Lord Baen’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward slightly. “Oh, really? What did you discover?”
“Well, it looks like they are herding sheep,” Eliza began hesitantly, recalling her visit. “It’s really more of a compound or small town than a farm. I noticed that it was surrounded by a pretty impressive wall and they maintain sentries on the ramparts.”
“Interesting,” Lord Baen murmured. “Was there anything unusual?”
“Not really,” she began, noticing the lord’s expression begin to fall. But…”
“Ahh, there was something,” he said, gesturing for her to go on.
“I’m not certain this is unusual, but many of their sheep are sick,” she explained cautiously. “They have cuts along their stomach, and some have become infected. I also noted some weird matting along their wool.”
When she saw Lord Baen’s considering expression, Eliza continued, “I’m not really sure that helps.”
“No, no, that is definitely intriguing,” the merchant explained, his hand rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. “You mentioned that their wool looked odd. Was it the sort of thing that might indicate that something had been strapped to the sheep?”
It was Eliza’s turn to be surprised. “I guess? What are you suggesting? That the sheep were carrying something? Although… that might explain the scratches on their stomach,” she murmured thinking aloud.
The Hippie had ceased his antics and was now paying close attention to the conversation. He was kneeling beside the merchant’s desk, his arms propping up his head as he glanced back and forth between Eliza and Lord Baen.
“My thoughts exactly,” the older gentleman said, smacking the table.
Lord Baen hesitated, eyeing Eliza critically. “Perhaps I should elaborate on my fears. As I mentioned to you and Alma, I suspect that Lord Cairn has been taking advantage of our ships disappearing. In fact, I believe that he is purposefully waylaying my ships and stealing our cargo – likely flying some of his own fleet under a pirate flag. However, it has proven difficult to catch him in the act. Our ships and crews never return intact, and the ready culprit is the mists around Anguine Island. And with no witnesses…” the lord trailed off, the implication of his words clear. How did you prove that someone was stealing from you in this sort of situation?
“Wouldn’t he need to load the cargo on his ships to sell it?” Eliza asked tentatively, her thoughts racing as she considered Lord Baen’s predicament. “That might give you a way to catch him.”
“Exactly my thought as well,” the merchant replied with a nod. “However, my spies have been watching the docks closely for weeks now and have seen no sign of our missing cargo arriving in port – much of which is emblazoned with our house crest.”
Lord Baen grimaced before continuing, “If our goods aren’t being delivered to the docks, that either means that Lord Cairn isn’t responsible for the loss of our ships – which I highly doubt – or, he has found some way to unload the cargo further up the coast, repackage it, and then transport the merchandise to Falcon’s Hook so that he can deliver it to one of his regular trading partners.”
Eliza’s thoughts raced as she considered Lord Baen’s story. If he was right, then the farm might be a front for delivering the stolen cargo. Perhaps the “farmers” were actually loading the cargo on the sheep and using them to transport the merchandise to Falcon’s Hook. The sheep’s fluffy wool would likely conceal the goods, and no one would think to stop and search a group of shepherds. Eliza could see the Hippie’s smile widen as he watched Eliza and listened to Lord Baen’s story.
“I can see that you have caught on to my suspicion,” Lord Baen said, also observing Eliza carefully. “If Tollhouse Farm is a front, then Lord Cairn is using it to smuggle goods into the city. That would also be consistent with the armed guards and the injuries to the sheep that you have observed.”
“What do you plan to do then?” Eliza asked cautiously. She was beginning to suspect that she may have just inadvertently started a war between the two trading houses. With their significant presence and influence within the city, this likely wouldn’t end well. She had been in Falcon’s Hook long enough to understand how much the city relied on the trade and work provided by the two houses.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan to start fighting in the streets,” Lord Baen said, waving his hand. “That would not benefit my house – especially with our already waning resources. No, we need to strike in a more… discrete fashion.”
Lord Baen gazed at Eliza evenly, his eyes piercing. “In fact, I believe you may be able to help me with this task.”
“M-me?” Eliza asked in confusion.
“Yes, you,” Lord Baen said, arching a single eyebrow. “After our last visit and your retrieval of the stag’s pelt, I was curious to discover how a novice alchemist had achieved such a feat.”
Eliza could feel the bottom drop out of her stomach, and she tried her best to school her face into a neutral expression. This wasn’t good at all, and the widening grin on the Hippie’s face wasn’t making her feel any better.
“It seems that a large number of travelers and townsfolk have had a run in with this so-called Ice Witch,” the Lord continued. “Yet this ‘witch’ only appears to have surfaced recently, and his – or her – traps seem to be centered around the forest the Silver Stag was known to frequent.”
The lord leaned forward. “Now, it’s interesting that a young woman managed to not only slay the creature and avoid the other travelers that were searching for the stag – but also seemed to have no difficulty with this Ice Witch or her traps. In fact, one might even begin to suspect that you and this Ice Witch were one and the same person.”
“I-I…” Eliza began, struggling to form a response. She had never been much good at lying or improvising on the spot.
“He seems to be on to you,” the Hippie observed, his voice startling Eliza. She spared a glare at the god before managing to control her expression.
