Eredani left the decision making to me and stepped aside. If he thought the responsibility would weigh heavy on me like a granite slab and I would hurry to call a strange number, he was wrong. I had already made a decision. “The task has no time restriction. Let’s stick to the plan, and train first. We can always come back to the rats later.”
“Also an option,” he agreed. “Then we take only the necessary specialities, without all this Cookery lark. Why the hell did you ask Dheire about what he’d eaten? That’s not what we came to see him for.”
“What do you mean? I was boosting our Agreeability. I’m pretty sure that NPC’s a Chinaman. It was written all over his workshop.”
“What makes you think that? There was no Chinese paraphernalia, no chopsticks, no fans. And what’s food got to do with anything?”
“Food is a big thing for them. A consequence of hunger. If you’re in favor with a Chinaman, instead of greeting you he’ll ask you if you’ve eaten. Then he’ll quiz you about what you’ve eaten. He’s showing interest and concern. His workshop was full of boxes of food, didn’t you notice?”
“I noticed. I just didn’t think anything of it,” said Eredani.
“Pork is an allusion to sweet and sour pork. Duck — Peking duck. And so on. If a Chinaman doesn’t eat at the right time, he’ll do your head in with his whining. I once had the pleasure of working with some representatives of that magical country. I nearly missed my deadlines trying to get used to their idiosyncrasies.”
“So you’re an expert on the Chinese?” He regarded me with interest.
“No. To understand them you have to be born one of them. I just worked with them for a while. Why?”
“Nothing. Forget it.” He waved it away. “Let’s go back and see your Chinaman.”
Dheire was overjoyed at our return. However, no sooner had he learned that we planned to study only our specialities, with no recipes, than he lost interest and after that spoke begrudgingly through his teeth. He was getting no money out of us, so why waste time on a couple of tieflings? After opening Cartography and setting it as our main speciality, the gnome was about to meditate again, but Eredani demanded he sell us Cartographer and Chef’s kits. If the first of these was clear, the second required explaining. Many specialities in Barliona opened automatically if the player completed tasks specific to the speciality. Cookery and Mining were two of these. To open Cookery you simply needed to cook something; for Mining — to strike some ore with a pick. I was grateful to him for this, because it was good to save forty gold. Maybe this Eredani wasn’t so bad after all.
You have chosen your main specialization: Trade
Description: Your ability to drive a hard bargain is impressive. You are a true trader. Each speciality point increases your discount with NPC-traders from 0.1% right up to 50%. A feature of your main speciality is that traders may offer you goods that are not readily available, depending on your speciality and Agreeability levels. The level of your other specialities may not exceed that of your main speciality by more than 12 points.
“Set Cartographer straight away,” said Eredani. “The maps should update automatically. We need to keep our input to a minimum, so get used to scanning for detail. Open Settings — Specializations — Cartography, tick Read Personal Data. Done it? Excellent. Now we’ll update the map of the training camp. Calculate the distance to our barrack — how many meters is it? Calculate the size of the square, and the relative position of the barrack. The position and orientation of the teleport, and how far from it to the training areas and the barracks. The paths separating the courses. You see the hill by the trees? Calculate the distance to it, its height, and position relative to other objects. The key thing in cartography is noticing details, and doing it here and now, not wasting valuable time watching videos or rendering maps from memory. I understand it’s difficult at first, but the more you do it, the quicker you get results. You’ll begin to note details not only in Barliona, but in reality too. It’s a very useful skill.”
I agreed with him on that. Details were everything to us. I had come across this tracking technique before, but never used it for its true purpose, which is why I rejoiced at every point gained on my Cartographer scale. The map became more and more detailed as I gauged distances, heights and depths. But the most effective method for levelling up was names. By marking the central square “square,” and the shimmering sphere “portal,” I immediately boosted my Cartographer scale up to a hundred.
“Well done,” said Eredani. “Detailization without labelling is no good to anybody. Players and locals alike understand nouns, not coordinates. So always ask where you are, it’ll help you develop. And another thing — self education. When you get out into reality, find time to look at the rules for map-making, and the particulars of cartography and orienting yourself in your surroundings. Without being tied to Barliona. Just the rules. It’ll help enormously. For some reason everyone gets fixated on the game and forgets about reality.”
It took us an hour to get to the newbies’ assault course after thoroughly exploring the training camp. It wasn’t a large area and did not allow either myself or Eredani to increase our specialities by even one point, but we did lay some groundwork — 572 points out of 1,000. All we had to do was to step out of the camp and our Cartographer characteristics would jump up to level two.
“Marcon, come here a minute. A spot of business for you,” I called to the local leader. The nimble elf was winding down his training session on simulator ten, about to complete the newbie assault course and receive his bonus reward.
