Boris were best of friends by the time I was ready to get dressed, and had already gone down to breakfast together. I waved to them as soon as I got into the tavern, but before I could sit down, Matthew grabbed me and escorted into the basement (not the sub-basement) to go over the night mission.

Godfrey was already down there, waiting and eating a bowl of something that looked like oatmeal. It was being deposited quite heavily about his mustache.

“Where did you go?” Matthew asked.

“Mahrduhm,” I said, passing the papers I’d snagged over to him.

He snatched the papers, and started reading over them while pacing back and forth in the crowded basement. As he finished each page, he handed it to Godfrey, and Godfrey took his turn reading.

And I sat there, pretty positive Boris the Kobold was eating my breakfast, which, you know, looked damn good that morning.

“I got to hear the queen talking to the ambassador, too,” I said.

“Heard she’s quite the woman,” Godfrey said. “Her troops both love and hate her.”

“Seems to me like her people are terrified of her,” I said. “The ambassador was shitting bricks just thinking about talking to her. Said they’ve got some sort of re-education camps or something going on in Mahrduhm.”

“Re-education camps?” Godfrey asked.

“That’s what he called it.”

“Sounds bad.”

“She sounds bad. But she’s beautiful.”

“Read,” Matthew said. “Talk later.”

Godfrey nodded, and returned his attention to his paper.

I stood there waiting. I already knew very well that the papers clearly outlined Mahrduhm’s machinations. Valamir was planning the assassination of his brother, the Emperor. It was going to happen on a specific time to be beneficial to all sorts of parties involved. There really seemed to be a massive conspiracy in place, and, frankly, I was a little baffled. It didn’t seem like the Emperor was unpopular. In fact, most of the lay-folk I’d gotten to know were pretty pro-Emperor. I guess the brother was just a dick.

Matthew handed the last page over to Godfrey, disgust all over his face.

“I cannot believe Valamir is willing to sink so low,” he said. “This is foul.”

“Is it enough to go to the Emperor with?” I asked.

Matthew leaned back against a crate, and looked over at the wall.

“Probably,” he finally said.

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

One Wrong Turn Rights Another

You successfully snuck into the Mahrduhm Embassy and obtained proof of Valamir’s plot to kill his brother.

Reward for success: Unknown

I found myself getting annoyed at all the unknown quest rewards I’d seen. Shouldn’t the game world tell me what I’d just earned?

Godfrey finished up and put the papers together in a neat stack.

“I’m convinced,” Godfrey said.

“Did you find anything to corroborate this stuff in your talks with the Legion?” Matthew asked.

“I only sent out feelers,” Godfrey said. “Wasn’t really expecting your elf-buddy to work this quickly.”

“What can I say—” I started, but Matthew held his hand up.

“Not the time for self-congratulation,” he said quietly. “We are looking at something quite vile. Something that could very well change the course of our Empire forever.”

“Haven’t there been weird successions like this in the past?”

“Do you know nothing of your history?”

“No. My, uh, village wasn’t really into history.”

“It would seem your village wasn’t into much.”

“We were a bit insular, yeah.”

“Should I presume you, then, don’t know how the new ruler is chosen?”

“Let’s pretend that even if I did once know, I’ve since forgotten.”

“Might want to get a few more points in Intelligence, kid,” Godfrey said, back to eating his oatmeal. Somehow he’d come up with a new bowl.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I replied.

“The problem is how succession will be handled. The princess is not fit to rule, nor does it seem she will take a chance to claim the crown. That means Valamir will be forced to duke it out for votes in the Senate. He needs to keep his involvement in the assassination quiet until after he takes the throne.”

“So there’s a Senate vote?”

“Once all this is settled,” Godfrey said, “I am going to Denmark and setting up a school there.”

Matthew shot a look to his brother-in-law, making it clear he didn’t the help or interruptions.

“The Senate is made up of the realm’s aristocracy. Whatever the make up of things are, which all depends on the number of provinces under Imperial control, the Emperor receives that many votes. However, there is a single individual who represents the city of Glaton. A non-nobleman who is elected from the city every ten years. So there is always an odd number of total votes, and if every single member of the Senate votes against the Emperor, they can overrule him. When the Emperor dies, if he has nominated a successor, that individual gets the old Emperor’s votes. So it is very hard to overrule. Usually the emperor nominates his offspring. Once, someone else was voted over the Emperor’s progeny.”

“Wilco the Great,” Godfrey said. “Four hundred some odd years ago.”

“You memorized all the emperors?” I asked.

“Yes. I went to school,” Godfrey said.

“Can it, you two,” Matthew sniped. “The problem in this case is that the princess has made it clear she won’t take the crown, and it’s not clear if the Emperor has put his votes to her anyway, or to someone else. In writing at least. In which case, those votes don’t count. So then it’s just a simple majority in the Senate.”

“Gotta have enough Senators, though,” Godfrey added. “There’s a special name for it.”

“A quorum,” I said.

“And yet you know that,” Matthew said. “Weird town you’re from.”

“Oddly enough, people have been studying that Hamlet for years.”

Matthew sighed.

“The last time we were in this kind of situation, it ended in civil war.”

“And the time before that,” Godfrey added.

Matthew nodded.

“Perfect time for someone outside the country to attack,” I said.

Godfrey nodded this time, then looked at me. “Is there more than just these papers?”

I gave them the run-down of the meeting I watched.

Godfrey shook his head, and set the bowl of oatmeal down.

Matthew looked shaken.

“How can so many be involved without the Emperor knowing?” Godfrey asked.

“Because Valamir has always been a political animal,” Matthew replied. “This must have taken years to put together, making sure there were promises in place everywhere. And Valamir must be counting on making a vote happen almost immediately after the death of his brother. It is the only way.”

“Can we stop it?” I asked.

“We are but three fools in a basement,” Matthew said. “I doubt we can make even a tiny difference.”

“We can try,” Godfrey said. “You get the elfboy to the Emperor.”

“It is not like you’ve got the power to get Hatchet to the Emperor, do you?”

“No, but I have other things I need to do.”

“I will see what I can do,” Matthew said to Godfrey, then he turned to me. “After noon, you be here, waiting. It will likely take any favors I have left, but when I’ve gained your entrance, it will be at a moments notice.”

I nodded.

Godfrey took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I suppose it is time I speak to my brother,” he said.

“Past time,” Matthew replied.

Godfrey nodded once, and then marched out of the basement, almost like he was moving quickly before he lost his nerve.

“Who is his brother?” I asked.

“A Thingman,” Matthew said. “And a murderer.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

While the brothers (in-law) went about their errands, I decided to head over and get some stuff taken care of on my own. Mainly, I wanted to talk to Careena, get some clarity about things.

I didn’t bother to take a carriage. The events of the previous evening notwithstanding, I wanted the time to think. And I wanted to be in the sun. After another long night spent in a variety of cramped spaces, some sunlight was nice.

Careena’s shop was in spooky-mystical mode. When she saw me through the glass, she rolled her eyes, but let me in.

“You have some other apocalyptic spell you’d like to tell me about?” she asked as I sat down. She closed the curtains and transformed the place from fortune-teller storefront to magic shop.

“No,” I said, “but I did meet someone who asked me to say hello.”

“Oh? Someone else calling in far-too-large a favor?”

“Maybe. A mancer who works in the Shade.”

She frowned, and shook her head. “You went into the Shade?”

“I did.”

“At least you made it out,” she said.

“Barely.”

“Might be a wild assumption, but you did make it out alone, right?”

“No, there was someone with me.”

She leapt back and had both hands up, orbs of light growing around them.

“A real person,” I said, hands up in defense. “I got checked by the mancer. He said I was clean, but he asked who was teaching me and I said you.”

She dropped her arms to the side, and released the magic into the floor. Which set the floor on fire around her. With a dismissive flick of her hands, water sprayed across, and the fire went out.

The room stank of smoke and wet carpet.

“You poor fool,” she said.

“Did I mess up?” I asked.

“I was talking to myself.”

She fell back, and while I stood up to try and catch her, a chair zipped across the floor and she slumped perfectly into it.

“Sit back down, boy,” she said.

“What’s going on?”

“It all depends on how that one mancer decides he’s going to act. Maybe by doing nothing. Maybe the Guard will come knocking on my door. Maybe there will be a circle of fire called down on my building, and my future will be nothing but ash. I need to check you, to see what he saw. Will you allow it?”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you for asking.”

She shrugged. “You can break the world with one stupid spell, best be polite.”

Lazily, she gestured her hand one way then the other, and glowing runes settled all over me, sinking into my skin for a moment. I felt a tingle.

“How come sometimes I can see magic as runes and sometimes it’s just a feeling?” I asked.

“It’s a bit the control of the caster over the spell. True control, you can cast the spell with just a thought and there is no external sign. A novice might require physical components, gestures, and vocalizations, and then the appearance of the spell might be outlandish. Though, let’s be fair and say that most advanced magicians won’t forgo the theatrics. Now hush and let me read.”

