The jester emerged shortly along with two rough-looking NPCs holding staves. “There he is, get him!” Scabs shouted.
John had the rifle aimed straight at the head of the first ruffian. “Back off or I’ll blow your head off!”
The ruffian rushed at him, unconcerned by the weapon. John acted fast and spun the rifle around to grab hold of the barrel. If he couldn’t fire it, it didn’t mean he couldn’t wield it like a club. Paying attention to avoid any direct contact, he rammed the butt hard into the ruffian’s chest and sent him sprawling backwards onto the ground. He used the butt again to smash in the NPC’s jaw, knocking him senseless, before turning the weapon forward again and training it on the second NPC—making a pretense of intending to shoot him. All the while, John crossed his fingers that he wouldn’t be called on his bullshit, because those NPCs were surely much stronger than him, and he sure didn’t wish to have his teeth smashed to dust once again.
The big man looked down the barrel of the rifle and decided to bolt down the street as fast as he could, dropping his staff in the process. Scabs stared after him for a second or two and then scrambled to get inside the chapel.
“Stay where you are,” John ordered. “Move another muscle and I’ll waste you.”
With almost comical timing, Scabs froze in place. “Turn around,” said John. “Slowly.”
Scabs did as he was told and, clasping his hands in front of him, he fell to his knees. “Noble sir, have mercy on poor Scabs. Those braggarts forced me to take them to attack you! I told them you were a man of honor but—”
“Shut up and take me to whoever is running this freak show,” John said. “I don’t have all day.”
“Of course, sir, this way,” Scabs said. “I will take you to Brother Cedric. He will be most eager to talk to a man of such high distinction.”
John stopped listening as he followed Scabs into the building. They headed down a narrow dingy passage and into a long low dining hall where various people were assembled. They were slovenly and pale like Scabs, and lolled around on the floor and the benches, seemingly oblivious to John and Scabs. Most of them had blank looks on their faces and he noted the small empty bottles littering the floor. A large number of the people were also smoking from what looked like opium pipes, and a thick layer of smoke hung in the air that made John’s eyes sting.
A young woman leaning against a nearby wall noticed Scabs and John moving across the hall and dissolved into a fit of hysterical giggles when she saw the rifle. John grimaced and looked away as Scabs took him to the doorway on the other side of the hall.
John took a deep breath when he emerged into the passage on the other side. Scabs went to another door and gave it a timid knock.
“Who is it?” an irritated voice said from the other side.
“It is I, the brave and loyal Scabs. I have, erm, a little problem, Brother Cedric.”
John heard muttering from behind the door and then, “Come in then!”
Scabs opened the door and John went past him to enter the room beyond. He found himself in an alchemist laboratory with various potions, bottles and esoteric equipment lining the workbenches. An elderly man in a monk’s habit and apron was using a pair of tongs to take a bubbling concoction out of the furnace in the corner of the room. He glanced up, and a look of mild curiosity crossed his jowly face when he saw John and the rifle pointing at him.
“I told you to get rid of him,” Brother Cedric said to Scabs.
“Forgive me, Brother Cedric!” Scabs exclaimed, falling to his knees. “This foul knave overpowered those two useless brutes and took me hostage. I fought valiantly, but could not stop him! Quickly! Put a curse on him!”
“Shut up, Scabs,” Brother Cedric said in a weary voice. He set down the fizzing potion he’d been working on and took off his protective mittens. He offered John a tired smile. “Put that gun down, will you, and take a seat. I understand you want to talk business?”
John kept the rifle trained on Brother Cedric and Scabs, suspicious of another trap. The old man let out a dry chuckle. “Don’t be afraid,” he drawled. “I won’t bite. Put the gun down. I won’t talk to you until you do.”
Still, John hesitated, and Brother Cedric let out an annoyed huff. “Look, you either put it down or you shoot me with it, I don’t really care. I’ll just log back into the game and we can start this pointless stand off all over again.”
John blinked at him in surprise, suddenly realizing what had been bugging him as soon as he set eyes on the old man. “You’re a player!” As his eyes adjusted to the gloomy room, he saw Brother Cedric’s essential stats flash up above his head for a few seconds. “You’re level… 100.”
“And you are a level 5,” Brother Cedric observed. “You took quite a risk coming here. Even Scabs here could take you down if he had a backbone.”
“He could try,” John said, “but you’re right, I did take a risk, but no risk and no reward right?”
“Quite so,” Brother Cedric barked a laugh. He settled down in a leather padded chair near the furnace and rested his hands on his large belly. “Take a seat,” he said, gesturing to the other chair in the room.
“Thanks,” said John, resting the rifle against a table and sitting down opposite the old man.
“What’s your name?”
“John. What’s yours?”
“Oh, it’s Cedric,” replied the old man, “though in the real world I’m a Professor of Medieval History, not a monk. My grandniece plays this game all the time and showed me the game trailer one day. I was fascinated at the chance to experience a simulation of the period of time that I teach, so I set up an account without telling my grandniece or my family. They would only disapprove.”
