by Rachel Ford
“Say no more.”
Jack didn’t need to, because the other man promptly opened his inventory for him. His selection didn’t differ much from Blake’s in Dragon Run, except he carried more items related to fire magic.
Probably, because my fire magic level is so ridiculously high. Still, Jack had never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. So he browsed a selection of spell scrolls, and a few enchanted vambraces. One pair would double the effectiveness of his fire spells. Another would siphon magicka from the target of a fire spell, while yet another offered defense against fire magic.
At one hundred gold each, he hesitated. That was as much as he’d paid for his entire armor set so far.
He figured he’d keep it in mind and moved on to the spell scrolls. These were even more tempting. Migli had taught him a simple fire ball. Here, he had the option to learn chained fire attacks, and fire traps, and incineration spells, and even fire demon summoning spells. Granted, most of them cost upwards of five hundred gold. But he lingered at each one, considering the possibilities.
“Ah, I see you’re a mage,” Dayton – no, Daxton – said.
“Warrior,” Jack corrected.
“I also have a number of spell scrolls in other disciplines. You never know when a good water spell will come in handy, am I right?”
He laughed, and Jack laughed too just to be polite. Still, he looked at the other spell categories. Daxton offered scrolls that would teach him a few basic healing spells – some for himself and some for his party. The spells restored varying amounts of hit points, proportional to the magicka consumed. I really should get one of these. He figured he’d skip the heal party spells. Unless it was chasing other men’s wives, Migli had a knack for staying out of danger.
He decided on a compromise between effectiveness and cost – one that chewed up a decent amount of magicka, and in turn restored a decent amount of health. It wouldn’t deplete his magic reserves, but it could save his life in a pinch.
Then he looked through the other spells. Daxton offered earth shaking, water manipulation, wind blasts, and so on. They all looked exciting. But they all cost, too. And after that meal, I probably don’t have much more than a hundred gold anyway. And I still need food for the road.
So he turned to the foodstuffs. Rabbit meat was the cheapest, so he grabbed a couple of pounds of it – and a pouch of salt.
“Alright,” he told Daxton, “I’ll take these and the healing spell.”
Daxton smiled. “I’m sorry, sir knight, but you have insufficient gold for the purchase.”
Jack frowned. “What? That can’t be right.” He turned his thoughts to his purse, and a mortifying fact ran through his mind.
You have 34 gold.
He blinked. Then he gaped. Then he collapsed backward onto the floor. “That miserable cheat. That son-of-a-biscuit. He robbed me.”
“Oh dear. A robber? Should I call the guard?” Daxton asked.
Jack considered. If the tavern got away with charging prices like that and they hadn’t been shut down yet, he figured the guard wouldn’t do much. Even if they should arrest the cheat. So he shook his head and picked himself up off the floor. He cleared his throat. “Okay. Um, let’s put everything back but one pound of meat and the spell.”
“I’m sorry, sir knight, but you have insufficient gold for the purchase.”
He scowled, glancing down at the total.
65 gold
“Okay, let’s go with just the spell.”
“I’m sorry, sir knight, but you have insufficient gold for the purchase.”
He scowled at the scroll, its price floating through his thoughts.
50 gold
“How much does your cheapest healing spell cost?”
“Thirty gold pieces.”
He sighed. “Okay. Fine, I’ll take it.”
“Very good, sir.” Jack felt the gold leaving his purse, and this time he paid attention to the amount. Thirty gold pieces vanished, leaving him…well, a pauper. “Here is your ‘heal party, level one,’ spell scroll.”
“Wait, heal party? No, I don’t want that.”
“Would you like to return your purchase, sir knight?”
“Return it? I didn’t want it at all. I wanted a healing spell.”
“This is a healing spell.”
“Yeah, but I wanted it for me. Not my party.”
Daxton nodded sympathetically. “I understand, sir. I can return the item, if you like.”
Jack sighed. “Yes, alright, fine. Return it.”
