by Eric Ugland
“That’s not a clue, it’s—”
“The way the world works.”
“Sure, let’s just say that.”
“It is very important, though.”
“To be powerful.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because of what is coming.”
“What is coming?”
“Something I cannot tell you about.”
“Thanks a pant-load.”
“Yes, well, we must all play by the rules here.”
“Man, fuck your rules.”
“Oh, would that I could. But sadly, I am bound by them, just as you are. Though, I would suppose you are less bound by them than I. But, they put those rules in place for those like me, not like you.”
“Gods.”
“Perhaps.”
“Don’t perhaps me. That’s exactly who they’re for.”
“Yes, I imagine there is no point beating around that particular bush.”
A door opened, and a valet entered in a tuxedo and tails with a silver tray balanced on one hand. He strode through the room and stopped smartly at my chair. He bent down and held the tray out, where there was a frosted mug of deep red frothy liquid.
I looked over to thank the butler and realized I was staring in the face of Mister Paul.
“Uh, thanks,” I said.
“Very welcome,” both Mister Pauls said in unison.
I grabbed the drink and took a sip.
Rootbeer, but not Faygo…
“Nice,” I said, “but what is this?”
“Thought you might like a little something different,” the Mister Pauls replied. “Small batch rootbeer from a brewery in Wisconsin. Sprecher Brewing Company.”
“Tasty. Not sure I can really get behind something from Wisconsin.”
“Your openness to change is noted.”
“Question,” I started, “what happens if I go back to Earth through the Feedoheem?”
The seated Mister Paul leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Valet Mister Paul left the room.
“I daresay no one has attempted such a maneuver,” he finally said. “It would certainly be quite the adventure to watch, though. I am not suggesting you attempt it — at least not yet. Shame to get off this particular merry-go-round before it has stopped. Not sure it would work either, nor what you would be when you arrived on Earth. Oh, now I am very curious. A pox on you for making me so interested in something I cannot watch. Yet. Maybe next time. Or later. But would it even work? I suppose there’s no reason it wouldn’t, but, well, those in the Feedoheem differ from most others in the universes. They carry their powers with them, hence why they can survive everywhere. But you, well, you are supplemented by Vuldranni. And myself. There, though... hrm. I will do some thinking, and perhaps even a little talking, on this. But for the moment, I cannot answer your question.”
“Okay,” I said, taking another sip of root beer.
“Other dangerous questions?”
“I’m sure I can come up with some. Oh, yeah, why no heads up about Fiends’ Night?”
“What do you mean?”
“Seems like kind of a big deal not to tell me about.”
“What would you have me do? Spoil every surprise this world holds? Fiends’ Night occurs every year. I assumed you would understand the dangers it posed when it came. And, clearly, you have.”
“Still—”
“Still nothing. This is not a game where someone holds your hand and carries you when you get tired. It is difficult, deadly, and most often unfair. You must improvise, adapt, and overcome.”
“I think I’ve heard that before.”
“It is not a phrase of my own in any sense of the word, but is rather adept to describe what you need to do.”
“What do you mean ‘game?’”
“I mean what I mean, and you know there is little I can tell you about that.”
“It’s confusing.”
“Agreed, and yet, it is how we must choose to live. And before you tell me you did not choose this life, I daresay you did.”
“I would not say that.”
“So many do; it’s annoying.”
“What do you mean?”
“Again.”
“You can’t tell me.”
“Precisely.”
I took a few sips of my pop and looked out the windows. I couldn’t see anything through the torrential downpour.
“Is that just the shower?” I asked.
“Maybe,” Mister Paul replied with a smile. “Now, as per usual, there are a few little things to pass over to you.”
“Are these going to be helpful?”
“Helpful is a state of mind, really.”
“That etiquette book—”
“Have you even used that?”
“No, but—”
“Then how do you know? I swear, sometimes I wonder if you are still a toddler.”
“Excuse me?”
“That is how a toddler thinks. I do not like it before I have tried it. Perhaps that etiquette book would give you insights into the courtly life you’ve already decided you hate.”
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been tapped to become a duke.”
“While it presents certain challenges to your life, Montana, there are plenty of advantages. And if you were truly willing to indulge your selfish desires, I imagine you would be more than capable of doing little more than fishing and drinking your preferred soda pop.”
“I feel trapped,” I said.
“You are held within a gilded cage. You need not fight for your supper on the daily, do you?”
“I tend to fight pretty often.”
“At your discretion. Often to protect others.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?”
“Do you doubt I am?”
“No, but—”
“I am not here to console your complaints or make you feel better about your life. I am your patron and you are my champion. I am not, nor ever will be, your cheerleader. At least to your face.”
“Fantastic.”
“I rather think myself fabulous. Now, can we get to the matter at hand?”
