by Dmitry Bilik
I wouldn’t have said that the news of the Grand Master’s kidnapping (because even a preschooler could see through the fake “Radko Pogan” identity) had left me as cool as a cucumber. I was both angry and just a tad scared, but I brought my emotions quickly under control. Everything was going exactly as he’d predicted.
“One thing I don’t understand is why he would take the Grand Master?” Arts asked over my shoulder. “It would have been much easier to kidnap Oliverio because he can see into the future.”
By then, we were already in the antique bookshop just behind the Inn. It was a strange place, so unlike the regular bookstore chains. It was badly lit and crowded with tall bookcases with narrow passages between them. A staircase led down to the basement which must have housed some kind of storeroom. The vendor was a small withered man with a goatee and thick horn-rimmed glasses. His development branch was apparently Classifier.
“Because Oliverio’s predictions aren’t always accurate,” I said, putting The Ancient Cults of Pelnir aside. “In order to make an accurate forecast, he needs to know the subject well and be able to tune into him. And even so his visions will be rather vague. But the situation with the Grand Master is completely different. He’s the opposite of the Oracle.”
“How’s that?”
“Take a look at this one,” the vendor interrupted her, offering me a small fat tome. “A Brief History of Cesspit from Heracles to Orator.”
“Who’s Orator?”
“Hitler,” Arts replied. “So why do you think that the Grand Master is the opposite of the Oracle?”
“Okay, okay, I overstated the case. His powers aren’t the same as the Oracle’s. His development branch is probably not up to it. But I still stand by what I’ve just said. The Oracle could see the future of any person whatsoever while the Grand Master — the Eternity Weaver — can do the same with the person’s past. And the closer he is to the subject, the more accurate the information is.”
“That’s why he needs the Grand Master alive in order to catch you.”
“Exactly. What happened a mere minute ago is also already in the past. So finding me isn’t going to be quite so easy as that. Also, didn’t the Grand Master say that we still had a couple of days? He must have already planned on resisting him.”
“The Horseman will torture him, that’s for sure. Me, I would have just told him everything on the spot. Especially when you know that you can’t change anything.”
“No, you don’t understand,” I scooped up three of the books and gave the vendor a quizzical look.
“Sixty grams,” he said without batting an eyelid.
“So!”
Arts sniggered. “I did tell you this place wasn’t cheap.”
I measured out the right amount while contemplating the state of our publishing business. In my opinion, book vendors were the weakest link in the production chain from the author to the reader and were bound to ruin the industry by hiking up their prices.
“Let’s go,” I said.
I had bought three books: A History of Cesspit, A Traveler’s Guide to Purgator’s Five Biggest Cities and The Origins of the Land of Noggle. I put them away in my inventory: at least it would give me something to read in my spare time.
“So now, where was I?” I said when we’d walked out into the snowed-in courtyard. “The Grand Master won’t do anything to upset the course of events which have already been predicted. I think this is the only thing that gives him strength while also preventing him from taking action. Otherwise, he would already have told us everything a long time ago. Never mind. How’s your thing coming on?”
“I’m seeing the mugger tomorrow.”
“A mugger?” I said, remembering the circumstances in which I’d first heard the word.
“Just don’t give me that holier-than-thou look!”
“I’m not. I’m coming with you. What time is it? Where are you meeting him?”
She shrugged as in, suit yourself, but answered anyway. “One p.m. He’ll send me a message.”
“See you tomorrow, then.”
We parted ways without bothering to shake hands or exchange kisses. Arts — who now had a veritable king’s ransom stashed away in her inventory — dove into a gateway while I headed for the bus stop. My parents’ place wasn’t very far, and I needed to take a little stroll to put my thoughts in order.
Morbian was one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He was also one of the most powerful Players around. According to the Grand Master, his development branch had something to do with sleep. I should have asked him for more details, but I’d been too confused at the time to even think about it. Never mind. Logically, he should have an awful lot of both health and mana. So he was bound to cast Mantle as well as some protection against spells. Which meant I’d only have one chance — provided I was right in my deductions.
“Excuse me, how do I get to Gordeev Street?”
I smiled. Talk about déjà vu. The old lady was different, of course: a down-lined lilac coat, a sports cap and short padded boots. Unlike the befuddled expression of the lady I’d met on my first day in the game, this one had a serious, focused look in her eyes.
“You need to take the bus over there,” I pointed at the bus shelter. “Let me help you.”
Gingerly I supported her by the elbow. She showed no intention of resisting me. I waited for the traffic lights to change and helped her cross. The bus she needed was just pulling up by the shelter, so I directed her straight there.