Yeah, no shit, she thought in irritation.
“But, I’m not a man who places much stock in rumors,” Lord Baen said, waving a hand and sitting back in his chair. “What the travelers do among themselves is not my affair. And I certainly don’t mind that we have a witch in residence in the local forest. If anything, it adds some mystique to our quaint little city. I just hope that nothing happens that might reveal her presence prematurely…”
“Ahh, the cagey old coot…” the Hippie remarked, nodding in appreciation. He pointed at the older man. “Greenmail! Wait… no, that’s not right. “Yellowmail maybe? What does mail have to do with threatening someone anyway? Maybe they poison the envelope…” he grumbled in frustration.
Eliza had also picked up on the subtext of the lord’s message: help me or I reveal who you are. It seemed she had little choice but to play along. Not that she had any clue what she would be able to do to put a stop to Lord Cairn’s scheme.
“T-that would be unfortunate,” Eliza managed to squeak out, her stomach shifting uncomfortably. “How exactly do you feel I could help you?”
A sly smile curled Lord Baen’s lips. “Ahh, well, it would be convenient if something were to happen at Tollhouse Farm that put a stop to Lord Cairn’s illicit business – permanently. If you understand my meaning, of course.”
Eliza’s eyes widened, her thoughts turning to Brian and Clarice. It was possible that the farm was being used to smuggle goods, but the evidence was circumstantial at best. Even if they were somehow complicit in some sort of theft, they had also seemed like nice people. Was Lord Baen asking her to… kill them?
“What exactly are you suggesting?” she asked nervously.
Lord Baen waved a hand. “Nothing too untoward. We don’t need to cause any unnecessary collateral damage. I only need the flow of stolen goods to stop. I would be happy to leave the details up to you.”
As the lord finished speaking, a quest notification appeared in front of Eliza.
Quest Update: Merchant’s Quandary
Difficulty: A
Success: Put a stop to the flow of contraband goods.
Failure: Ignore Lord Baen’s thinly-veiled threat.
Reward: Avoid having Lord Baen reveal that you are the one who has been killing the local townspeople and players for fun. Yay?
Eliza’s gaze darted back and forth between Lord Baen and the quest prompt, her stomach a roiling mass of indecision. Not that she really had much choice in the matter. Her worry aside, she couldn’t afford to let the lord reveal her secret identity or what she had been doing to the players. If she did, she knew that her name might be the next one listed on a bounty board.
“Well, the plot thickens,” the Hippie announced loudly, clapping his hands and causing Eliza to start. “What do you plan to do?”
Eliza just shook her head, her finger hovering over the accept button. She had no idea how she was going to pull this off or retrieve the god’s stupid bell. However, she was now backed into a corner with no way out. There was nowhere to go but forward.
Taking a deep breath, Eliza bit her lip and hit accept.
Chapter 26 - Delinquent
As Eliza stepped inside her family’s home, the AI – registering the presence of her core – immediately turned on the hallway lights. After her meeting with Lord Baen, she had logged off for the night. At that point, she was unable to deal with the Hippie’s antics and didn’t want to risk being blackmailed by yet another NPC.
Her day at school had been exactly the same as the hundreds before it – mind-numbing boredom interspersed with a few delightful moments of awkwardness. However, at least her classes had given her plenty of time to dwell on her two impossible quests. She somehow needed to steal a massive bell from a compound of armed guards that were likely smuggling stolen merchandise into Falcon’s Hook. On top of that, Lord Baen was expecting her to stop the smuggling operation – strongly implying that she ought to kill everyone or destroy the farm. Or both.
He had been a little vague.
Eliza threw her bag down on the kitchen table in frustration and decided to make herself a snack. She wasn’t exactly anxious to log back into AO since she had no idea what she was going to do to accomplish her quests. No brilliant idea had suddenly occurred to her during the day, and her thoughts kept spinning in an endless circle.
As she took a seat at the kitchen counter, still deep in thought, a chime resounded through the house. The AI promptly spoke up, “Incoming message for Eliza.”
“Show me,” Eliza ordered in a tired voice. It was probably just junk mail.
A screen flickered into existence beside her, and an email immediately came into view. Eliza’s hand froze halfway to her mouth, her knuckles white around her fork. “Oh shit,” she muttered, a heavy weight settling in her stomach and her appetite fleeing quickly. Her worries about the game were now forgotten – replaced with a new problem.
Her grade report for the previous month was on the screen. It was the usual series of “A’s” but one digit seemed out of place and held her rapt attention. She had made a “B” in English? Her first reaction was anger. Ms. Jones had probably given her a poor grade on her recent paper. The woman seemed to have it out for her in particular and kept giving her low marks in her class.
Who needs to learn creative writing anyway? How can you even grade a short story? she thought angrily. The whole thing was entirely subjective – not that her parents were likely to understand that. That thought made the writhing mass in her stomach clench. Her mother was going to be livid…
As though her thoughts had summoned them, Eliza heard the front door open, and the sound of her parents’ voices drifted down the hallway. She frantically swiped away the email, hoping that the school had delayed sending the same report to her parents. She wasn’t exactly optimistic – especially not with her luck lately.