She leaned back and closed her eyes. And I suppose read over the information she’d just gleaned from me. She nodded, then nodded again. Then she frowned.

“I’m not sure how to deal with you,” she finally said. “You are becoming quite an issue.”

“Apologies,” I said, “but I’m trying to—”

She held up a hand. “I’m still thinking. Get me some tea, please. It’s upstairs.”

Dutifully, if sullen, I went upstairs, poured her a cup of tea, and brought it down. She had not moved, and her eyes were still closed.

Careena looked up at me, and she smiled while I gave her the cup of tea.

“Where are you really from?” She asked. “And don’t give me that story about your small town to the south. I know you aren’t from there. Or here.”

“You don’t think I’m from the Empire?”

“I know you aren’t. I am doubting you are from this world.”

“What if I told you I’m not?”

“Then I might finally start to trust you.”

“I’m not from this world.”

“I know. Where are you from?”

“A place where there is no magic. There are no levels. There’s no stats, nothing like that.”

“How did you come to Vuldranni?”

“Random chance more than anything, I think.”

“A lucky mistake.”

“Not so sure it was lucky.”

“Has your life been unduly difficult here? You seem to be failing upward at every opportunity.”

“I think you might have a rather rose-colored view of my activities then.”

“I think it might be better described as I have a good idea of what is happening, while you are ignorant of the larger picture.”

“That’s probably true.”

“It also explains why you are so unconcerned about many of the very bad things you have collected.”

“Like the kobold?”

“I’m going to pretend you have said nothing about kobolds to me, since that is not a conversation I wish to have at the present moment. I am talking about necromancy.”

“That was an accident.”

“I’m sure it was, but what an accident. In this ‘accident,’ you have acquired decades’ worth of necromantic magic. So much that there are few left in this Empire who might touch you in that field. You could very well be the expert. You could likely rule a small country with those skills alone.”

“I didn’t ask for them.”

“I know. It is for this reason I haven’t reported you. Or killed you myself.”

“You want these spells? Take ‘em.”

“If only it were that easy. I would certainly be interested in having them, and yet, I fear your attempt to give them to me would result in my death. At which point, it’s very likely all my spells would transfer to you. Though you were able to handle one absurd spell, I cannot see you making it out alive either. And then where would we be?”

“Both dead, it seems.”

“Yes. So you are stuck with your spells for now.”

“For now? Is there some other way to get rid of them?”

“Who knows what magic will come along in the future, but for the moment, no. In the future, we will be discussing your other world. For now, I believe I owe you some spells.”

“I mean, I’d sure appreciate it.”

“Are you racing against the clock again today?”

“More than usual, actually.”

“I will try to teach you three spells, then. None are particularly flashy, but I think they are all rather vital to your continued survival.”

“Seems like a good combination to me.”

And we set to work.

I was excited to finally learn spells Careena’s way — she was so convinced of its superiority. But in reality it’s a quite dull procedure. It’s mostly internal, or at least only visible to the person involved. Trying to see magic, trying to control the flow in particular ways. There are gestures that help, phrases that can focus or twist the energy in special ways. And, of course, there are all sorts of weird little things that can be used to make the spells function better. Wands, orbs, special components like dried newts tails, that sort of thing.

It took two hours before I grasped the basics of the first spell, which was all about the denizens of the Shadow Realm. About seeing them in our realm and pushing them back into theirs.

Look at that, you’ve learned the spell: True Vision of Shadows.

True Vision of Shadows allows you to see most creatures and beings of the Shadow Realm even if they are attempting to hide.

Another hour of blinding light, both inside and outside of my body. My eyes hurt by the end, but:

Look at that, you’ve learned the spell: Vaux’s Brilliance

Vaux’s Brilliance fills your body with brilliant white light, dispelling shadow within and without.

“If you find yourself with a passenger, this might help you remain yourself,” Careena said. “The last spell is a more general utility, which I hope you can find a good use for.”

A final hour of fiddling with my hands and understanding how to use mana to recreate my hands in a different location.

Look at that, you’ve learned the spell: Mage Hand

Mage Hand allows you to use mana to create a semi-corporeal hand up to fifty feet away from you that you are able to control as if it is your own hand. You will feel what it feels, and it will do as you do. The hand is only able to carry up to ten pounds.

Careena looked exhausted. I felt exhausted. But I had new spells. And I felt good about them. So much so that there were moments that I really wondered if I’d made a mistake going for a rogue class. I hadn’t progressed so far that I couldn’t change, but my life really was built around being a rogue. Magic was just so cool. It was truly Awesome, with a capital A. And, really, I just wanted to do more of it. But that wasn’t the way of the world. Not yet, not for me.

I thanked Careena, and she waved me away.

“I still need to make the coin to rent this fabulous shithole,” she said.

I pulled some gold out of my pouch, and I left it on the table as I exited. I was too tired to bother with counting it, but I hoped it incentivized her to keep teaching me.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

When I got back to the apartment building, I found Matthew pacing back and forth in front of his building, and the bakery, muttering to himself and looking like everything in the world was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “And where’s Godfrey?”

He grabbed me and steered me to the bakery.

“Unlock it,” he said.

I did, a little concerned, but also trusting him.

“What’s going on?” I asked as he marched me inside, shutting the door behind us.

He did a quick sweep of the place, looking for any eavesdroppers, but the place was empty. And starting to smell just a little musty. Made me think I needed to get a tenant or something in there. A problem to address after I attempted to save the Emperor’s life. Who knows? Maybe he knew a guy.

“Things are moving quickly,” he said, his eyes still darting around. “I can get you to the palace, and my contact can guide you to the Emperor, but you will have to be very careful. Valamir has his men everywhere now. There was some scandal with the Thingmen last night. Surely a lie, but it has to do with an ooze, a big fight, and civilian casualties.”

“I might have had something to do with all of that,” I said softly.

“You did what?”

“The ooze was chasing me, so I led it to the palace, and then left the soldiers to take care of it.”

“The ooze is not the unrealistic portion of the event. The Thingmen got into a bit of a spat with some of Valamir’s men, and it overflowed into a nearby tavern. That resulted in a number of injuries to the public, as well as seven people who died. The Thingmen were blamed, whether or not they were actually to blame for the deaths, it has now been laid on him. Valamir has been working to get his soldiers in place and the Thingmen out for months. Probably even years. The Thingmen are only beholden to the Emperor, so everyone has a certain level of fear for them. And this Emperor has used them,” Matthew stopped, and really seemed to mull over his word choice before continuing, “unwisely in the past. The populace has never been on their side, and Valamir has played this perfectly. As soon as the Emperor dies, the Thingmen are going to be rounded up and killed. I am betting on it. Godfrey, for his part, is still attempting to get to his brother, as the Thingmen are not allowing any non-members into their fortress at the far north of the Imperial Grounds.”

“So I should watch out in the palace.”

“You must be seen and unseen in the palace.”

“Well that’s the stupidest bit of advice you could have given me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Honestly have no idea.”

“You need to be a servant there, to be seen as a servant and nothing more. But you can’t be a servant who’s taken a side. You must slip in and out. Seen but—”

“Forgotten.”

“Yes. Better phrasing.”

“Okay. So how am I doing this?”

“Through the kitchen. You will go up to the palace. There’s a café near the main square of the palace called The Swung Cat.”

“The Swung—”

“Make pithy comments later,” Matthew interrupted. “You will meet a man there who will have an official uniform for you, and he will escort you into the kitchen. From there, you will work in the kitchen until it is time to deliver a meal to the Emperor. You’ll deliver the meal. He is expecting you.”

“Then what?”

“Tell him what you told me. Give him the papers. Whatever else happens at that point, I don’t know. It is ultimately up to the Emperor.”

“Is he a reasonable guy?”

“I have no idea. I’ve never met him. I admit to feeling some jealousy, but only some. Do not mention me to anyone from this point on. I have used favors for this, but I cannot be traced back to being part of this. Else—”

“I get it. You’re not back.”

“Exactly.”

“Should I wait for Godfrey to get here?”

“Why?”

“See what he has to say about his brother?”

“His brother the Thingman? At this point, it is more likely they will be a hindrance to you than a help.”

“Okay, so, I guess I’m headed north.”

Matthew pulled a small medallion from a pouch at his side, and held it up to me.

“A family heirloom for you to borrow,” he said. “It will shield your true nature from those who might take a look.”

“It hides my character sheet?”

“It gives you a different one.”

“That’s amazing!”

He nodded. I took it and put it around my neck.

Naturally, I had to check my character sheet.

Nestor Falstolfe - Lvl 8 Stevedore

Traits

Race: Elf

That was cool.

“May the LuckMother shine on you,” Matthew said.

“Thanks,” I said, not exactly sure how to respond.

You have been offered a quest by Matthew Gallifrey:

To Save an Emperor

Get to the Emperor and tell him of the assassination plot. Give him the evidence.

Reward for success: Unknown. XP

Penalty for failure (or refusal): loss of trust and friendship of Matthew Gallifrey, Titus Calpernus, and others.