“Thank you,” she said calmly without showering me with the usual platitudes or wishing me a long life, a good wife and other appropriate blessings.
You’ve helped a Commoner who is neutral to you.
+20 karma points. Current level: +2100. You gravitate to the Light Side.
I sighed. I only had another 149 old ladies to help cross the street.
I had a funny feeling that I might not be getting any more freebies from my Divine Avatar for a while.
* * *
When I arrived at my parents’ place, you could have cut the air there with a knife. Dad mumbled a half-hearted hello while Mom trotted right past me with yet another salad in her hands. My younger sister rolled her eyes and made a gesture like she was going to hang herself. I could see they were already fully prepared to meet their new in-law: the knives were already out and sharpened.
“Mom? Look what I’ve found,” I said, handing her Grandma’s recipe book.
“Jesus. I thought we’d lost it.”
She slumped onto a chair leafing through it and shaking her head occasionally. Then she jumped up, shrieked “The chicken!” and dashed back into the kitchen.
“Fancy a smoke?” Dad suggested.
“I quit.”
“Really? I didn’t think it was gonna last.”
“Well, thanks a bunch for your support. Let’s step out for a breath of fresh air, anyway.”
“Sergei!” Mom shouted, bustling past with yet another plateful. “Put your hat and coat back on first! You’ll catch your death of cold!”
So I had to make a detour back to the coat rack.
“So, how’s life in general?” Dad asked the moment we were outside, clicking his lighter. He seemed to be looking into the distance, not at me.
“Everything’s going great.”
“And... your job? The new one, I mean?”
“It’s not without its problems but I’m quite happy with it. It’s given me a totally new prospective. They money’s good too. And I get to travel quite a bit.”
‘So you like it, then?”
Mom tapped on the window and motioned with her eyes, signaling that they were waiting for us.
“Okay, let’s go back inside,” Dad said, putting out his cigarette.
I had the feeling that he’d wanted to impart something very important — but either he couldn’t find the appropriate moment or the right words. For the first time in my life, he didn’t seem to doubt me nor my choice. The conversation had simply not h
appened. Oh well.
“The intercom’s just rung. They’re on their way up,” Mom said.
“Here we go again,” Darya said, already sitting at the table staring at her phone. “We’re gonna get the whole song and dance routine now.”
I chuckled. The potential son-in-law was about to get the full measure of our family life. So I walked into the room, leaving my parents to greet him. It was already bad enough for the poor bastard. I took a seat next to my sister and started plucking grapes.
“That’s not how you spell turnt,” I told her.
She looked up from the phone. “How do you know I wrote it?”
Good question. She was holding her phone at a discreet angle to make sure her correspondence remained private.
“Magic,” I smiled, commending my Insight. “And who’s the lucky guy that you managed to snag?”
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed.
“Okay, okay. Our Dad is quite capable of figuring out what you guys are gonna get up to in Dorward. It’s a night club, isn’t it?”
She rounded her eyes. “Are you nuts?” she whispered. “You have any idea what he’s gonna do to me if he finds out?”
‘Sure. He’ll ground you, stop your pocket money and he might even disconnect the Internet.”
She looked daggers at me. She had some temper, my sister. She must have taken after Dad in that respect.
“Let’s make a deal,” I suggested. “You stop picking on me, and I won’t tell Dad about your escapades. Because you probably told him you were sleeping over at a friend’s?” I made the sign of air quotes.
“Blackmailer,” she knitted her eyebrows, just like Dad, then proffered me her hand. “Deal.”
Your Persuasion skill has increased to level 15.
We shook on it. At least something had come out of it.
“How do you do,” I heard Mom’s sickly sweet voice in the hallway. “Please do come in.”
“Here we go,” Darya said fatefully, putting her phone away. “”Welcome to the Rocky Horror Show.”
I grinned and plucked a few more grapes. I honestly didn’t know what I had to do with the whole thing. Meeting a prospective fiancé is purely a parents’ job. Dad was going to ask him about his job and prospects for the future while Mom would inquire about how long they’d already been dating. In short, a whole bunch of laughs.
Still, our guest managed to surprise me. He was rather short and swarthy with narrow shoulders and a pair of small rudimentary wings folded behind his back. I very nearly choked on a grape. I used my Insight to inspect him from head to toe but no, he wasn’t a Player, only a Traditionalist, whatever that was supposed to mean. I could only imagine the fruit of this union: a bunch of half-Korls/half-Archali with a smidgeon of human blood thrown in for a good measure. Darya had a point: this was indeed a freak show.