John nodded as he took this in. “Sounds fair enough, though if you don’t mind me saying you don’t seem the type of person to go out fighting battles.”
Brother Cedric shook his head. “Oh no, I don’t care for all that nonsense. I prefer to stay in the city and live the quiet life.”
John cocked an eyebrow. “As a Heretic?”
The old man let out a sly chuckle. “At first, I played as a simple monk and just soaked up the ambience of living the medieval life, but I started to become bored so I began to dabble in alchemy. I found I had a talent for brewing potions. I started off with healing tinctures and the like. NPCs here lead full lives in the same way we do and they get sick, so I started helping those in need, the most poorest citizens here and the surrounding villages. I soon realized that many of them are deeply unhappy, and, even though they aren’t real, I started to feel sorry for them. They lead pretty hard lives of grinding toil, the same way their counterparts did in the Middle Ages, so I thought about trying to lighten up their lives and give them a bit of a lift to get them through their virtual lives.”
“By dealing them drugs?” John replied in an amused voice. “Your family would really disapprove of that.”
“I wouldn’t call it drug dealing exactly,” Brother Cedric said in a defensive tone, “but I get your point.”
“You’re selling the potions you’re making, so I’d class that as drug dealing.”
“I only charge those who can afford it,” Brother Cedric replied. “I need to earn gold to buy materials and herbs, and to maintain my operation here. I’ve built quite a reputation now, and I have a number of wealthier clients looking for an extra thrill.”
“Like the guy Scabs went to meet at the inn?” John asked.
The old man nodded. “As you have gathered, consuming potions and narcotics is outlawed by the Holy Seal faction both for NPCs and players. Any player caught using illegal substances has all their equipment confiscated and are publicly shamed. These anti-drug policies are enforced by the guilds, and the most zealous persecutors are the Knights of the Noble Griffin. You might have come across them already…”
“Our paths have met briefly,” John said in a sardonic voice. “Do many people use drugs in the game? It sou
nds like a really strange thing to do, that cat milk stuff does severe damage to your stats I noticed.”
“Some of the drugs can increase stamina and boost health, so the players risk the negative side-effects just to gain that extra edge in battle. Plus, there are a large number of Holy Seal players who love the chance to get high or experience altered states but can’t do it easily in real life. The substances only affect their avatar, so there is no risk of them suffering brain damage or problems with their physical bodies. Once they log out, there are no harmful after effects. It’s a perfect set up for them. Though I only supply very mild stuff, nothing that could unbalance them psychologically. It’s very much a win-win situation in my opinion.”
“Especially for you,” John replied. “You control the supply and can charge what you want to those who can afford it. You’ve got a nice little business going on here.”
The old man shook his head. “Don’t get so envious just yet. Recently, there’s been a major crackdown on Heretics here in Heaven’s Shield and the other Holy Seal settlements across the Sainted Mountains. The Knights of the Noble Griffin have made it their mission to root out every Heretic and stop the production of all narcotics and mind expanding potions. The NPC King, who is the nominal ruler of Holy Seal territory, has given his full support to the Griffins. It’s hit my operation very hard and I’ve lost a large part of my network already, even though a lot of the NPC militia and guardsmen are my most loyal customers and try and turn a blind eye as much as they can. I’m now reduced to relying on unreliable couriers like Scabs. They’re closing the net, and if they figure out I’m running the show I could end up getting suspended by the game permanently.”
“Can the Griffins do that?” John asked, suddenly feeling anxious about his own fledgling operation. “Surely they don’t have that much power?”
“Oh they do all right,” Brother Cedric said grimly. “The guild leader, Gilles, is a spoilt rich kid on a power trip. He wants to absorb all of the other Holy Seal guilds into his Noble Griffins and to control each and every player who chooses to be in this faction. He’s got some crackpot idea of making people pay him a monthly tax to play the game and to get a cut of every sale vendors make. He also wants to establish his personal medieval kingdom based on his own right-wing ideals, something that makes me really uncomfortable. His dad is a high up politician who can pull strings and put pressure on the game owners to remove certain players who don’t play ball. I have a horrible feeling my days are numbered.”
John nodded as he took all this in. “If it’s that serious, why not quit or stop the drug dealing sideline?”
“I really should, but something keeps compelling me to keep going and risking it. I hate the thought of being forced off by guys like that, but I don’t want to hide away either. Only it’s getting harder and harder to operate. I can’t get the free stuff to the NPCs who need my help and I’m not making enough gold to produce enough potions to meet demand. I guess I’ll have to quit at some point or just go back to playing as a simple monk, but if Gilles gets his way I doubt I’ll even be able to do that in the end.”
“Do you sell your wares to the other two factions?” John asked.
Brother Cedric looked at him in surprise. “You mean the Enlightened and the Seven Paths? Of course not. We can’t understand each other, though I wouldn’t mind expanding my operations. I did consider deleting my current character and playing as one of those faction members, but I’ve fallen in love with the Holy Seal life and I wouldn’t be able to obtain access to the right ingredients for my potions if I relocate to either of those territories.”
“I could become a courier for you,” John said. “I can understand all three factions.”