Yes/No

I accepted the quest, then nodded.

He clapped me on the shoulder, and then walked off.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Before going uptown, I went into my apartment and took everything off. I dressed in my most basic gear, the set of clothes I’d gotten on arrival. The fit was a little different these days, I’d gotten a fair bit of muscle, and actually seemed to have grown an inch or so. But they definitely helped me blend into the crowd as a plebe. I also left all my weapons behind, save one very normal iron dagger. Money went into the trapped coin drawer, except for five gold which I kept for carriage rides and a coffee or three while I waited.

Thusly outfitted with none of my usual gear, feeling somewhat naked and afraid, I went north.

I walked along the streets in Old Town, just taking a minute, when I realized Leofing was strolling alongside.

“Afternoon,” I said.

“You have a quest,” he replied.

“I suppose I do.”

“I will accompany you.”

“Don’t think that’s a wise idea,” I said.

“It is a great idea.”

“No, really isn’t. I’m going into the Imperial Palace.”

“I am looking forward to seeing it.”

“You won’t get in.”

“I have more tricks than you realize.”

“I’m sneaking in, and you’re wearing shiny gold armor—”

“It’s burnished gold, thank you.”

“Whatever. It’s blinding people as we walk. And you sound like you’ve got a bunch of pots and pans in your pack.”

“I have my cooking kit in there. I wasn’t sure where we were going.”

“I am going to the palace. You should stay here.”

“Are you sure?”

I stopped walking and looked the knight in the eye.

“I appreciate you being here for me,” I said. “I really do. I have no idea why you’re doing it, but I’m glad you are—”

“Thank you.”

“But this is something I need to do on my own. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of nonsense things you can save me from in the future. For now, keep the people in our buildings safe. Okay?”

He nodded.

“I am still indebted for you saving my life,” he said. “It is not something I lightly forget.”

He put his gauntleted hand on my shoulder, and I felt a very comforting warmth.

You have been granted the Blessing of Mokoš.

Until the next dawn, you gain +20% HP. Creatures of darkness will have increased difficulty noticing you.

“Good luck,” he said.

I nodded, and he turned around and walked away. I watched him for a minute, and then continued on to my goal. As soon as I got to the Via Pratorum, the north-south avenue, I looked to the north and saw the palace. It was huge, looming over everything else around it. Maybe because I felt there was something special about the day, I took more time to look around at the city. At the people. Everyone else was just going on with their daily lives, and I wondered how I’d managed to get out of a normal hum-drum existence. How had I managed to slip into the epic side of things?

Just lucky, I suppose.

The type of people I encountered changed as I made my way uptown, going from lower-class working stiffs to posh bureaucrats. Matthew had been right about things, because around the palace, I noticed Valamir’s troops being far more numerous and evident than ever before. They were easy to spot, with dark blue tabards and blue accents on their weapons. I even saw two soldiers in full plate that had been blued in some fashion.

No one gave me a second look. I was just another rando gawking at the Imperial Palace. Which was a thing to gawk at. Massive staircases, soaring columns, mountains of mined stone put to work making a beautiful structure.

The direct area in front of the palace was largely ornamental and ceremonial, grounds no one was willing to sully with something so base as a coffee shop or tavern. But a single street away, there was no such compunction, and I saw a greater variety of food, drink, and commerce there than in just about any district I’d visited in the city. All of it was geared to those who had money. Booksellers, fine clothiers, exotic pets (which notably did not include grimelings), alchemists, and, naturally, wine. All the things that the contemporary Glatonese noble needed.

I found the cafe in question, the rather horribly named “Swung Cat,” a few streets away from the palace. It sat on a small square that had been blocked off to vehicular traffic by a statue of a woman warrior with one foot resting up high on the gruesome head of some monster I never want to meet. It was a nice place, small metal tables, tiny cups of Glatonese coffee, and a variety of biscuits that sat on pristinely decorated plates. It was certainly the dream location for any toddler’s tea party.

I walked inside, ignored the snide looks at my dress, and paid for my coffee with gold, which seemed to placate the owner somewhat. Then I took a seat at one of the tables outside. I drank very sparingly of the coffee, partly because I wanted to stretch it out and partly because it tasted like it had been made of ground up and roasted ass. The cookie was delicious, so I ate that very quickly. I did try dipping it in the coffee, which improved the taste of the coffee and had a rather disappointing effect on the cookie.

I took some time to people watch, a time-honored pastime in my previous home, and one I enjoyed here as well. There was certainly a greater diversity to folks here as opposed to the Big Apple. Which is quite the statement, but while New York City was, perhaps, the greatest melting pot on Earth, it still doesn’t come close to the wide range of humanoids on the streets of Glaton on any given day.

Hulking minotaurs walking by in massive suits of armor. Sleek elves nodding as they passed me, stout dwarves with huge bushy beards. I watched as people would go up to the statue in the middle, put their hands on the woman’s foot, pretty much the only portion of her a normal sized person could reach, and whisper things. Then they’d put a coin or two into a slot on the base of the statue. I guess prayers to whomever the person represented.

A woman sat down in the chair in front of me, without me noticing. I didn’t even have the slightest sense of her approach. Beyond being very sneaky, she was devastatingly beautiful. Perfection, not just symmetry. Nothing was out of place, every aspect of her face, body, hair, everything just went together seamlessly. Her hair was the right color, fitting exactly what you expected her eyes to look like which were under perfectly arched eyebrows which framed her eyes flawlessly. Every single strand of hair was where it should be, there wasn’t a fleck of dried or dead skin anywhere on, and her clothes seemed to flow as if a slight breeze followed her everywhere she went.

“You are an interesting one,” she said.

I opened my mouth a time or two, each time totally sure I was about to say something. But I had nothing.

“I see his interest in you is warranted,” she continued, as if I wasn’t sitting across from her gulping like a landed fish. “I would not normally engage one such as you, but there is something different here. Your actions are…” she paused while she searched for a word. But I had the distinct feeling she was doing it purely for effect, that she knew exactly what it was she wanted to say and how she wanted to say it. “unusual. But know they are appreciated.”

“Thank you?” I finally croaked out.

“It is I who should be thanking you,” she said. “And to think you slipped by unnoticed by anyone. Though I must wonder if that’s exactly true. This is a larger competition than I have seen in the past, I fear the true number of players is impossible to gauge. But, then again, that’s neither here nor there for you. You have no need to know any of this, nor,” she touched a nail to her chin and tapped it twice, as if having a thought, “do I believe it is allowed. A slip of the tongue.”

She smiled at me, and I felt my knees go weak, my arms heavy.

Suppose I was glad not to have a belly full of mom’s spaghetti at that point, though my stomach was a little woozy.

“Who are you?” I asked, meek.

“A friend of a friend,” she said. “At least, that’s all I am for now. For the time being, I wanted to meet you. See you in the flesh, if you will. But, I think it might be time for you to wake up. Someone’s here for you.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

My head snapped up as if I’d been taking a nap, and I saw a man sitting down across from me. Exactly where the woman had been. Bizarre. I looked around trying to catch sight of the woman, but there no one around. Well, no ridiculously perfect woman. Just the other random citizens of the city.

The man looked at me, one eyebrow arching slightly. He had pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and was a bit pudgy. Clean shaven, clean clothes, close trimmed nails. Just an average dude.

“Asleep drinking coffee?” he asked. “That is a new one. Are you Clyde?”

“I am,” I replied, blinking a few times and rubbing my eyes.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

“I hope to at some point. But that wasn’t a normal sleep.”

“Were you drugged?”

I looked down at the half-a-cup of coffee in front of me and swirled it around as if I could somehow see the poison or drug inside. I checked my character sheet to see if there was any sort of drugged debuff or something along those lines, but everything I saw said I was healthy and fine.

“No,” I said slowly,.“I think I had a vision or something.”

“Try and keep that shit handled where we’re going,” he said, getting to his feet.

“Do you have a name?” I asked, standing to follow him.

“Not that you need,” he replied.

He moved quickly through the streets, as if he was well-practiced making his way through them. It was routine to him, and he didn’t bother to look at any of the sights on the sides of the street. Not the people, not the stores, and certainly not the buildings. I couldn’t help myself — it was all interesting. A few times, I lost sight of him, and then he’d show up next to me and tell me to keep up, to move faster.

We went past the main entrance to the palace, past the huge outbuildings and along the wall before finally getting to a small manned gate where three Imperial guards monitored everyone arriving and leaving the palace. It wasn’t a flow of people, there were just a few. And the guards seemed to know everyone.

“New one?” the guard asked my anonymous buddy.

“Nephew,” my buddy said. “My sister thinks he needs a job.”

“Hope he can carry a tray.”

“Can you carry a tray?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, dutifully playing the part I thought I needed.

“At least he’s got that part right,” the guard said, and waved us through.

We went through a thick wall onto the grounds of the palace. The grounds, even as visible from the service entrance, were opulent beyond anything I’d experienced. There was an expansive cultivated garden as far as I could see in one direction, then massive ornate palaces in the other.