“Very good.”
Jack felt his purse replenish, and he started to breathe out a sigh of relief. Then, he froze. “Wait, that’s not thirty gold. That’s only twenty-four.”
“Yes sir.”
“I paid thirty gold.”
“Yes sir.”
“So why are you giving me only twenty-four when I returned the blessed thing? I want what I paid back, dangnabbit.”
“That is what you paid, sir.” Jack was about to call Jordan down to file a complaint about another bug when Daxton shrugged, “After we deducted the restocking fee.”
Jack scowled. “Restocking…fee? You literally handed me a scroll, and I handed it back.”
“Yes sir.”
“That’s a twenty percent restocking fee.”
Daxton smiled at him, the same, stupid smile he’d been smiling since he walked in, and he nodded like they were agreeing on something. “Yes sir.”
“That’s bleeping robbery.”
“Oh dear. A robber? Should I call the guard?”
In the end, Jack couldn’t afford a healing spell. The cheapest solo healing spell Daxton offered cost thirty-two gold coins. And after the restocking fee, Jack only had twenty-eight. So he scowled and cursed under his breath and settled on a bundle of leeks and the pouch of salt.
He had seven coins left in his purse when all was said and done. “Well,” he said sullenly, “I’m going to cook my demon boar meat on your hearth, you thief.”
“Oh dear. A robber? Should I call the guard?”
Scowling over his shoulder, he set to work. In a few minutes, he’d stuffed a selection of roasts and chops into his magic pocket. Despite their questionable origins, he had to admit that they smelled really good, too.
It didn’t make up for the fact that he had been robbed twice in a night, or that his cowardly sidekick was getting lucky – for the second time – while he slaved away over a hearth.
Slaving away, if he was being entirely honest, might have been a tiny exaggeration. There was no actual cooking or labor involved at all. He chose the meals or sides he wanted to make based on the ingredients he had, and the game whipped them up.
Still, he felt justified in taking these self-pitying liberties, because he, at least, was working. He justified them because he was annoyed at the dwarf, and himself. He’d wasted his money. They had no healing spells, and if he was going to eat at all, he’d have to eat demon flesh.
He’d been crouching by the hearth. Now, he turned to get up. But he froze midway, staring at the shopkeeper.
Daxton had his back to him, humming obliviously. Like he didn’t have a stranger in his shop. Like he didn’t have a suspicion in the world that maybe he should keep his eyes on that stranger.
Jack finished stuffing his provender into his pocket, and he grinned. Daxton hadn’t moved a muscle, except to keep murmuring offkey.
He threw a glance around the shop. Daxton had a pot of stew burbling away on the hearth.
Jack grabbed it and slipped it into the magic pocket. Then he glanced back at Daxton. The other man hadn’t noticed.
He grabbed the dried herbs hanging near the hearth and deposited them in his endless pocket too. He crept to the side, toward a back door. Daxton didn’t even turn around, and Jack slipped into the room beyond.
This was a dining room. The table had been cleared, and he didn’t spot anything particularly valuable – except a pair of sparkling candlesticks on the table.
He scrutinized one of them, and it offered up its secrets.
Silver plated candlestick, 15 gold
He grinned and slipped them into his pocket. Then he crept to a far door. “Jackpot,” he said aloud. He’d found the larder, and he set to work filling his pockets with anything and everything.
He grabbed cheeses and butter, pork and rabbit and chicken, loaves and vegetables. He even snagged a few bright red apples.
Then, he sauntered back out, shutting the door after him. A little less smugly, he crept back into the main room. Daxton was still there, and his back was still turned.
An idea hit him, and he walked over to the shopkeeper. “I’d like to sell something.”
“Well met, traveler. What do you have?”
He produced the candlesticks. “These bad boys right here.”
“Lovely workmanship.”
“Aren’t they just? So, what’ll you give me for them?”
“I can give you five gold pieces each.”
“Five? Are you bleeping kidding me right now? They’re worth fifteen each.”