“Gifts?”
“Gifts, yes. We could call them gifts.”
“From viewers.”
“From those who are invested in your journey.”
“How do they view my journey?”
“A myriad of methods, none of which have the slightest bearing on you in Vuldranni.”
“I feel like there was this thing we learned in physics — I mean, that the other kids learned in physics — something about not being able to observe something without interacting with it?”
“Yes, that is something. But you are most certainly being interacted with. What do you think I am doing?”
“Sorry, I’m just confused and concerned.”
“I know, Montana, I know. And it is impressive to see the depth of your empathy. Your willingness to help. I think that is one reason your antics have become popular.”
“I’m the number one show on Vuldranni?”
“Now,” Mister Paul said with a smile, “I did not say that was the case, did I?”
“Who’s number one?”
He just winked at me.
“Present number one,” he said, and he rang the bell.
This time, as soon as the bell rang, the door opened and valet Mister Paul sashayed into the room with another silver tray. This tray, however, was covered with a cloche. Valet Paul put the tray right in front of my face and whisked the cloche away with no small amount of flourish.
“Really?” Mister Paul asked Valet Paul.
The valet rolled his eyes and dropped the cloche, which disappeared right before it hit the ground. I was not fond of dealing with gods showing off.
On the tray was a small, square crystal bottle filled with a vibrant green liquid and stoppered with a dark piece of wood.
I picked it up and looked it over.
“A small potion,” Mister Paul began.
“I gathered as much,” I replied.
Mister Paul just gave me a frown. “It is technically not for you, though I suppose you could use it if you liked. This potion will give you some attribute points.”
“Have lots of those already.”
“And now you have one more.”
“It’s probably for Nikolai, but he refuses to take one.”
Mister Paul just shrugged. “Then I suggest you use it.”
I frowned, but I still took the bottle.
“The next thing is a little odd,” Mister Paul said, “but it was a very specific request dealing with something of a fan-favorite, so I could not quite find a way to deny them their request.”
Mister Paul gestured to the valet, who pulled another cloche off the tray, a tray that had just been empty. And without a cloche. Under the new cloche was something that looked a lot like a pencil case. Mister Paul grabbed the case and gave it a hard shake. The sides opened up and fell down, forming something akin to an empty doorway. Then Mister Paul set the pencil-case-door-frame on the ground. It was about two feet tall and eighteen inches wide. Roughly.
“What is that?” I asked.
“It is a prinky dresser,” Mister Paul said proudly.
“I’m sorry?”
“I warned you it was a bit odd.”
“This is only a bit odd? What does it do?”
“You instruct the prinky to go through this frame, and when it appears on the other side, it will be dressed.”
“Why does it need to be dressed?”
“Increased cuteness factor.”
“That’s kind of pointless.”
“It would be, except the clothing provides random bonus to their skills or attributes.”
“Like increased strength?”
“I suppose that could be something the clothing boosts. As far as I know, the benefits are completely random. So some might be fantastic, while others might be, erm, somewhat less so.”
“Could the clothing be cursed?”
“I suppose that could happen, yes.”
“Well, that’s just fucking dandy.”
“You are not bound to use it, if you do not wish.”
“I don’t suppose I could trade it for something useful, could I?”
“No. Doesn’t quite work that way.”
“And here I thought trade was a key aspect of this game.”
“Only upon arrival, Duke Coggeshall, and certainly not with gifts. Perhaps you should ask your etiquette manual what to do when you receive a gift you do not appreciate. I can guarantee it is not to attempt trading it with the individual who just offered the present to you.”
“But these gifts aren’t from you; they’re passed to you to pass to me.”
“I can still feel the disappointment,” Mister Paul said, totally pretending to be hurt.
“Can it,” I said. “I’ve got a ton left to do before this Fiends’ Night fiasco.”
“I do hope the night doesn’t turn into what I’m afraid it might.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
He raised both eyebrows and then opened his mouth before I stopped him.
“I mean about Fiends’ Night.”
“I was about to say—”
“I know what you were about to say, and I’d rather get my daily dose of sass from someone else.”
Mister Paul’s smile faded from his face. “Fiends’ Night can be very challenging. I daresay that I do not know how much I would like to live through one. Sometimes I am amazed at the lengths mortals must go just to live their lives. I know that there will be danger on that night, that you will face plenty of enemies. That is a known factor for any leader. Also, understand that fiends are dealmakers, and this is the night where they are most available for deals. There will likely be those who choose this moment to take their lives in a different direction. Those you have wronged might reach out to a higher power to exact revenge. Those who have been oppressed and downtrodden might do the same. Though I cannot say that anyone is planning such actions. Not only would that be a lie, but—:”
“It would be against the rules.”