“This way,” my guide said, “and quickly. At this rate, we’ll be late, and your visit might vanish.”

I stayed right on his heels this time, realizing I’d have to visit the Imperial Palace another time to see the sights. I needed to focus. We went along a gravel path for about a hundred yards before descending a set of stairs into a lit hallway.

We sped through a maze of turns before coming to something along the lines of a locker room. The guide pulled a uniform out of a closet and shoved it toward me.

“Change, now,” he said. “And keep no weapons with you. You will be searched. Put your old things in the closet in front of you.”

While I undressed and redressed, he did the same, and we looked alike. Blue pants, white shirt, stiff white coat buttoned up with golden buttons. Blue gloves, black shiny shoes. There was an imperial crest on my left breast.

“Come,” my guide said, spinning on his heel. We raced back through the halls. There were no windows where we were, but there were plenty of doors, stairs, and color-coded arrows.

“What do the colors mean?” I asked.

“They lead to specific areas of the palaces,” he said. “You will be told colors to follow when you are given a delivery. Blue Blue Blue for the Emperor’s home. Blue White Blue for the Grove Palace. Green Green Black for the Farms. Given the seemingly perpetual construction of the place, and the relentless addition of guests and family members, it was necessary.”

Two turns, and we were at a set of double doors. My guide stopped quickly, so quickly that I almost ran into him.

He turned around, then took a step back because I was so close.

“Through here is the Imperial Kitchen,” he said. “Touch nothing inside, unless it is given to you. If you touch something, they will assume you are trying to poison his Imperial Majesty, and they will throw out the food and likely imprison you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You will wait inside until his majesty’s meal is prepared, and you will bring it to him. Do not deviate from the path you are given to follow. If you do, they will assume you are trying to poison the—”

“I get it.”

“I hope so. There will be a guard who escorts you to the Emperor, so do as he tells you. Questions?”

Before I had the chance to even tell the man I didn’t have questions, he nodded.

“Good,” he said. “Best of luck.”

He stepped around me and marched down the hall, his sharp footsteps clacking off the shiny stone floor.

I pushed through the double doors.

It was a kitchen, pretty much like any of the ones I’d worked at in my previous life. Lots of fire, lots of bodies, lots of knives, lots of yelling. There were also a bunch of men and women who looked like me, in starched white coats with gloves, all lined up against the wall. They were all waiting behind small wheeled carts, like fancier versions of hotel room-service carts. But they all had different sigils on their uniforms. I was the only one with an Imperial crest.

Someone saw me walk through the door. He didn’t look at my face. He looked at my chest, then snapped at me.

“Here,” the man said, and pointed to a spot next to a cart with a blue table cloth over it. “You’re almost late.”

“Apologies,” I said. “First day.”

“No one cares,” the man said.

I walked over to my designated spot, and stood there.

“Who’s your daddy that you got this gig on your first day?” someone asked next to me.

I looked over and saw a red-headed woman, about my age, a little shorter than me. Her smile told me she was making a light-hearted jab.

“It wasn’t who had me,” I said, “so much as who I had, who got me this gig.”

She laughed.

“Gretchen,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Gretchen,” I said. I was about to give her a fake name, but I wondered what information these people had been given about me. Maybe this was a test of sorts. “Clyde.”

“The guy who did it before you, he was a real dickburger.”

“Dickburger? Not sure I’m familiar with that.”

“Stuck up. Thought he was hot shit because he was the Imperial Waiter. Treated the rest of us like we were his lessers. Ordered us around, tried to order Chef around, that sort of thing. Basically made everyone else here miserable. Used to say he had the ear of the Emperor, tried to peddle that into meaning something outside of here. At least that’s what I heard.”

“Dickburger sounds like a good word for him.”

She shrugged. “It fits.”

“Blueboy,” shouted the man who’d given me my position, “food is up.”

“That’s you,” Gretchen said. “Say hi to the Emperor for me.”

“You want me to?” I asked with a smile.

Her face paled and she shook her head. “Do not.”

I chuckled as I pushed my cart forward. Covered dishes were set on the cart in a specific way, all watched over by a burly guard with arms as big as my legs and a massive sword on his hip. He glared at me. But, then again, he seemed the be glaring at everyone.

As soon as the cart was laden with the Emperor’s dinner, a rather substantial amount of food, the guard nodded at me.

“Blue blue blue. Push,” he said.

And I did, following him.

We left the kitchen, and a second guard came along and followed us.

It was another maze of tunnels, though a tad less intimidating now that I knew we were following the three blue arrows everywhere. Eventually I lost track of the turns we took, and, after awhile, I just let everything go and pushed the cart.

Finally, after who knows how long, we got to a door. It was painted blue and had lots of gold on it. The guards opened it up to reveal a long ramp. Up the ramp the three of us went, still in silence. I didn’t dare speak to them. At the top of the ramp, there was a slight lip, and we went from hard stone to deep carpets. It was suddenly much harder to push the cart anywhere.

Left, right, right, long hallway and through a door. Suddenly there was another door with two guards standing in front of it. They separated, and the huge guard and I went inside.

And inside was the Emperor.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

The room was something between a library and an office. There was a huge table that took up nearly half of the floor space. On the table was a three-dimensional map of what I assumed was the Empire. I noticed, off to one side, was another, smaller table, with a map of the city laid out. A large fireplace held what seemed to be picture-perfect logs, but there wasn’t a fire going at the time. It seemed a fire could be lit at any moment, however. There was a large leather couch in front of it, and the opposite wall held a series of large windows looking out over a fountain. It was dark out.

An older man leaned over the table, muttering to himself. He was dressed impeccably. Every item fit him perfectly. But it was the ordinariness of the garb that threw me a little. Average trousers, shirtsleeves rolled up. He looked like any other man I’d walked by anywhere in the Senate District. The only real difference was the slight crown on his head. Just a thin platinum band, about as wide as a finger. His hair had been blonde at one point, but was now in the middle ground of turning to white. He had a powerful build, like a warrior who’d never stopped fighting or training just because of age. And there were plenty of visible scars on his arms.

The burly guard put a huge hand on my arm, and I understood, quickly, it was time for me to wait.

The old guy continued to look at the map. He grabbed a stick, and moved something on the table. Then he shook his head, and undid whatever he’d done.

“Carson,” the old man said, “you may leave me with him.”

“Yes, your majesty,” the giant guard said. He bowed his head for a second and then strode out of the room.

As soon as the door shut, the Emperor’s head turned to me. I was struck by his eyes. The intensity of his gaze reached me all the way across the room.

“Yo-yo-your dinner,” I stuttered, somehow suddenly nervous in front of this guy.

“Bring it over, if you wish,” he said, a hint of smile.

I shook myself, and then rolled the trolley over, doing my best to remember that this was just a dude like me, differences in station weren’t nothing to a kid from New York.

“Leave it there,” he said, pointing over towards the couch. “Come look at the table with me if you would.”

I left the cart and walked to the table. I was impressed with the detail, and blown away by the size of the Empire. It was huge. And there were mountains everywhere.

“Impressive,” I said.

“Given the cost, I would hope so,” the Emperor replied. “Enchanted to be updated as my country grows. Or shrinks. You have something for me?”

“Yes, your majesty,” I said.

I pulled the sheaf of papers out of my pants, and passed them over to the Emperor.

He took them, and started reading while pacing back and forth. As he finished each page, he let it drop on the floor.

I took the chance to look at the table again. We, the city of Glaton, sat at the base of a huge range of mountains which were covered with tiny trees and dotted with tiny blue lakes. It really felt like I could reach out and touch them.

“You can touch it if you like,” the Emperor said. “But it’s mostly an illusion. Feels a bit like sand.”

I looked over at him, but his attention was back on the papers, as if it had never strayed.

Naturally, I had to try. I reached out and touched the ocean at the south end of the Empire.

Sand. Kind of. More like the kinetic sand. And I couldn’t grab it or move it. It was somehow sand that was solid. Very strange, but a bit disappointing.

“So my brother aims to kill me,” the Emperor said.

I glanced his way and saw him leaning against a bookshelf. All the papers were strewn about the floor.

“I don’t suppose you’ve gleaned a means or a time?” he asked.

“Unfortunately not,” I replied. “Just that he’s planned it to happen soon. Ish.”

“Soonish? You’ve got the talk of a spy down, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not a spy, your majesty.”

“I wonder what it is you are, given the lengths it took to get you to me. You must have some powerful friends.”

“I have friends who care for you enough to give up all they have to get me to you. None of us are powerful. Frankly, I’ve probably got more powerful enemies than friends.”

“I suppose that would be true, given that you seem to have chosen my side over my brother’s. I wonder why that is? You who are so new here.”

“I am new to the city,” I said, “but I’m an Imperial Citizen.”

He stood up and walked over to the map of the Empire.

“What is it you see here?” he asked, spreading his hands out.

“The Empire of Glaton in map form.”

“That it is. Down to every tree. I dare say it might have every blade of grass. I’ve never really seen the point of checking. If you would, my loyal subject: point out your home town.”