“Greetings, Tieflings!” he said, approaching us with a radiant and friendly smile. The others grumbled because we’d hijacked the player everyone was copying. Marcon was all puffed up with himself. “Did you see that? I’ve nearly done all ten. Plita goes, ‘I’m gonna do you now!’ And I go, ‘Ain’t gonna happen, not on my watch.’ So I duck down, crawl, and slip through. Awesome! Whoever was behind didn’t have a clue what to do, and the ones on the platform go, ‘Thwack!’ Hilarious! Anyway, what did you want?”
“We want to do the newbie assault course.”
“What are you standing here for then? See what everyone else is doing? Come on out here, y’see, and hop onto the course. Get your head down, run through here, crawl through there, and it’s, ‘Yeah! We did it!’ “
“We just bet each other we could pass a couple of obstacles first time round.”
“Nah, it won’t happen, not first time,” Marcon said and started dancing, parading some fancy footwork. “I’ve been dancing the cha-cha-cha here for three days. Step here, step there, turn, crouch, and bow. Every simulator has its own dance. You have to feel it.”
“That’s why we came to you,” said Eredani. “We can dance, we just don’t know the right moves. Show us the whole thing on the ground, and we’ll repeat it on the simulator. What difference does it make where we practice dancing, on the ground or in amongst the pendulums?”
“Hmm…” Marcon scratched his head thoughtfully.
“Five hundred gold.” I decided to give him a hand making the right decision.
“Each,” he said all too quickly. At last somebody in the game knew the value of money.
“Each,” confirmed Eredani. “What are these moves then?”
What followed was something akin to an epileptic fit, and I immediately wanted to unsee it. Marcon started pirouetting, and Eredani copied his movements to a T, as though he’d done nothing else all his life.
“Hmm…” said Marcon for the second time, before sharply throwing his arms out to the sides and bending them alternately at the elbows. Raising his knees high, he began to strut around Eredani like a peacock, simultaneously nodding his head in time with the music that only he could hear. Eredani joined in, dancing even more wildly than Marcon. The tempo upped, and the dancers whirled their arms like windmills, tap dancing, egging each other on and looking every bit like cocks fighting over a hen. Everyone stopped training to observe the wild s
altations of the elf and the tiefling. Even Gurt deigned to marvel at the spectacle.
“A ritual Zimbali dance?” The orc was surprised. “I haven’t seen that for ages.”
Eredani and Marcon couldn’t even think of stopping. The absence of a Liveliness scale allowed level-one players to show everything they were capable of. Marcon succumbed first. Bending for the nth time at the waist to an angle of 45° and spinning about himself, he stumbled and fell. The contest, or whatever it was, ended in a one-sided victory for my new partner, although the elf wasn’t remotely upset and ran to embrace Eredani, forgetting they were in different virtualities. Flying boldly straight through the tiefling, he undashingly ploughed the ground with his nose. Where had all his dancer’s grace gone?
“Yes!” The tumble didn’t dampen his spirits. He picked himself up and continued to gambol around Eredani, bowing to him. “Marvelous! You are a master of the school of Rivaldo!”
Eredani held himself modestly. After adjusting his pants, he waited for a pause in Marcon’s caperings, before asking, “What about these dances then?”
“No problem, brother.” Marcon just would not stop. “I’ll teach you, I’ll show you, and I’ll spell out every single movement. We’ll begin right now. Dear Mother of mine! A master of Rivaldo’s school, a demon hunter! Level one! And you thought you’d outdance the horned ones with those skills? Oops, you’re horned yourself!”
“Marcon, time!” My partner reined the motormouth in.
“Of course, of course. I can’t believe it — the master is here! So, ten obstacles — ten dances. The first is the waltz. You don’t mind my being so straightforward, do you, master?”
“Don’t call me that,” winced Eredani. “It was a long time ago and a different character.”
“And I could only get as far as master,” said Marcon as though he hadn’t heard. “I just can’t get my head around acrobatic dancing. That’s why I became a demon hunter. Here I’m going to level up and get my master’s.”
“Waltz!” Eredani cut him off. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Ah, it’s all very simple. The first simulator goes, ‘I’m a waltz fan.’ And you go, ‘Okay, I’m just going to tie my laces.’ As soon as you see the first slabs, you go, ‘A-a-nd one-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three.’ The main thing is to constantly move forward, a-a-nd one-two-three, one-two-three.”
Marcon held his arms out in front of him, supporting his invisible partner, and began to waltz. He did it beautifully. Eredani, not remotely embarrassed in front of the assembling rubberneckers, joined in with the movements being practised. As for myself, it was too difficult — despite my having passed the first simulator no problem without any dance moves.
“Kvalen, don’t just stand there!” said Marcon, not stopping for a second. “Join us! One-two-three, one-two-three. The first simulator is not the only waltz. Seven and ten also like a bit of a Tchaikovsky twirl.”
I shot a look at the whispering players, mentally spat, and joined Marcon. I didn’t care how it looked to others; the main thing was the result. The waltz for me was no terrifying ordeal, because it had been my ex’s dream wedding dance. Considering my efforts sufficient, Marcon moved on to the second test — the floor spikes.