“Yes. I can only warn you against what is possible, and nothing specific. Especially because there are still eyes upon us.”
“Other gods?”
Mister Paul nodded slightly, like hearing that truth irritated him.
“The Eight?” I asked.
“Among others. There is, how to put this so I do not stray too far away from the rules? More than usual rides upon this round. Some patrons are already out of the game, so they seek to attach themselves to other players in order to better improve their position.”
“When this is all over,” I said, sipping at my drink, “I need to hear what all this nonsense actually is.”
“Should we make it that far,” Mister Paul said, “I hope I might tell you. Last thing.”
The valet did the cloche thing again and revealed two rings.
“A ring of water breathing.”
“I thought I had one of those,” I said. “The other?”
“The Ring of Questions Answered. Two things I was requested to give you again, since you lost them elsewhere.”
“Oh,” I said, picking up the rings. “Thanks!”
Ring of Questions Answered
Item Type: Epic
Item Class: Ring
Material: Gold
Durability: High
Weight: .08 lbs
Requirements: n/a
Description: The ring of questions answered will highlight the lost.
“You are most welcome,” Valet Paul said. He took a single step away and then disappeared.
Mister Paul set his snifter of brandy to the side and stood up, brushing imaginary bits of something from his perfectly creased black trousers.
“It is always a pleasure, Duke Montana of Coggeshall,” he said, giving me the slightest bow as he grabbed my hand to pull me out of the chair.
“Can I respawn yet?” I asked, remembering his words of warning.
“It might not be the best idea to test that out,” Mister Paul said.
“You don’t know?”
“Being a god is not an exact science, my boy. And I daresay this is not something I would like to get wrong.”
I sighed, but nodded.
“Almost died here today,” I said.
“I saw,” Mister Paul replied. “You misused your forces.”
“I did not—”
“You still think you are the only bastion of defense for all your people, but remember they have been dealing with these dangers their entire lives and they still manage to walk upright by themselves. You will run up against the limits of your power, and your only choices will be asking others to join you or death.”
“Or I get stronger.”
“I continue to urge that direction, yet you are not taking it seriously.”
“What time do I have to do that?”
“How long has this shower taken?”
“I mean, is time passing outside right now?”
“Tough to tell.”
“Then I guess I could take shorter showers.”
“It’s really the lattes that kill you.”
“What?”
“Never you mind.”
“I could go for a latte.”
“Do well on Fiends’ Night, and I suppose something along those lines might be in order.”
“I would appreciate—”
“Now stop showering.”
He gave me a hearty shove, and I tripped back through the velvet curtains and stepped back out into the shower, which was shockingly cold.
Quickly, I stepped out of the water and into the main bathroom.
“You done playing with yourself?” Nikolai asked, frowning. “We have work to do.”
35
I got dressed.
Then Emeline and Nikolai examined me and decided I’d done so impro
perly. So I got dressed again. And again. At which point they decided to put me in chain mail and a Coggeshall tabard. Not exactly comfortable, but supposedly it made me look enough like a duke to pass muster. I thought it made me look imposing, but apparently that was the look they wanted. Playing dress up annoyed me, so I just went with it.
Ragnar and Skeld split off as we headed down the stairs, going off to do their own things, leaving me with Nikolai.
“Are you giving the tour with me?” I asked.
“Do you need me to hold your hand?” Nikolai replied.
“I mean, I’d rather you gave the tour than me.”
“I know.”
“I do have a little thing for you,” I said, pulling the bottle out and holding it out to Nikolai.
He stopped on the stairs, so I stopped on the stairs. He stared at the bottle with narrowed eyes.
“Where did that come from?” he asked.
“The gods.”
“The gods. Anyone else and I would be suspicious. But you do seem to have a rather, hrm, close relationship with our deities.”
“Some of them.”
“Even one is more than most. Why give this to me?”
“It was given to me to give to you.”
“The gods mentioned me?”
“Yes.”
“Specifically?”
“Not specifically, but it was very much hinted to be for you.”
“Do you know what it does?”
“Gives ability points.”
“Many points.”
“Did you do some magic on it?”
“I identified it, yes.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I should have identified it.”
“It would be useful if you did, that’s all—”
“I can’t cast any damn spells,” I snapped, clearly still feeling a little miffed about that. “Actually, that’s a lie, I can cast one, and it would wind up with the two of us pasted all over these walls.”
“Might I suggest you refrain from magic then?”
“I do refrain from magic.”
“I apologize for my tone.”
“Thank you. Now how many points does it give?”
“Twenty-four.”
“That’s pretty nice.”
“It is exceedingly valuable, and I refuse to take it.”
“Fuck you. Take it.”
“Fuck me? Fuck you. There is no rational explanation you can give me to take this fucking potion, Montana.”