I looked at the map. At all the towns spread out across it. The villages and hamlets. And the cities. Almost at random, but not quite, I pointed to one of the smallest villages I could find, roughly halfway between Glaton and the coast with quite a distance to the big road that ran between all the various cities.

“Skegrund?” he asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Just outside, really,” I said.

“Time was, I would have ordered horses saddled, provisions made ready, and I would have ridden with you to the village, just to see you continue your charade. I admire one who is willing to commit to such a story. But I fear my life is running out, whether it comes from Valamir or another quarter. I just don’t have the time for such dalliances any longer. So perhaps you could humor an old man, and tell me where you are really from.”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, really trying to figure out what to say.

“You realize I am the Emperor. I could have any sort of folk here to compel you to talk. From the brutes to the mages.”

“Another world,” I said. “I’m from another world.”

“I knew it,” he said with a clap of his hands. “I knew it. I had my thoughts about it, and I wanted to say from the start, but it’s better to hear you say it.”

He walked up to me, and peered at my face, pulled at my skin a bit.

“Did you get to choose a new form?” he asked.

I nodded. “No elves where I’m from.”

“Magic?”

“None.”

“Fascinating. I would like to talk to you more about this.”

“You know about the other world?”

“There are countless other worlds. And I know about some of them. I know that there are some who come to this world from others. Though why they come here, I must say I’m a bit fuzzy on.”

“There’s a gang in town that has at least a few of us other-worlders. The Iron Silents.”

“A gang? A criminal group?”

“A criminal enterprise, yeah.”

“Though aren’t you criminal?”

“I have been known to, uh, subvert the law.”

“Should I have you arrested?”

“Probably.”

He laughed, and walked over to his dinner. With indifference, he pulled the tops off and looked underneath. A large steak. Fried potatoes. Green vegetables. Something that might have been a flan. He popped a potato into his mouth.

“I believe it was you who did something at that party I didn’t attend,” he said. “Something along the lines of removing some valuables from a lord or something?”

“That might be true.”

Another smile from the man as he threw a potato in the air and caught it in his mouth.

“That’s where I learned your brother is working with Lord Tollendahl, who is working with the White Hand and Carchedon.”

“Lord Tollendahl is working with the White Hand?” the Emperor asked. “Now that is very interesting. I’ve heard rumors about this White Hand. Problematic group.”

“They’re big into kidnapping and selling folk down the river.”

“And there we have the heart of my problem with Carchedon. They prefer to get their slaves from other shores. And as long as they need slaves to keep their industry alive, they’re going to keep buying our people, and we’re going to keep going to war.”

“Why haven’t you stopped the White Hand?”

“I may seem all-powerful,” the Emperor said, “but I am just a single man. There are limits to what I can do. Especially within the city. What would you expect me to do? Unleash the Legion to track down a group of civilians? It wouldn’t end well.”

“Thingmen?”

“That turns out even less well then you might think.”

“I have heard that.”

“Then you understand. But I promise I will look into the White Hand. Or, to be more honest, I will tell some of my underlings to look into them.”

He gave me a wry smile and tossed another potato up in the air.

But this one, he missed.

His face went pale, and he leaned forward to grab the table, his hand rigid.

“Oh my gods, they found him,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I don’t know how, but they found him.”

“What?” I asked, stepping forward to try and help the guy. “Who?”

“No time,” he said, his breath coming ragged and hoarse. “All that matters it they found him, and they killed him. So they killed me.”

“Wait, what?”

“You have little time here,” he said, pushing off the table to a mostly standing state. “To the window, it is the only way you can get out of here fast enough. Help me over there.”

I got my shoulder under his arm, and together we made it over near the window. The difference in him was shocking. His skin was grey and clammy, and cold sweat came off him in seeming rivers.

“Wait,” he said, and I paused. He reached over to the window, and undid the latch, pushing it up. Cold air rushed in. “Trapped. Only. Responds. To. My. Hand.”

“What’s happening here?” I asked.

He slumped to the floor, leaning his back against the wall, and looking up at me. He had a loose sort of smile on his face, almost like relief.

“I am dying, thief,” he said. “It would appear your warning was far too timely.”

“But how?”

“Ah, a bit of magic and a secret ill kept. But you should still be rewarded, thief, for your loyalty.”

He reached out and grabbed me by the neck. In a stunning display of strength, he pulled me to my knees, forcing our foreheads to touch.

Witness! You have gained the indicium: Imperial Mark of Honor.

The Imperial Mark of Honor signifies that you have done great service to the Empire and is one of the most prestigious personal decorations that may be awarded. It is only awarded by the Emperor. Imperial citizens will look upon you favorably. You are no longer required to pay taxes to the Empire, you are no longer required to fulfill involuntary military service to the Empire. Should a title be available, you are deemed worthy of the peerage, and may ascend to the aristocracy at the pleasure of the Emperor or any Imperial title holder. This Indicium is not hereditary beyond the first generation.

He released me, and I fell back on my butt. His face seemed to be devoid of blood almost entirely, and his eyes scanned the room aimlessly. His hands, however, seemed to know exactly where they were going. He fiddled with his ring, pulled it off and shoved it against a baseboard.

The board popped open. The Emperor reached in and felt around for a second before he pulled out a small folded piece of parchment held closed with a blue wax seal.

He held the paper and the ring out.

“Take these,” he said. “Do with them what you feel is right.”

You have been offered a quest by the Emperor of Glaton:

Do the Right Thing

The Emperor has given you a legal document and a signet ring, but not given you instruction what to do with them. Do what you will.

Reward for success: Unknown

Quest cannot be refused.

I took the ring and the papers. The ring was huge, a relative monstrosity of precious metals and gems. It was the Imperial signet ring. I looked at the parchment. It was folded into a small envelope of sorts, perhaps two inches to a side. The wax had the signet ring’s imprint on it.

“I don’t know what—” I started, but he shook his head.

“No time for questions, but for your friends,” he said, his voice getting quiet. He pulled five coins out of the air, and pressed them into my hands. “Now run.”

I paused for a second.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“You did what you could, thief,” he said with a smile. “More than can be said of my brother.”

I leapt out the window.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

I tumbled quite a bit further than I expected, especially since I’d forgotten I wasn’t on the first floor. It was more like the second and a half. I slammed through branches, which slowed me down, but definitely smacked me upside the head and downside the butt and all around, before finally hitting the soft soil beneath the tree with a whoomp. I got the wind knocked out of me, and I laid there gasping at air for an embarrassing amount of time.

Above me, I could hear the Emperor speaking to someone. A slow, struggling sort of speech. I knew my time was short. People would definitely remember a new elf delivering food to the Emperor, and as much as I appreciated the exit through the window in the garden, it was not going to make me look any less guilty.

I rolled to my feet and started running, just doing my utmost to get space between myself and the palace.

Night time was closing in, and clouds seemed to be rocketing across the sky, a storm coming. Darkness on top of darkness to the west. As if the weather, itself, knew what had happened.

I sprinted across the lawn, moving through the shadows.

Then I tripped and went down hard, sliding across the grass until I wound up in a gravel path, eating shit in the worst way.

“You there,” a gruff voice said. “Little elf girl.”

I looked up as large boots approached me.

“Or boy. Whatever.”

A big soldier stood above me, and he put his spear haft down near my face, smashing it into the ground.

“Where are you running from?” the guard asked, bending down to stare at my face.

My mind raced. I turned halfway over to face him and said, “I was a runner on the night shift, but now I’m running from all the scary night shit.”

“Pretty smart mouth on you,” the guard replied.

“That’s what got me in trouble,” I said. “Told a joke to some Thingman, and he didn’t appreciate it, so now I’m here, hoping to get home for dinner before I become dinner.”

The big soldier chuckled, and I got a whiff of his breath. It seemed to be nine parts alcohol and one part disgusting. With a single hand, he grabbed onto the back of my collar, and he wrenched me to my feet.

“Humorless thugs,” he said, “the lot of ‘em.”

“That’s what I said,” I replied.

“Quickest way out is there,” the big guy said, pointing to his left. “And take a carriage tonight.” He pushed a silver coin into my hand.

“Thank you,” I said, and I genuinely meant it. We may have been employed by different sides, but the guy seemed nice enough. “Clyde Hatchett.”

“Erwin Schneller,” he said, and he crushed my hand with his. “Get home safe.”

I took his advice, and ran for the exit.

I got outside the palace, and snagged a carriage quickly enough. Maybe just a minute of walking along the street.

A deep and ominous bell rang out.

“Oh hells,” the driver said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Emperor’s dead.”

“Shit. That’s bad.”

“Time to move out o’the capital, if’n you askin’ me. Looking to buy a carriage and horse?”

“No,” I said reflexively.

“Pity.”

With that, we were off.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Alarms, bells, shouts, and all the rest rang out as the carriage trundled through the city streets. It wasn’t quite on the order of riots — more sort of mass confusion. People were congregating everywhere, searching for news. Groups of soldiers headed off with purpose, to what must have been where their orders dictated they should go, but I couldn’t see any rhyme or reason to it.