“Quickstep. Up onto your hooves, imagine your partner and, as soon as the front spikes pop up, it’s: ‘Y-e-a-h!’ And you’re off! Six steps, turn, two steps back, turn, and gradually step out to the end. See how easy it is.”
Once more Marcon took his imaginary partner in his hands and leaped, so long and quickly you’d think someone had stepped on his heels.
“It ain’t gonna happen,” said Eredani despondently. “Your tail gets in the way, your balance is off.”
“That figures — my butt weighs me down! I need a partner!”
Eredani and Marcon looked in unison at me. “We’re in the same group, we can work together. I’ll lead,” Eredani suggested. Then I understood what he meant.
“No!” I protested. “Never mind that I’m not a dancer. I need a female partner!”
“You can trip the light fantastic with men too. I won’t mind,” Eredani chuckled and held his hands out in invitation.
“The first obstacle will be easier with a waltz,” agreed Marcon.
I shook my head.
“Kvalen, don’t be so childish.” Eredani changed tactics and began to play on my sympathy. “There are two options — together or alone. Personally, it would be easier to dance with you than pick spikes out of my ass every time. That’s why I failed the first test. When your sensitivity is at one hundred percent, a spear in the butt is torture. Be a man. A master of the school of Rivaldo has a fantastic sense of rhythm. It’ll be fine.”
“What is this school anyway?” I muttered. Everyone, myself included, knew I would have to consent, but I just couldn’t make myself fall into Eredani’s arms.
“Rivaldo is personal ballet master to the emperor of Malabar. His dance school is the best in Barliona.”
“And you studied there?”
“That’s classified information,” whispered Eredani so the elf wouldn’t hear. “I’m not allowed to talk about it.”
“It’s just that… I’m going to film it,” Marcon informed us. He wasn’t asking; he was stating a fact. “Two dancing cloven-hooves. Hilarious! You should entwine your tails. It’ll be easier. And more erotic. I’ll upload the video and we’ll be inundated with likes.”
And you couldn’t complain, since according to the Barliona agreement a player could film anything he fancied. After taking a deep breath, I took a step forward and felt Eredani’s hands on me. He pulled me so close that just a fraction more and I would have lashed out and punched him in the face. Nonetheless, he led superbly, and I really could sense the professional in his movements.
“You’ve forgotten your tails! Entwine! That’s it! Now one-two-three, one-two-three. Kvalen, not so tense! Feel the rhythm!”
“Just relax and let me do everything. It won’t hurt,” said Eredani, fanning the flames. I couldn’t curb my temper any longer and exploded. I wasn’t ready for such close contact. With this Barliona I would soon forget what a comfort zone was.
“What are you up to over here?” Gurt loomed over us. “This is a training course, not a ladies’ finishing school! Either train or get out of here! In two hours there’s a test. Just you try and fail it! I’ll pack the lot of you off to the Abyss.”
“Let’s go to the barrack,” suggested Eredani. “We need to work on these dance moves.”
For the next two hours I wished only that what happened in the barrack would stay in the barrack. Eredani span me all over the place, now pulling me to him, now throwing me to the side, now swooping me up in his arms and flying forward. Under Marcon’s tireless commentary, we jumped and ran, honing our movements, and when the time was right, we went back to be tested.
“Eredani!” boomed Gurt. “Where the hell are you? On the course at the double! Kvalen, where are you off to? It’s not your turn yet.”
“There’s nothing in the rules that prohibits us doing the course together,” said Eredani. “We’re tieflings. We were ordered to stick together, and together we shall stick!”
“You’re just going to get in each other’s way!” scowled Gurt, but stood aside anyway. “Well, if you insist, do it together. And don’t even think about failing the first obstacle, or you’ll be off to the Abyss together too!”
Eredani glowered at the course and said quietly, “Just remember — waltz, quickstep, mazurka. Rythmically, and fluidly. Positions! And go! One-two-three, one-two-three!”
A few seconds later the newbies’ course was ripped through by a shout from Gurt. “One out of ten! Wastes of space, both of you! Next!”
“Kvalen, don’t close up like that.” Eredani squirmed after the spike, then began lecturing: “The longer you close up, the longer it’ll take us. The first obstacle was ideal. The second you started well, but fumbled the turn. When I pick you up and turn you around,
just relax. The whole game depends on that, so remember it.”
What I needed to remember remained a mystery, for Marcon completed the newbies’ course. “Ten out of ten! Genius! Marcon the Spoiled, I proclaim you a true demon hunter! You have nothing left to do on the newbies’ assault course. Give my regards to Haldei, the supervisor of the basic course. I am sure that anyone like you can complete it with full marks.”
“Ye-e-e-s!” Marcon jumped for joy and hurried over to us. “Master, I did it! I have become dance. I have become rhythm. I’ve done this course. Let’s go, quickly! I made a mistake on the tenth test. It’s not a waltz, it’s a foxtrot. In four hours I’ll make even Kvalen a novitiate of the school of Rivaldo. Let me into your group. You need to polish up your steps.”
A Second Chance Page 13