“I’m Max,” the swarthy guy said, proffering his hand.
“Sergei.”
I really didn’t like the expression with which he’d said it. His gaze was sharp and self-assured which didn’t at all agree with his projected image of a struggling college student, or whatever he was supposed to be.
You’ve taken the first step toward acquiring the Intuition ability.
You've gained the Intuition ability.
You’ve gained a hidden secondary attribute: Subconsciousness
Aha. So I wasn’t that mistaken, after all. This guy definitely had a skeleton in his closet. He showed an apparent interest in me — and I could say the same about myself now.
“Hi,” Lily gave me a hug.
I forced a smile. “Hi.”
“I’ll just take the chicken out of the oven,” Mom said.
Five minutes later, we were already sitting at the table toasting our friendship and piling our plates with food. From time to time, Dad tried to trip him up with loaded questions but Max gave him all the right responses. Or rather, he gave him the answers Dad wanted to hear. He was in his last year in college and already doing field work for a large company which was going to take him on after graduation. His current position wasn’t particularly well-paid but it offered good promotion opportunities. He neither smoked nor drank alcohol, apart from big social occasions like this one. He was really into track and field although he’d been forced to stop training due to an injury. In other words, give him another fifteen years and he could run for President.
I didn’t like him at all. Not just because he’d quickly charmed the socks off everyone — and that Lily looked at him like a cat that got the cream — but because I kept catching the occasional fleeting glance he’d been giving me. I got the impression that he knew too much about me.
Oh Lily, Lily. What kind of mess have you got yourself into?
After about an hour, he rose. “My apologies, but we have to leave. I’ve got theater tickets for tonight. It was a pleasure meeting you all. I so enjoyed your cooking, Valeria. The meal was fantastic. Sir,” he nodded, shaking Dad’s hand. “Sergei, Darya.”
I strained my face into the semblance of a smile. As if I didn’t have enough problems without my sister dragging yet another one in. Our handshake lasted several seconds and was so hard as if it were a grip competition.
“Okay, Sergei, okay. Let go of him. We need to dash,” Lily said, beaming with happiness.
As soon as the door closed behind them, a discussion ensued.
“He seems to be a decent young man,” Mom said, turning to Dad.
“Yes, he seems to be quite down to earth,” Dad replied, looking at me but saying nothing.
That was funny. Normally, he would have made some wisecrack on my account.
“Quite pragmatic,” Dad continued. “And he treats Lily really well.”
“Sergei? What do you think?”
“Any port in a storm,” I said, avoiding a direct reply.
“Oh come on. He’s just an asshole,” Darya yawned without looking up from her phone.
“Darya!” Mom said sternly.
“Why, what did I say? She always dates assholes. Then she comes and cries on your shoulder. It’s just her thing.”
“Darya, go to your room now!” Dad said.
“All right already!”
“I’ll be off as well,” I said. “Thanks for dinner, Mom. See you later, Dad.”
“There’s still the cake,” Mom offered unenthusiastically.
“I’m already stuffed. See you around, guys.”
I hurried to get dressed and dashed outside. I wasn’t in the best of moods. I took my phone and dialed Julia. “Hi there.”
“Sergei? Hi.”
“Can you come to my place?”
“I don’t know. I need to see what my parents are up to. I’ll get back to you.”
I took a cab home. Pretty soon, every cabbie in town would know my face. By then, Julia had already texted me to say that she was coming, with the addition of one brief word, “overnight!!!”
I could sense the smell of burning already by the front door. You know how it feels when you walk upstairs to your apartment smelling the aroma of home cooking from behind your door. You unlock it with bated breath and smile because you guessed it right. Here, it was the same only directly the opposite.
Without removing my boots, I walked over to the kitchen. Bumpkin was sitting there all tearful next to a blackened oven tray. It must have been fish, by the looks of it.
“Come on, kick me out,” Bumpkin managed between sobs. “I’m a useless house goblin. I killed my old master with my own hands and I keep busting things around here. Before, at least I could cook. And now look at this,” he waved a desperate hand.
Oh no, this wasn’t the way to go. I had to shake him out of his depression. “Why is the house like a pigsty?!”
He jumped at the angry sound of my voice.
“Why isn’t the meal ready?” I kept grilling him. “We’ll have a visitor in a minute! Am I supposed to listen to your excuses? Or do you want me to tell all the other house goblins about your domes
tic prowess?”
He was so dumbfounded he even stopped crying. “It’s just... just...” he managed between the residual fitful sobs. “The fish... it just...”
“Well, cook something else, then! It’s not as if we don’t have enough food in the house!”
