by Eric Ugland
"I think I'm doing fine," I said.
"What level are you?"
“Fifteen,” I lied.
"You know I know that's not true," he said with a wry smile. “I know that’s what you set the talisman up to read, which, more power to you. People have this thing here about being below level ten. It’s like you’re deficient in some regard. Especially someone who looks as old as you. It’ll be a pity party wherever you go. But it’s me here, Hatchett. There's no need to fib about your level. I know too much. I've killed you before. Even if you've gone up in level since then, which I doubt you have considering how recently you’ve perished, I can pierce your little protection any time I want, and I can see that you’re still stuck at level nine.”
I stopped moving, and turned to face Arthur. Some people balked at our sudden halt, but then just streamed around us.
"You guys've done the research on respawns, at least more than anyone else here. What's the penalty when you die?"
"You haven't checked?"
"I want to confirm."
"I suppose sharing a little information is fine. You lose all XP past the last level mark."
"That's it?"
"And you lose a respawn."
"Is there a way to see how many respawns you have?"
"No. Well, sort of. Say I kill you, I receive half your remaining respawns."
"Is there any benefit to taking someone's last respawn? For the true death?"
"Yes."
"Which is?"
"Trade secret."
"I suppose that's fair," I said, and I continued walking.
"A secret I would be happy to share should you join us."
"I just don't see how joining you could be a wise move."
"Care to share your thinking on that?"
"Simple," I said. “We have different morals. You guys seem to be happy being as evil as you want to be, and—”
"You're some goody-two-shoes?"
"I wouldn't say that's the case. But I don't agree with what you do."
"We play the game."
"It's not a game--"
"Of course it is, you stupid noob. It's all a game. And we've got cheat codes we can use to win. If you want to be, I don't know, a plebe, fine. Do it. But not in our city. Or our country once we take that too."
"Is this the you're-either-with-us-or-against-us speech?"
"It’s the last chance you've got to join us before we destroy you."
"I don't think you can."
"You're wrong."
"Maybe, but at least I'm not one of you asshats."
"You should be polite to your betters."
"I am."
He stopped walking, I think to make some face at me or something. It wasn't really in his idiom to just let me walk away without some sort of grandiose gesture or empty threat. But I didn't stop. I just kept going, and for some reason, that stumped him enough that he didn't know what to do. Which meant he had to scurry to catch up to me.
"Then it's war you want," he said.
"Pretty sure you declared war already," I said, "when you had me killed, what, twenty times? More?"
He smiled at that. ”Oh, that was nothing. That was just us saying hello."
It was the perfect time for me to pull a little trick Landon Marks from middle school pulled on me. Take a half step with the far foot, then shoot the near foot out sideways to kick Arthur's foot so it collided with the back of his calf. He stumbled, and I gave him a hard shove.
He fell into the street. I hauled back like I was given the chance to make the winning kick in the insert-your-championship-game-of-choice-here, and I smashed his face in with my boot.
"Oh," I said. “Then hello."
Then I kept walking. I had better things to do.
Chapter 166
Based on what Matthew told me, I headed to the Ministry of the Interior which, apparently, was the place you went to ask questions about things. The building was massive, as tended to be the case for the buildings in the Empire. Massive stairs leading up to big doors, but small windows.
There were Legion guards out front, which made me curious why the Legion didn't just act as guards for the city as well. They looked bored, but ready. While there wasn't a line of people waiting to go in, there was a steady flow in and out the doors, making this look like one of the busier imperial buildings in the area. Since I had no idea what else to do, I just walked inside, hoping there’d be an information desk.
There was, in fact, an information desk. However, it was behind the medieval fantasy equivalent of the metal detector. There were some very bored-looking men and women in robes sitting at small stands. In front of them were lines of people, the public. The public would present a wrist, hand palm up, and the robed employee would rest a finger, or two, on the wrist. Then, they'd wave the member of the public inside.
I wanted to take a beat and get an idea of what was actually going on, but because this was a busy building, I was more or less pushed into one of the lines by people coming up behind me.
Person after person went through, until it was my turn. I proffered my hand, and the man in the robe put his fingers on me. I felt a pulse of warmth go through my body. The man just looked at the next person, and I stepped on through. I was in. It wasn't clear what the guy was looking for, but he didn't find it in me. Granted, I had the talisman to hide some of the nastier things about me, so it was somewhat pointless to think about what he'd been looking for when I was busy hiding everything about myself.
Whatever. On the other side of the security checkpoint, there was a long desk manned by twenty or so individuals of various race and creed. Large arches at the other end of the hall led to the rest of the building. Looking through the arch on the left, I could see stairs going up and down, though virtually no one headed down. Some of the people at the information desk were busy, but most were just sitting there, smiling and people watching.
I walked up to a minotaur, because why the hell not?
The minotaur smiled at me, and I noticed a small name plate sitting on the desk. Dina.
"Hello Dina," I said.