Her parents entered the kitchen a moment later. “Hello, Eliza,” her father said in greeting, dropping onto the stool beside her. “How was your day?”
“Umm, good,” she mumbled in reply, breathing an internal sigh of relief. Maybe they hadn’t received the email yet. They would have started in immediately on the nagging if they had seen the grade report.
“Well, I’m jealous,” her mother replied, making her way around the kitchen in search of a snack of her own. “Our day was just terrible. The clinic was swamped.”
Her father nodded tiredly. “It seems there is no limit to people’s imagination. They constantly surprise me with the new and stupid ways that they manage to hurt themselves.”
“What was it today?” Eliza asked cautiously, hoping to keep the subject on her parents’ work. That was always a safe area.
“Where should I start? We had one guy that managed to nail his hand to a board,” her father explained in an exasperated voice. “How he did that, I have no idea. He would have had to shoot the nail gun over top of his hand…”
Her father stopped speaking as a familiar chime resounded through the room, signaling another incoming email. Eliza could feel her breath catch in her throat, and she closed her eyes, already dreading the conversation that she knew was coming. Of course, this had to happen on a day that both of her parents were in a bad mood.
“Eliza, what is this?” her mother asked a moment later, her voice eerily steady.
For a second, Eliza considered not opening her eyes. Maybe she could feign her own death – or perhaps a heart attack. Yet she quickly realized that probably wouldn’t work since she was sitting in a room with two doctors.
She grudgingly opened her eyes to see her mother and father staring at her expectantly. Her mother’s hands rested on her hips, and the toe of her shoe tapped ominously against the kitchen floor. Beside them hovered a screen showing the grade report, the lone B standing out like a sore thumb among the other grades.
“I got a B,” Eliza mumbled.
“We can see that,” her mother retorted in a dry voice. “What happened?”
“I-I think the teacher has it out for me,” Eliza tried to explain. “She had us write a short story… and I couldn’t think of anything interesting.”
Her mother grimaced. “This isn’t the time for your grades to be slipping. I’m sure if you had more time and you weren’t distracted with that game, you would have managed to write a better paper.”
“It’s just one assignment,” Eliza replied in a quiet voice. “And it’s only English.”
Her mother didn’t seem convinced by Eliza’s half-hearted defense as she continued ranting, “A doctor still needs to know how to write – even if the subject isn’t covered on the medical school entrance exams. I have to write reports all the time!”
Her mother tapped her lips in thought for a moment. “I think I know a tutor in town that specializes in writing. He might be able to help…” her mother trailed off, swiping at the Core on her wrist and skimming through her contact list.
Eliza spared a pleading look at her father, hoping he might be able to step in. He was usually the calmer of the two. He seemed to pick up on her unspoken plea. “I think that might be a bit much,” he suggested tentatively. “It really is only one paper. I’m sure Eliza can raise her grade next month or ask for some extra credit.”
Her mother glanced up sharply. “This is indicative of a larger problem. We need to nip this in the bud.” She hesitated for a moment. “Either Eliza is struggling with the assignments or her attention is split. Or both.”
“It’s not the game,” Eliza squeaked, suddenly fearful as she followed her mother’s train of thought. The prospect of not b
eing able to play AO – to not see Alma again or work in her digital garden – was terrifying. Even with the Hippie and Lord Baen’s irritating quests, the game was her only haven against the endless tide of schoolwork and studying.
“Really?” her mother demanded. “You spend every waking moment plugged into that headset – time that could be better spent studying. Besides, I’m not sure I agree with the current reports showing that there are no ill effects from extended play.”
“Come on, honey,” Eliza’s father interjected, noticing Eliza’s expression. “We went through all of that when we bought the equipment, and we agreed it was safe.”
“Comprehensive studies on the neural interface are still rather scarce, and most that do exist are funded by Cerillion Entertainment,” her mother reported. “Besides, Eliza’s grades would suggest that the game may have some unforeseen side effects.”
Eliza could feel her anger threatening to boil over, feeding off the frustrations she had already been struggling with all day. They always did this – talked about her like she wasn’t there. Decided her future for her as if she was just some sort of robot that would follow along blindly. Honestly, the Hippie and Lord Baen weren’t any better – forcing or blackmailing her to do what they wanted. No one ever seemed to care what she thought or what she wanted to do.
“It was a single grade,” Eliza finally snapped, interrupting her parents. Her sharp comment immediately drew their attention. With their gaze fixed on her, she suddenly realized she may have overstepped, and her anger faltered.
“See, and now she’s acting out!” her mother said, glaring at her husband. “Is this the sort of behavior you want to encourage – poor grades and backtalk?”
Her father opened his mouth, but Eliza interjected – anger flooding her veins with renewed vigor at her mother’s comment. This was completely unreasonable. How could they blame this on the game? It was just one paper. “It has nothing to do with the game,” Eliza insisted, her frustration giving her courage. “It was just a dumb assignment.”
Awaken Online (Book 3.5): Apathy Page 20