Once in Old Town, things became a little calmer. Perhaps the age of the buildings lent a little chill to the air. Or maybe the people who chose to live in Old Town were people who appreciated the slower pace of life. Whatever the case, I didn’t feel like a riot was about to happen, just that people were looking for answers.

The bar was doing good business, though it was a more subdued crowd than I’d ever seen before. People were milling about, drinking in silence, looking sullenly at everyone else there. There was a heady sense of unease about the room. Hell, about the whole city. And I could see why: given the lack of an obvious successor, all sorts of shit was about to fly.

I hopped out of the carriage, paid the man a gold, which made him smile broadly, and he tried one more time to sell his horse and carriage to me. I was sorely tempted, but figured it might be best to hold on to the money I had for the time being.

I headed for my apartment, but there was a young boy sitting on the entrance steps, blocking my way.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

“You Hatchett?” the kid asked in reply.

“Sure.”

The kid stood up, passed me a piece of folded parchment, and then ran off as fast as his dirty little feet would carry him.

I unfolded the note.

Hatchett.

Due to unforeseen circumstances, it has become necessary to hold an all-hands meeting tonight. Please come at all-due haste as soon as this message finds you. Failure to attend will be grounds for dismissal from the Union.

Lord Rowland Tamblyn

Biscuit’s Union

I sighed. I had basically zero desire to visit with the old fuddy-duddys, especially considering they’d probably spend the entire time talking about how political uncertainties might effect their supply chain logistics and mess with the cookie making empire. God forbid they talk about anything that might be more germane to being a damn thieves’ guild. Also, it seemed like maybe this was a perfect opportunity to exit the guild. I’d seen little use so far for them, and they’d been quite a bit of a hassle to me. And they still hadn’t paid out my take from my first job for them.

It was thinking about that gold that convinced me to go to the meeting.

To think it was greed that doomed me.

Before doing anything, however, I went upstairs. Shae and Boris the Kobold were nowhere to be found, but given the stack of golden armor in the corner, Leofing was around and had yet to be given his own quarters.

I pulled out the parchment the emperor gave me there, and examined the wax seal holding it closed. The curiosity rolling over me was insane — I wanted to read it so very badly. And yet, the guy had been good to me, and he’d given me a final order. It would be a truly shitty move to ignore it.

And so I put the parchment and the signet ring into the best hidey-hole I could find in the apartment. Then I took out the coins the Emperor had given me, for my ‘friends’. Originally, I thought they might have been, like, super-platinum or something, worth insane amounts of gold. Then, looking over them, I saw there wasn’t anything official on them, so I did a little identification spell on them.

You have found Favor Coins of the Emperor.

These coins signify that you have been granted a favor by the individual on the coin, in this case, the Emperor of Glaton.

Favor coins. They went in the hidey-hole too, and I made a mental note to ask Matthew about them.

Then I got my usual clothing on, with daggers in place, the KrakenTooth on one side. The only thing I didn’t take was money. I had a feeling things might get crazy as the night wore on, and I didn’t want to wind up losing gold. Or looking like I had gold to lose.

Five minutes after the boy ran off after giving me the note, and I was jogging north through the streets, heading for the Arena district.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

The entire district was nuts. Lights were on everywhere, so that it was almost as bright as day. There were town criers shouting out the news, most of it easily identifiable as hearsay, gossip, or just plain fabrication. Yet there was a common thread: Valamir was looking for his brother’s killer, an elf.

I quickly pulled my hood up over my head, keeping my telltale ears out of sight. But other elves weren’t quite so lucky, and I saw quite a few already being harried and harassed. It was clear something like this was going to get worse. And who knows if the truth would ever come out? If anyone would point out that the emperor had died alone, with no trace of wounds or poison.

The lights were out around the Biscuit’s Union, but the front door was unlocked. As soon as I opened it, there was an old fellow there nodding at me.

“Last one,” he said.

I recognized him then — the guy who ran the midnight cookie stand.

“Hey,” I said, “you.”

He gave a wizened smile.

“Me. Come on, they’re waiting for us.”

He pulled me in, then locked the door behind me. Thanks to him being there, I didn’t get lost in the place. We went up a few flights of stairs to get to the very top of the building, at least by my reckoning, and walked into a large open room that seemed to take up the entire floor. It was huge. A large glass skylight let in some moonlight, which gave the whole thing a surreal mood. A bunch of chairs were set out in front of a small raised platform. Oddly enough, only two of the chairs were empty. Midnight Cookie and I took the last two seats, and the general chatter of the room subsided.

Victor Woolf, the guild leader, stood up from his chair, and walked up the small steps to the platform. He looked out at all of us in front of him.

“Biscuit’s Union,” he said. “It has been too long. A shame it takes an event such as this to bring us all together again.” He paused and peered at certain faces, giving smiles here and there. “We have confirmed the rumors — the Emperor is indeed dead. We can say, for certain, we were not in the realm of responsibility. None of our sister organizations have taken credit for this act of vile treason either, so it remains a mystery as to who may have done this—”

“Heard it was an elf,” someone in the crowd shouted.

“So what if it was?” Victor countered. “Is there some all-elf group operating in Glaton I have yet to hear about?”

No answer from the crowd.

“If outbursts were acceptable in this forum,” Victor continued, “I would hope they had at least a modicum of pertinency to the topic at hand, beyond gossip and fear mongering. We have enough questions to answer without getting to that ridiculousness.”

There was some soft laughter in the room, and the tension seemed to evaporate. Not completely, but there was more of a feeling that things were okay. We weren’t witnessing the end of days.

Unfortunately, what happened next was the stuff of my nightmares.

It was, indeed, a discussion of bakery logistics. Of supply chains. Trade. Pricing structures. How political instability might affect both the cost of inputs and the price of the goods. Would people see cookies and high-end baked goods as a luxury product in these trying times, or might they turn towards sugary treats as a means of self-medication? It went on, and on, and on. These were people who loved to hear themselves talk, it seemed. And they were very intelligent and wanted everyone else to know it. So as the night progressed, the arguments grew more and more pedantic and petty, until there was a shouting match over on-site sugar processing.

Midnight Cookie had taken the pragmatic approach: his head fell all the way back, his mouth wide open. He was sleeping. He snored at nearly regular intervals, and no one seemed to pay him any mind. Victor did his best to keep things from getting out of control, but even his attention span was waning. I looked over at Rowland, and couldn’t help but laugh. He had such a look of rapt concentration on his face that I wondered if he’d set a puppet in his place and snuck out.

As I watched him though, his expression never changed. And it was creeping me out. I started to worry the old man had had a stroke or a heart attack or something.

Cool Beans, you’ve learned the skill Economics. Now you can make educated guesses on how to best lose money.

It seemed like we’d talked all the way through the night, because I thought sunlight was coming through the skylight. Which seemed believable to me, but everyone else stopped talking. They all looked skyward, trying figure out what the hell was happening.

Fire.

A great circle of flames rose up, all the way around the building.

For a short time, a few surreal moments, there was a stillness in the place. It was funny, in a way. To see all of us staring out a skylight, mouths agape. No one believing what they were seeing.

And then the first person screamed. It sounded like a woman, but that was just me being judgy, because it was definitely a man sitting three to my left. The panic started at that moment, and everyone ran for it. The largest horde headed towards a set of double doors to the rear of the building, and another horde broke for the front. A frantic few ran for a side exit.

In a heartbeat, there were the unmistakable crashes of people falling down the stairs, being pummeled under panicked feet, and screams of pain.

I was still in my seat, but I wasn’t alone. Rowland was still in his chair, the horrible, creepy rictus still plastered across his face. Victor remained on the platform, watching the cylinder of fire continue to rise.

He blinked a few times, then looked out at the sea of empty chairs, his gaze sweeping back and forth a few times before he finally saw me looking back at him.

“Is this some weird hazing thing?” I asked.

I knew it wasn’t, but I was holding out hope this wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

He smiled, a sort of sad smile.

“I wish it were,” he said. “I fear we’ve made worse enemies than I’d anticipated.”

“So, uh, this,” I pointed up at the, “is not going to end well?”

“There is little we can do but prepare for death.”

He started walking, then paused at Rowland. He waved his hand in front of Rowland’s face. There was no response.

The leader gave Rowland a hard smack across the face, and the the face deformed where the leader struck.

“Wax,” the leader hissed. He picked up the body and tossed it to the side, then stomped on it. It was little more than a cleverly made dummy. “That vile, treasonous weasel.”

“Wait—”

“This meeting was secret. Only one other person knew about it before this evening—”

“This wasn’t in response to the Emperor?”

“Unfortunate coincidence. In part. Certainly we were going to address the Emperor’s death being that it happened, and those concerns took up more time than I would’ve liked. But the larger question was going to be about our continued existence as a criminal organization. Come. I will speak on it as we hurry.”

“Where are we going?”

“We may perish in this, but I will not let Rowland gain a copper from his treachery!”