"May I help you?" Dina replied, her voice both higher and sweeter than I'd expected.
"I have something of an odd question, and I was told you might be able to give me an answer."
"That is certainly what we strive for. What's your question?"
"What is the legal status of kobolds?"
She blinked a few times, then opened her mouth, then shut it and looked down at the desk. She pulled out a large book, and was about to open it when she just shook her head, and slipped the book back out of sight.
"I'm afraid you might need to speak to a specialist about that," she said.
"Is that, um—“
She smiled again. "Not to worry. There is someone in the building who can answer your question, I'm sure. It's just not me."
I was about to thank her, but she stood up and walked away to speak with an older gent at the side. The two had a hushed conversation for a minute, and then the minotaur, Dina, nodded to the man. And then she was back in front of me, taking her seat on the stool. She grabbed a small card, like a business card, but blank, and she had a pen out.
“Can you read?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She smiled, and scribbled something on the card.
"Here," she said, handing me the card. "You'll want to speak with Dunt Pomeroy. He's on floor four, east wing, room forty-one. You'll take the stairs over there to the fourth floor, turn left, follow that hall around until you find room forty-one. Okay?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sure."
"Have a nice day!" she said.
I took the card, and bemusedly walked towards the arch. It was such a mundane activity that I could have had back in the old world. I'm pretty sure I did something like that during my one semester at college. Go to talk to a professor, but first have to get through the department secretary.
The stairs were mostly empty past the
second floor, and I was literally the only person on them at the fourth. Looking over the railing, I could see another two floors above me. The hallway on the fourth floor extended a long way, and it was all hardwood. Most likely hardwood. I really don't know that much about wood, and I didn't really want to cast a spell inside a government building and bring the world down on me just so I could properly identify what I was walking on. Thoughts like that made it crystal clear I needed a deeper knowledge of how magic worked in this world. There were doors on either side of the hall with small number plates at roughly eye level on the wall. Office forty-one was right there, but there was no name anywhere on it.
I just knocked.
"Uh, enter?" a voice said with a mixture of surprise and confusion.
I opened the door and stepped inside a larger room than I'd anticipated. It had windows that looked out onto the street in front of the ministry building, where the populace was currently being washed away by a ridiculous downpour. A large desk took up a chunk of the left side of the room, and opposite the desk was a fireplace, a chair, and a couch. A bit like a sitting area, but without a coffee table. Bookshelves lined all the walls without windows, and there was an open area near the windows with a podium-style bookstand. A man stood there with a massive tome open before him, resting on the stand. He was a very large guy, and his clothes were tight, uncomfortably so. Kind of like he’d gained weight recently. But the clothes were nice silks of vibrant colors. Plus shoes that matched his feet.
He had a delicate tea cup in one pudgy hand, and I could see that the fingers of his other hand were stained with dark ink. He had a ruddy complexion, and long grey hair pulled back into a simple braid. Small glasses rested on his rather bulbous nose.
"Dunt Pomeroy?" I asked.
"Yes?" he replied. "That is, I mean to say, who are you?"
"Clyde Hatchett."
"Ah, is this, are you someone, have we met?"
"No."
"Oh, well, come in. Not that I wouldn't ask you in if we had met, but just, I'm rambling, aren't I?"
"A bit."
"And yet you're still outside. Are we, or rather, is there something we have to discuss?"
"I have a question, one I was told you'd be able to answer for me."
He gestured for me to enter, unwittingly using his tea cup and sloshing some of the tea across the book he was reading.
"Bother," he said, whipping a handkerchief out of his sleeve and trying to mop up the mess. It didn't seem to be going the way he hoped, because he just laid the handkerchief in the book, then slammed it and turned to me with a smile. "Perhaps the couch."
This is gonna be a weird one, I thought.
I sat down on the couch, and at first Dunt seemed like he was going to sit next to me, on the couch, but at the last minute, he changed course, and plopped into the chair, which creaked in protest.
"The question?" he asked. "I'm quite intrigued."
"It's, uh, about kobolds."
"Even better."
"I wanted to know their legal status."
"Where? Oh, likely here. Dunt being a dunce. Why else would you be here if not to ask questions about the Empire. But kobolds and legality. It is a question. The short answer is, well, there is no real short answer I'm afraid. Historically, of course, kobolds have been both allies and enemies of the Empire, but for the life of me, I cannot recall a time in which they were citizens. At least, not full citizens."
"That doesn't seem right."
"Rightness and policy are only rarely bedfellows, young elf. There was a time when elves were considered automatic enemies of the Empire. Though that's really only something I get to say because of a technicality. It was prior to the Empire existing as an empire. At that point in time, and mind you, the sources I've got for this are antiquated by any stretch of the imagination, but in that time, there were seemingly endless attacks via the elves from the west, and several cases when those who joined the city turned traitor. Minotaurs were unwelcome until four hundred years ago."
"Is there a list of races that aren't allowed to be citizens?"