Cedric looked at him in surprise. “How is that possible?”
John went on to explain the glitch that had resulted in him being unable to join a faction. He told him about his desire to establish an operation selling the items he could salvage back to players, and to expand his activities by incorporating criminal organizations into his network with the aim of making big money that could be used outside the game. Cedric listened with interest as John explained how he’d been initiated into the Jet Dragon Tong over in the Seven Paths territory and had made connections in Steamgrad—though he was unable to tell Cedric of the arrangement with the Black Powder Boys because of the enchantment they had put on him.
“So,” John said when he had finished, “what do you think?”
“I think you’re very much an anomaly,” Brother Cedric replied.
John gave him a confused look. “In what way?”
“By rights you should never have gained access to the game, yet you’ve ended up obtaining a class unique to yourself. That’s quite a big leap even for an AI as sophisticated as the one that powers EWO. What’s more, I suspect the AI is generating scenarios for you to interact with that are specially tailored to the way you are playing, hence why it was so easy to connect with Enlightened outlaws and the Tong and now me. I suspect that a regular player would have had a harder job of it.”
“I’d not thought of that,” replied John. The idea appealed to him and would make his ambitious projects more attainable if it was true. “Do you think we could help each other, Cedric?”
“Well, if you can move about in all three faction territories, you could get hold of ingredients that aren’t freely available in the Sainted Mountains, which would help me develop new types of potions and tinctures. And if you could also sell my wares to Enlightened and Seven Path NPCs and players, that would boost my income. You’d get your cut, of course, and you would be helping rebuild my network by providing money and drugs for bribes to stave off the Noble Griffins for a bit longer.”
“Sounds like a plan to me, Ced,” John said with a smile. He stuck out his hand. “We got a deal?”
Cedric wavered for a moment and then clasped John’s hand in his. “All right,” he said warmly, “I’ve pretty much got nothing to lose at this point anyway.”
“Good to hear,” John said. “Now we’re business partners, how about a first sale? I’ve got Moon Cat Milk to sell if you’re interested.”
“You promised that to me!” wailed Scabs, who had remained in sullen silence throughout their conversation.
“That was before you tried to double cross me,” John said to the jester.
“But that ain’t fair!” exclaimed Scabs. “I must have the milk. I needs it for my rheumatisms. Poor Scabs. It’s not fair!”
“All right Scabs, settle down,” Brother Cedric said. “If I’m satisfied with the quality, I’ll let you have some, though I’m a fool to myself.”
“Thank you, Brother Cedric, thank you!” Scabs said. “You have always been kind to poor old Scabs.”
John took out the vial containing the narcotic and passed it over to Brother Cedric to inspect. Its stats screen appeared and the old man perused it before taking out the stopper and giving it an experimental sniff. “That’s a good strength to it. I could put it to good use.”
“You’ll buy it,” John said.
“I’ll give you sixty gold,” Brother Cedric offered.
“Make it seventy five and you’ve got a deal. I’m guessing you could make a tidy profit selling this stuff.”
“Spoken like a true businessman,” the old man laughed. “I could sell it, but I’m going to split it up into smaller quantities and mix it in with my other potions and give it away for free to my poorest and neediest clients.
“They need something with an extra kick as I haven’t been able to get them their regular supplies. I tell you what, I’ll give you sixty five and I’ll throw in four Potions of Vigil Boost. They’ll come in handy getting past the NPC guards on the gate when you leave the city.”
“Vigil Boost? I’ve not heard of that,” John said.
“It’s a pretty easy potion to brew and a useful bargaining chip,” Brother Cedric said, getting to his feet and going over to a set of shelves next to th
e furnace. He picked up a small bottle of liquid that was a deep purple in color and passed it over to John to inspect.
Item: Potion of Vigil Boost
Minimum LVL: N/A
Durability: N/A
Faction Specific: No
Soul-Bound Item: No
Potion that boosts the user’s vitality and negates their need to rest. Increases certain attributes for a limited time.
Increases Speed by 8%
Increases Attack by 14%
Effects last 12 hours
“The guards take it to help them get through the night shifts and make them more alert,” Brother Cedric explained. “If you leave the city at around dusk by the Crow Gate, which is in the western quarter of Heaven’s Shield, you’ll usually find the guards on duty very accommodating if you offer them a potion or two. I’ll even throw in the recipe so you can brew your own—that is if you’re willing to try your hand at the in-game alchemy system and have access to the right equipment.”
John considered this and nodded in agreement. “Okay, sounds like a fair deal. Might be worth it to take a look at the alchemy system.”
“Great,” Brother Cedric said. He went over to a cabinet and took out three more potions the same color, and wrapped them in some cloth and handed them over. John placed them in his backpack and waited for Brother Cedric to count out sixty five gold pieces which he dropped into a small coin purse. Finally, he took a rolled up scroll from his desk and put it in John’s hand.
“There you go, deal done,” the old man said. “If you want, you can try brewing one yourself now. I’ll help you out.”
“Thanks,” John said, and out of curiosity unrolled the scroll and read through the spidery writing scrawled on it.
Merchant of Death Page 14