He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and yanked me along with him, leading us over to a wall. He whipped a key from his pocket, somehow inserted it into a wall I’d sworn was solid, and opened a door up to reveal a tight spiral staircase.

I took one last look back at the skylight, and saw the towering inferno closing in on itself. Smoke curled up from the back doors most of the guild had tried to leave through.

We ran sprinted down the stairs in something like a controlled fall. At the bottom, Victor kicked the door open. We were in an office I’d never been in before, coming out where a bookshelf had been. A bit trite, but effective nonetheless.

He strode to the desk, and I walked to a window.

Outside was fire. Flames. It was like they were being weaved together, going from the ground up into the sky. Beyond the flames, I saw a bunch of mancers. Twenty at least, all wearing white hooded robes. Behind them were figures in masks. No one else was around. The square around the Arena had emptied. The mancers all had their hands extended, but any other details were obscured by the fire. Which felt like it was frying my eyeballs.

I realized I was running out of mana, which meant I’d been running my healing spell without thinking about it.

“Are you going to help?” Victor asked.

I turned away from the window.

Victor had opened a safe in the wall behind a painting — naturally — as well as a larger safe that seemed to have been hidden in the floor.

“Help me take everything from that safe,” he pointed to the wall, “and put it in here.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because Rowland doesn’t know about this safe,” he sneered. “He knows about that one. He thinks everything of value is held in that safe. And he was mostly right. But if I put it in this one, he will have no way to get it. All our deeds, all our bank records, all our keys, everything.”

I shrugged, “I’ll help if you tell me the combination.”

He shrugged. “21-8-7.”

I smiled, wondering if luck played a part in giving me a number I’d be able to remember. “Let’s do this.”

It took mere seconds to move everything, since it was mostly papers. A ton of account coins, though, which were apparently the Guild’s coins. I noticed one of Gideon’s in the bunch.

“Why did he do it?” I asked.

“Rowland?” the leader asked. “He’s always been a bit of a weasel. He loved to play the rich man, but his family was never that flush. Far as I know, he ran out of money, so he wants what the Union owns. Enough to make any man one of the wealthiest in the kingdom.”

When we were done, we returned everything to how it had looked. Which I thought was a bit silly considering that fire was about to come and kill us all.

“Why are we bothering with putting it all back?” I asked. “Won’t it burn down?”

The leader laughed. “You haven’t heard of the circle of fire?”

“Nope. Should I have?”

“Your parents were too kind.”

“Care to share?” I asked.

He was staring out the window, watching the flames dance outside.

“It is a magic fire,” he said. “The mancers surround a building with fire, Usually by surprise. Once you see it, it’s already too late. The barrier is up. You can’t leave. They weave the fire together, tighter and tighter, until it all meets in the middle. Tighter and tighter it goes until it is a tiny ball, and then it disappears as if it was never there. And it only kills living things. It will leave this building perfectly untouched, except for our charred corpses. Clean killing. Efficient. Horrible. It is only ever used on the worst of the worst. On traitors and necromancers.”

“And now, cookie bakers.”

He barked out a rough, harsh laugh. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The weave of fire seemed to just slip through the walls. One second, an insane brightness approached the windows, and the next, it was through the walls. And everywhere. I closed my eyes, but it didn’t do any good. The weirdest part was the lack of heat. It was just a wall of illusory flame as far as I could tell. And in that moment, I thought that, perhaps, this was just the most elaborate initiation I’d ever seen.

Until the flame touched Victor, and he began to scream. A scream unlike anything I had ever heard before. A scream I wish, more than almost anything, I could unhear.

And as that sound left me, my back hit the wall. I had nowhere left to run. The fire, the infinite brightness, finally touched me, and I understood Victor’s pain.

It was an all-new hell.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

The words hung in darkness. I hung in darkness. Or, well, I guess dark isn’t the right word. It was a complete absence of anything, save those words. Which meant, naturally, I shouted yes as loud as I could.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

And just like that I got shoved screaming into the world, slamming into being in the same alley I’d first walked into in Glaton. This time, however, besides three shrieking rats, I was alone.

Congratulations, sort of. You are the last remaining member of the Biscuit’s Union, therefore, you are the de facto leader of the Biscuit’s Union. You have unlocked the following abilities: Invite and initiate members. Change roles. Change names. Changes dues. Change abilities. Change bonuses. Remaining Guild points to spend: 0

So I was still in the Biscuit’s Union. Nice to know that death didn’t change that. And Rowland out. Interesting. I needed to get back to the building, make sure I was there when Rowland tried to steal everything. And make sure I could kill him before he ran away and hid.

You have been offered a quest by the Biscuits Union:

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Often

Kill the traitor

Reward for success: Unknown, unlock additional aspects of Biscuits Union Indicium, XP

Penalty for failure (or refusal): the death of the guild

Yes/No

The same kit of crap was at my feet: same shitty miniature crossbow, same bone bolts. All of it. I picked it up, shoved it all into the crappy knapsack, and pulled the cloak on, flipping the hood up and over my head. It was still night out, hopefully the same night. And I had business to attend to.

I ran at a good pace. Not full speed, not full out sprinting, just enough to eat up the road but not enough to necessitate spending mana.

It was late enough that the city had calmed down. The streets were empty, save the occasional wagon or patrolling city guard. The groups of guards were larger than I’d seen in the past, and looked both weary and wary. It had probably been a long night for them already. But no one gave me a second look — I was just a dude running in the night. I had the sense that as long as I wasn’t actively causing trouble, no guard was going to stop me. If I was running it meant I was a problem for someone else to deal with.

By the time I got back to the Arena, I was sweating and more than a little tired, with most of my stamina gone. I trotted the last few steps before coming to a stop just as I entered the square.

On the other side of the square sat the Biscuit’s Union building. Smoke curled up out of it, but the building looked untouched. The mancers were being helped into waiting wagons — it seemed like they had exhausted themselves. There were a few other people standing to the side, as if waiting for the magic users to get out the way.

One of the figures strode forth, got to the front door, and pulled out a key. But he had trouble seeing the lock, so he threw back his hood.

Rowland.

I gritted my teeth, and started forward. I had no plan in mind, just rage. The desire for revenge.

But I’d also never really been the one to lose myself in my emotions. Perhaps because the walk across the square was so long, halfway there and I’d calmed down a bit. I still wanted revenge, but I could see that the numbers were against me. There were five people along with Rowland, not great odds. Especially since they were likely higher level than me. I was a rogue — it was time to act like one.

I waited for them to enter the building. Then I jogged along the side of the Biscuit’s Union, and leapt up to a lower windowsill. It was a quick climb to the top, where I hauled myself up and over, rolling onto the roof. I stepped quietly over the stone top until I got to the skylight. Something had broken it, and there was a putrid smoke trickling out.

All the chairs were still in place. As was the fake body and waxen head of Rowland’s double. I could see smoke rising from various doors.

I dropped in, landing lightly on my feet like a good little rogue.

Then I padded across the floor, pulling a dagger from my belt, wishing I had ol’ KrakenTooth, but settling for the craptastic dagger that came with the basic rogue kit. I went over to the secret door, which was hanging barely a hair open. Down the tight spiral stairs, and to the office.

I paused before I opened that secret door. I wasn’t sure what I might find, or how I’d react.

Still, it had to be done. I pushed the door open with a finger and leaned out.

My corpse was against the wall. Or what remained of it. It looked like someone had carved a Clyde Hatchett body out of charcoal. And then put clothes on it. Nothing on the body was burnt, just the body itself.

Then, because a good rogue is also a bit of a loot whore, I took a minute to search Victor’s body. He didn’t have a ton on him, just a few account coins, two chains, three rings, and a small statue of a mouse. But they were mine now.

I heard someone walking down the hall, the hard steps of someone in a hurry. I ducked behind the couch.

The door opened, and someone peeked inside. Looking under the couch, I could only see the person’s feet. But the person went straight for the painting and the safe, so I knew it had to be Rowland. The painting came off the wall, Rowland throwing it to the side. I could hear the dial moving, so I chanced a look over the couch.

Rowland stood at the safe.

Right-left-right, and he had it open, swinging the heavy metal door out.

Silence.

I knew what he was looking at. Nothing.

“No,” Rowland said. “No, it has to be here!”

He reached into the safe, perhaps thinking the emptiness was an illusion. He took a few steps back from the safe, then looked around the office like a madman.

I ducked back behind the couch.

He stomped across the room, and I thought perhaps he’d seen me. But instead, in a fit of rage, he flipped the desk over.

The drawers went flying, papers fluttered into the air, and the desk crashed into the wall.

For an old guy, Rowland had some strength left.

Peeking under the couch, I saw Rowland standing over Victor’s remains.

“Where is everything?” Rowland yelled. “You weren’t smart enough to hide it forever. Not from me.”

The corpse declined to comment.

The poor guy seemed desperate, so I figured this was my cue to stand up.

“Where is it?!” Rowland screamed at the corpse.