“You drive a hard bargain, friend. Well, I’ll give you twelve for the pair of them, then.”
Jack scowled. “I need more.”
“I’m sorry, friend. I can offer no more.”
He stood there, pondering his options. On the one hand, he wasn’t actually losing anything. Daxton was paying for his own stuff, so whatever he offered, Jack still made out. On the other, this miserable skinflint’s best offer wasn’t even half of what they were worth.
“Fine,” he said after a minute. “Twelve gold.”
Daxton smiled and took the candlesticks. Jack felt his purse swell all the way up to a measly nineteen gold.
That’s alright, Daxton old buddy. Two can play the thieving game. Only, I can play it better than you.
He went around the shop, filling his pocket with items that didn’t belong to him. He hadn’t got very far when he hit his first difficulty: food had almost eliminated his carry capacity. He could carry exactly twelve more pounds – and then he froze to the spot, until he dropped or ate something.
He figured it out after lifting a five-pound knickknack. Which put him one and a half pounds overweight.
He thought about dropping the knickknack. It was only worth fifteen gold – which, from this skinflint, would translate to six, if he was lucky. Then again, even someone as thick as Daxton might notice when items started appearing and disappearing in front of his face.
The safest bet, he decided, was to scarf down some food. He went through his inventory. He couldn’t bring himself to eat the rabbit legs, even though he had exactly a pound and a half of them. He figured the game developers might have been twisted enough to flavor them like raw rabbit. And that was something he just couldn’t risk.
He went back and forth between his options, and in the end, he settled for a pound of butter and half a pound of cheese. Neither were critical, so he choked them down.
And almost choked in the process. They tasted exactly like the real thing. And though Jack loved cheese in general, slurping down half a pound in one sitting – right on the heels of a pound of butter – was just a little too much for him.
He remained in place even after the system allowed him to move, too sick to do anything for a good, long minute. Then, he headed to the counter, and exchanged the offending knickknack for a paltry five gold. It didn’t really seem worth his suffering, but it did fuel his fire for revenge.
So, right under Daxton’s nose, he continued his theft – with a little more attention to his limits this time. Slowly but surely, his purse grew. He hit one hundred, and then two, and then two-fifty.
He might have cleaned out the whole shop, if not for one little oversight. Twin brothers meant two. He’d been careful to avoid Daxton’s gaze.
But he hadn’t been on the lookout for Dayton. And just before midnight, Dayton wandered downstairs.
Jack didn’t realize it, though, until he heard a gasp from behind him. He glanced up to see a small round man pointing at him. “Oh dear. A robber. Guard!”
Chapter Twelve
It took a moment to figure out that the second twin brother arrived. But Daxton heard Dayton, and soon two small, round men were gasping and pointing, and shouting, “Oh dear. A robber. Guard!”
Jack decided his best option was flight, so he ran for the door. It burst open just as he reached it, and careened into his face. His health bar dropped by a quarter, and he sprawled backwards into the side of a counter. It dropped by a third, and an alert ran through his mind.
Your back has been crippled.
“Mother trucker.”
The guards carried him to a cell. And not figuratively, either. They quite literally carried Jack, because Jack couldn’t use his legs.
They weren’t particular about being careful, either. They dumped him unceremoniously in a pile of damp hay. One of the men rifled through his magical pocket.
Jack couldn’t quite see what was happening, but he was still aware of losing his goods.
Your stolen goods have been confiscated. They will be returned to the rightful owners.
Your items will be held in lockup until you have served your sentence or paid your fine.
“Mother trucker,” he said again. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The guards weren’t kidding, though. They finished the search and turned to the door. They didn’t offer him any kind of assistance, and they ignored his protests that he was an injured man.
He lay there blinking for a minute, too stunned to do anything. Not that, considering the back situation, he had many options. Then a thought crowded his mind.
You should sleep to heal your injuries.