"It's not that they aren't allowed to become citizens. It's that there's a process to become a citizen, and so far, no kobolds have submitted to the process."
“Okay well, I mean, can they be hunted?"
"Mister Hatchett — you don't have a title do you? Because I don't mean to imply something by not using it and simply going with mister or are you also unmarried?"
"I'm not married, but—“
"Master Hatchett, then. Perhaps it is best if we started in a simpler vein of explanation, because I fear you aren't getting what it is I am saying."
"I guess not."
"There is the law, yes? The Empire has mandated certain things are legal and illegal, and that individuals are afforded a certain amount of protection because they are within the boundaries of the law. Correct?"
"Sure."
"And you know of the phrase outlaw, yes?"
"Yeah, definitely."
"Popular term for criminal, but a bit inaccurate when used in that manner. An outlaw is someone who is not protected by the law. Which means they are neither protected by or punished by the law. It is in this space where kobolds live. At present and speaking in a more abstract sense, of course."
"Of course. I think."
"So if someone were to hunt a kobold, which I wouldn't advise, since from what I’ve heard there are few benefits. Unless it is one of those mountain varieties, in which case, it might be of value."
"I don't want to hunt them. I'm sort of, I mean—“
Dunt held up his hand, "No need to tell me specifics."
"More that I saw some being hunted in the sewers and I was curious about that."
"That's another issue entirely," Dunt said, leaning back in his chair. "There are additional laws regarding who is allowed in the sewers, which is basically no one save those cleared as workers. So even if there were a group of humans living in the sewers, it would likely be permissible for said humans to be hunted. Though perhaps hunted is not the right term in that case, perhaps it would be better to say that it would be permissible for the humans to be evicted with force.”
“Huh.”
"And there is the issue of kobolds and their, well, shall we call it tinkering? Most municipalities have specific laws regarding kobolds in civic buildings. They tend to alter the engineering to suit their curiosities, and you can imagine the effect that would have upon the city at large. Aquifers collapsing, sewers overflowing. I dare say I have yet to hear of kobolds improving things so much as putting holes in them."
“Interesting. So are you, I mean, is this your whole job? You sit here and wait to answer questions?"
He chuckled. “Oh, if it were only so simple. No, my dear elf. I am a researcher and professor at the Enderun. Part of my job here requires open office hours to assist inquisitive citizens."
"So then you research while you're here?"
"I tend to read, yes."
"What's your field of study?"
"History as a primary and general field."
"Oh, excellent. That's cool."
"I appreciate the, uh, support. And the question. Something I haven't heard before. I'm very intrigued where you might be taking this, but, no specifics."
"Do you want to know?"
"It would be improper for me to ask."
"I don’t mind telling you. I’ve got a few kobolds living in one of my buildings, and I was just, you know, wondering what could happen to them if they stayed there. And what could happen to me.”
"Ah, fascinating. Perhaps, if you don't mind, I might like to visit your abode, see these kobolds and how they live in an urban environment."
"Yeah, sure. It's in Old Town."
"Oh? I do so love the quaintness there."
"Do you live there?"
"Sadly, no, I live closer to the Enderun."
"You mentioned that — what is the Enderun?"
"Are you a citizen of the Emp
ire?"
"Yes."
"And you don't know the Enderun?"
"I come from a very small village that was really insular and myopic."
"It would seem so."
"It's more a hamlet than a village."
"Ah. The Enderun is one of the Imperial Academies. I only say that to be polite — most of us know it's really the only Imperial Academy."
'What are the others? Just out of curiosity.”
"The Imperial Ministry of Magic has their mancer school and the Legion runs their Military Academy. But the true scholars are all within the bounds of the Enderun."
"Sounds like an interesting place. I take it it’s nearby?"
"My dear elf, you are already standing within it."
"This building?"
"In a sense. The third floor and above of this building holds offices, but the main campus is to the north just a block. It’s quite nice — I’d argue it’s one of the most beautiful spots in the city — but I am more than a little biased.”
“I take it you studied there?”
“One can argue I still do,” he said with a wink.
“The kobolds live next door to the Heavy Purse.”
“Is that a tavern?”
“It is, in Old Town.”
“What a lovely sounding place. You’re a tavern keeper then?”
“I, uh, no.”
“I do apologize for the intrusion, it’s just that I’ve a colleague who is incredibly interested in Choices and the effects of Choice on lifestyle and career. Very cutting- edge research. Seems that his passion for the topic has spilled over onto me.”
“I’m, uh, I mean—“
“Strictly confidential in here,” he said, suddenly coming forward in his chair, keenly interested in what I might say.
I liked the guy, and wanted to tell him the truth. Well, some of the truth.
“Rogue,” I said.
“Now isn’t that unique. How did you get into this building?” He asked. “No, don’t tell me. It would only lead to, well, never you mind. If you don’t tell me, I can’t know and I can’t tell. Important thing, that.”
“I guess it is something of a trade secret.”