I decided the better option, you know as opposed to talking to the guy, trying to get an answer or something, was to just act. So I stabbed him in the back. Just as he’d done to me. I was just a little more literal. I aimed right for the spine, and being that his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed to the ground, I’d say my trusty tooth-knife hit the spot.

“Wha—” he tried to say something, but he was caught somewhere between shock and pain. He moved his head from side to side, trying to get a glimpse of who’d hurt him.

I decided I’d help, and I turned Rowland over.

His eyes went wide, and his lips moved, but no sound came out.

“Hi there,” I said.

“You,” he replied.

A bit of blood was coming out of his mouth.

“Not nice what you did,” I said.

“How—”

“I’m not in the mood for questions,” I said, kneeling over him. “Treachery is a pretty big no-no. I seem to remember you made it pretty clear that hurting other members of the guild was against the rules. But since you’re no longer part of the group, I guess you’re fair game.”

I reached out and grabbed his face.

He tried to say something, but I wasn’t really interested in what he was saying.

Instead, I cast a spell.

Drain.

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Whizz-bang! You’ve absorbed the following from Rowland Tamblyn: +8 Dexterity, +4 Agility, +4 Intelligence, +12 Luck. +31 Traps, +41 Stealth, +24 Backstab

GG! You’ve killed Rowland Tamblyn (Lvl 33 Human Master Thief)

You’ve earned 0 xp! What a mighty hero you are!

Congratulations! You’ve completed a QUEST!

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Often

You killed the traitor.

Reward for success: Unknown, 3000 XP. Unlocked additional Biscuit’s Union Indicium

BOOM. You have unlocked the indicium: Biscuit’s Union Guild Leader.

This indicium is only available to the leader of the Biscuits Union. You are granted permission to access, alter, acquire, and sell Union buildings. You are granted access to Union Shops. You gain triple bonuses to stealth. You gain Innate Identification. You gain additional Acquit Chit slots.

And then there were three corpses in the room. One corpse was not like the others though. It made me feel gross to have done it, but it was the worst way I could think to hurt Rowland. To take everything from him.

Another big downside, going through his pockets was really icky post-drain. His clothes and pouches were all pulled into weird ways because of the manner in which his corpse had desiccated. I pulled everything off him without really going through any of it, rings, coins, pouches of stuff, a small leather valise filled with parchment. Then quickly, because I knew there were others in the building, I opened the secret safe and popped everything inside. I closed it up, got the desk back in place, and pulled my cloak over my head. Ready to sneak around and kill the rest of the jerks who’d dared come into my guild hall.

I opened the door, and looked into a darkened hallway. Empty.

Two steps in, my skin tingled as magic settled all over me. A strong spell, one that I had never felt before.

I stiffened, got the dagger out, and looked for an assailant.

No one.

I stood there for a full minute, waiting for someone else to move.

Nothing.

Maybe I’d walked into a magical trap of some kind. Maybe there was some trap on the door and only Victor could get through unscathed. That’d be pretty cool if it was the truth. Thinking there might have been some sort of record of the magical effect, I pulled up my info screen, and I realized it had been forever since I looked at my character sheet, so I figured, maybe there was a note about the guild leader’s benefits tucked in there, so I knelt down on the ground, leaned up against the wall, doing my best to be sneaky, and I pulled up the sheet to give a good look at it.

Clyde Hatchett - Lvl 9 Rogue

Traits

Race: Elf of the Sun and Moon

Height: 6’2”

Weight: 195 lbs

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Blonde

Renown: Unknown

Statistics

HP: 220

STAM: 539

MP: 436

Armor: None

Active Effects: None

Attributes

Strength: 21

Agility: 27

Dexterity: 39

Constitution: 30

Wisdom: 12

Intelligence: 39

Charisma: 20

Luck: 29

Skills

Lockpicking (LVL 15)

Silent Movement (LVL 25)

Eavesdropping (LVL 18)

Pickpocketing (LVL 24)

Stealth (LVL 95)

Parkour (LVL 15)

Meditation (LVL 1)

Archery (LVL 8)

Dodge (LVL 21)

Hauling (LVL 1)

Butcher (Invertebrates) (LVL 18)

Butcher (Exotic) (LVL 18)

Harvesting (Animal) (LVL 18)

Brain Stomping (LVL 1)

Animal Handling (LVL 3)

Fashion Master (LVL 1)

Lying to Yourself (LVL 1)

Monster Handling (LVL 1)

Swords (LVL 36)

Shields (LVL 35)

Heavy Armor (LVL 20)

Formation Fighting (LVL 13)

Traps (LVL 39)

Silent Landing (LVL 3)

Walking (LVL 1)

Baking (LVL 38)

Not Quite Golf (LVL 1)

Skull Crushing (LVL 1)

Mace (LVL 8)

Humanoid Anatomy (LVL 95)

Necromancy (LVL 55)

Religion (LVL 10)

Economics (LVL 5)

Backstab (LVL 24)

Abilities

One of These Things is Enough Like the Other

Undead Control

Undead Mastery

Disease Immunity (Undead)

Feats

None

Boons

None

Indicium

Biscuits Union Guild Leader

Imperial Mark of Honor

Titles

None

Relationships

None

Languages

Imperial Common

Plains Tauren

Mahrduhmese

Carchedonian

Sea Elven

Ancient Elven

Archaic Dwarven

Modern Dwarven

Infernal

Celestial

Common Orc

Mountain Orc

Narbendian

Gnomish

Primordial Terran

Pirate Pidgin

Carnish

Common Kobold

Ancient Kobold

Ancient Draconic

Spells

Lifeform Identification (Lvl 1)

Basic Object Identification (Lvl 1)

Minor Illusion (Lvl 1)

Summon Familiar (Lvl 1)

Shadow Step (Lvl 1)

Minor Heal Self (Lvl 3)

Stamina Regeneration (Lvl 5)

Zeddington’s Infinite Key (Lvl 1)

Silent Image (Lvl 1)

Detect Secret Doors (Lvl 1)

Satisfaction (Lvl 1)

Lesser Drain

Raise Dead (Lvl 28)

Animate Skeleton (Lvl 38)

Animate Flesh (Lvl 41)

Stitch Flesh and Bone (Lvl 25)

ReAnimate (Lvl 44)

Disrupt Life (Lvl 29)

Vicious Wrench (Lvl 45)

Heal Undead (Lvl 38)

Hold Monster (Lvl 44)

Hold Humanoid (Lvl 23)

Banish Undead (Lvl 10)

True Vision of Shadows (Lvl 1)

Vaux’s Brilliance (Lvl 1)

Mage Hand (Lvl 1)

It was a long sheet, and I felt damn proud of what I’d accomplished. I read through all the skills I had, all the spells, and there was this warmth blossoming inside, because in that moment, I felt like I’d really become something.

There’s a Greek word for what I was experiencing: Hubris.

Extreme pain flared in my back, and my health bar emptied almost completely.

“Knew you were one of us,” came a voice at my ear. “So glad I was right.”

I caught sight of a face, the pompous Iron Silent’s leader who’s name I’d never learned. He was holding a bloody knife with all sorts of vile twists and turns in the blade.

“Be seeing you,” he said, and he stabbed me through the eye.

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Waaah-waaah. You have died.

Kicked the bucket. Shuffled off the ol’ mortal coil. You have been weighed and measured and found wanting. But, good news! You have at least one respawn left. Maybe you’ve got more. Who knows?

Would you like to respawn?

YES/NO

Shit.

I said yes.

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

I was thrust into the world with no ceremony.

This time, however, I didn’t step into the alley.

I was in a room. There was wood paneling on all the walls, and the stone floor had a drain in the middle.

As soon as I came into being, I felt a horrific pain in my back, and my health bar started draining.

“Paid a lot for this pleasure,” Insidious said. I remembered him as the first member of the Iron Silents I’d ever spoken to, and I remember thinking then, as I did now, that his name was stupid. “Hope you’ve got a lot of respawns. I need to get my money’s worth.”

And he stabbed me again and again until, once more, I died.

READY FOR BOOK 3?

It’ll be out soon! Well, soon-ish. Book 7 of The Good Guys is coming out first, and here’s the preorder link if you’d like to get that:

The Bare Hunt

But if you just want book 3 of the Bad Guys, here’s the link for that:

Skull and Thrones

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Eric Ugland ran away from Seattle to join the circus. And then he came to his senses, and moved to Manhattan to be a playwright. Now he's a novelist in Oregon, trapped by trees and snow and bears. Mostly bears.

The Good Guys is a continuing LitRPG series I’m writing in the world of iNcarn8. Join my reader group and be the first to know when new books come out.

Reviews help other readers find books. Please post a review on Amazon, even if it’s only a line or two. I appreciate all feedback, whether it’s positive or negative.

If you want to chat with other readers about any part of Vuldranni, iNcarn8, the Good Guys, the Bad Guys, or just LitRPG in general, come and join my discord: The Good Guys.

CONTENTS

Also by Eric Ugland

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Ready for Book 3?

About the Author

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright, amiright?

Also by Eric Ugland

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Ready for Book 3?

About the Author

Contents