He scowled, but he didn’t have a better idea. The guards had taken his items, and if his stint in the Dragon Run prison had been anything to go by, Migli wouldn’t be around to collect him until after he was doing whatever – whoever – he was doing.
So Jack slept.
Some hours later, he blinked into a room dimly lit by torchlight. He yawned and stretched, and a thought flitted through his mind.
You wake feeling refreshed.
Then a second thought hit him – this time, one of his own, and not one planted by the game. I’m moving. Thank goodness. Sleeping actually healed my back.
He stood up just to verify the fact. Sure enough, he had his full range of motion back. He could stretch and walk, bend and jump. Not very far, but that was a matter of the cell dimensions rather than any physical limitation.
He breathed a sigh of relief and set his mind to other matters. First on the agenda was getting the heck out of prison. So he called out, “Hey, guard? Anyone there? I need to get out of here.”
He gave it a minute or so, but nothing happened. He tried again with the same result, and waited less time, then tried again. No one came.
He started banging on the bars. “Guard? Guard, I demand to talk to someone.”
Someone from a nearby cell moaned. “It’s two o’clock in the morning. Let me sleep.”
Jack didn’t, though. He called for the guard, for Migli, and for anyone who might be around. He insisted the whole situation was just a big misunderstanding. He demanded justice. He demanded his rights be recognized.
And still, no one came.
A thought flitted through his mind.
You should sleep until morning.
He scowled up at the ceiling. He felt something like an ant in a terrarium, with some malevolent, heavy-handed keeper trying to dictate his movements. Part of him wanted to refuse on principle. He thought about staying awake all night long, and raising as much of a fuss as he could.
Then again, hours of boredom just to thwart the will of random programmers would be a losing proposition for him, any way he looked at it.
He was stuck here. They weren’t. They might look at the logs later on, and wonder what he’d been thinking. But they wouldn’t be suffering like he was.
So he laid
back in a pile of hay, closed his eyes, and let himself sleep for six more hours.
He woke at exactly eight in the morning. The two guards who had dumped him here were back. One brought him a bowl of slop, announcing, “Breakfast.”
Jack wrinkled his nose. “Look, I need to get out of here.”
“Don’t you all,” the guard laughed.
“I’m serious. I have some money. I can make bail.” He hoped that was still true. When the guards had taken his stolen items, he hadn’t felt his purse diminish. He hoped gold from resold stolen items didn’t get flagged the way stolen goods did.
Not that the whole system made any sense. They weren’t dealing with rare or unique items. He hadn’t got his hands on any precious jewels or family heirlooms. Mostly, what he’d lost had been foodstuffs. So how the hell could Daxton or Dayton, or anyone else for that matter, recognize a slab of butter or a piece of fish as belonging specifically to them?
The whole concept was ridiculous. He should be able to steal a piece of cheese without the long arm of the law tracking him down and stripping him of his ill-gotten gains. Consequently, he made a point to bring it up the next time he talked to Jordan. That, though, could wait.
Right at the moment, he needed to concentrate on getting out. And if he’d observed the removal of his goods correctly, he still had about two hundred and fifty gold pieces left – most of it, compliments of Daxton the dumbass buying back his own property.
The guard nodded. “Eat your slop. I’ll be back when I’m done feeding the others to make your arrangements.”
Jack really would have preferred not eating slop. Indeed, he gave it a good fifteen minutes. But the guard made his rounds and disappeared from sight. And no matter how much he hollered, he didn’t return.
He figured eating the slop was the trigger to bring his keeper back. Which put an idea in Jack’s head. If the game was giving him a way to delay calling the guard back, he figured there must be a reason. Maybe some kind of escape route. Or a hidden lockpick.
He scoured the room, pressing boards and blocks all around. Every creak of wood caught his attention, and he pried and pulled and pushed against the floorboards. But the room was no more or less than it seemed: a tiny square cell with no hidden nooks or crannies, no secret stash of lockpicks, no concealed tunnels out.
