by Eric Nylund
Elmac pointed at my meal with his dagger. “And what be that?” he asked with a full mouth.
“This,” Sadie said with a flourish of her hands, “is the triple-gill salmon black-plate special. It was caught this afternoon, seared, brushed with a delicate teriyaki glaze, and then wrapped in blankets of sept beurre pastry dough with baby purple asparagus, saffron and other special spices.”
It was something I would have never picked on my own… but as I inhaled its delicate scents, my doubt melted away, and I felt like a bear just awakened from hibernation—famished.
Sadie served our beverages with the precision and grace of a tea ceremony master.
Elmac scowled at his un-whiskeyed coffee.
Morgana had ice water.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll be back in a moment with dessert.” Sadie wheeled the cart off.
I took a bite.
The creation was salty and honey-sweet and so fresh I could practically taste the mountain lake the fish had splashed in hours ago. God only knows what it was seasoned with, but every bite sent chills cascading through my insides.
Food should always be this good.
We ate.
I got through half of my meal but then had to stop or burst.
Morgana and Elmac had finished their plates and wiped up the last bits with crusts of bread.
Sadie returned with Morgana’s dessert: layers of cake and mascarpone cheese, drenched in espresso, and sprinkled with cocoa.
Morgana took a bite. She shut her eyes in obvious pleasure.
“Anyone else for something sweet?” Sadie asked.
Elmac shook his head and patted his distended stomach.
“I’m good,” I told her.
Sadie’s eyes locked with mine for a fleeting moment. Some odd micro-expression flashed across her features… or it could have been just the light shimmering off the golden sea elf scales on her cheeks and brow.
“Can we get two rooms?” Morgana asked. “One for us.” She indicated herself and Elmac. “And one for this disreputable character here.” She nodded at me. “Although, I think the stable might do for him.”
Sadie produced a tiny menu from her apron and handed it to Morgana.
I spied various rooms listed there and their corresponding ludicrous prices.
Morgana pointed at two.
“Let me check if those are available, ma’am.” She hurried to the front station and riffled through a ledger.
“For a night in a real bed,” Morgana whispered and closed her eyes. “Just ten hours of totally reasonable overindulgence before we have to deal with assassins, other players, or more monkey curses. And a bath! Bubbles are bloody mandatory.”
“Aye, me too,” Elmac said, his cheeks flushing.
“In full agreement,” I said. “At least about the bed part. But what’s our next move? Head back to High Hill? Contact Duke Opinicus first?”
“No, Colonel Delacroix,” Elmac said. “If I be knowing her, and assuming she got our note through Lordren, she’ll already be dealing with the Syndicate.”
A waiter came by with the check for dinner and our room keys.
Funny that Sadie had forgotten about the Inn’s pay-before-you-eat policy. She must have been preoccupied with her plans for later this evening.
Elmac dropped a small sack of gold quins on the table. “My treat.”
“But I lost our race,” I told him.
“Consider it partial payment for saving us from making monkeys ’o ourselves.”
“Thanks, Elmac. I appreciate that.”
Truth be told, I hadn’t been sure I had the quins to cover the food, let alone the rooms.
Elmac stood. “I’ve got nothing left, lad. My head be feeling like solid granite.”
Morgana got up and stretched. “We should pick this up in the morning. I’m knackered, too.”
So we went upstairs, bid our good nights, and my two friends continued down the hall holding hands.
Good night, indeed, you two.
I got to my room, unlocked the door, and found inside a feather bed, a small table with two chairs, a bathroom with instructions on how to ring for hot water to fill the large copper bathtub, and even a small larder filled with snacks (although the prices on these things were ridiculous).
I scrubbed a few layers of grime off my body, changed, and was just about to fall into bed…
But there was a soft knock on the door.
Elmac? Morgana? I thought they had better things to do.
Or, if my luck ran true, it was an assassin from the Silent Syndicate.
But an assassin knocking? Unlikely.
Just in case, though, I readied my ninja chain and adjusted my stance.
I opened the door.
Sadie stood there with a bottle of wine and two glasses.
“Nightcap?” she said.
CHAPTER 36
My luck had never been this good—in any incarnation. Why then, did it feel like I’d stumbled into a James Bond movie?
No. Something was wrong with this picture.
Or it might be me just not thinking straight after going without sleep for—this couldn’t be right—two, two and a half days?
Sadie must have read the confused emotions on my face. “Oh, no.” She took a step back. “I’m not here to—” She glanced down the hall. Her throat and cheeks reddened.
“Offer me a nightcap?”
I hadn’t meant that to sound creepy, but it did. I felt like a jerk for it.
Sadie’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I… I didn’t think this through. It’s not a nightcap, nightcap. It’s wine, and only wine. Really.”
Her head had dropped so low I could no longer see her face, but I could practically feel the pulses of red-hot humiliation roiling off it.
“Can I come in?” she whispered. “I don’t want anyone to see me, and you, together, and get the wrong idea…”
Without a second thought, I waved her in.
Then I had that second thought.
I wasn’t sure what this was, but I was sure it was not some harem anime or Bond movie with dangerous and exotic women, complete with bottles of chilled Dom Perignon, flinging themselves at me.
Although, there could be a grain of truth to that. The “dangerous” part, I mean. Could Sadie be an assassin?
No, that didn’t track. Sadie was here before Morgana and I got to the Inn. If she was an assassin from High Hill she would have had to defeat Oswald or the Chaos Knight to get the Ojawbi Far Fields… which obviously hadn’t happened.
“Mr. Saint-Savage?”
I was still standing at the open door like a half-wit.
I made to shut it, but instead left the door open a crack.
“So what’s this about?” I said.
Sadie sat at the small table.
To be polite, I took the other chair but scooted it away a bit to give her space.
Her fingers fidgeted. “I’m sorry,” she said in a quavering voice. “This was a mistake.” She tried on a fake smile. “But here.” She slid the wine bottle toward me. “An Empyrean merchant ordered this and left it in his room after he checked out. Take it. Please. Compliments of the house for the interruption this evening.”
She stood, took a step, then halted.
Worry lines creased her brow. She licked her lips. Swallowed.
She was terrified… but not, I thought, of me.
“Don’t go. Tell me how I can help.”
She sank back into the chair and clasped her hands together to stop their shaking. “Well, I saw you fight the other day.”
“You mean fight that idiot with the mace?”
The beginning of a laugh twitched over her mouth, then died. “That fight was no draw,” she whispered and leaned forward. “You won. I saw you and your friend both at the end. He couldn’t even get to his feet.”
Of course, she couldn’t have seen the actual fight—just the part where Grimhalt had knocked me over the center field wall, and the last bit w
ith him clearly beaten to within an inch of his disreputable life.
“How did you do it?” she asked. “I didn’t see you draw a weapon. Or use spells.” Her eyes widened. “Did you defeat him with your hands?”
I tilted my head to indicate “yes,” so I wouldn’t have to outright lie about my true role in that fight (i.e. target dummy).
“Are you—what do you call them?” She made a fist and shadowboxed. “A pugilist? Or a marshall-something?”
“A martial artist.” I gave a half bow. “Master of the Dance of Death, and formerly of the Domicile of the Sleeping Dragon.”
She stared at the golden dragon tattoo on my arm. “Oh… then you can help me.” She took a breath, held it a moment, then continued quickly, like if she didn’t get the words out, she’d never have the courage to say them again. “I need a lesson how to fight.” Her gaze met mine. “I can pay. I have quins.”
Well, that made more sense than what I had originally thought this was. But lovely damsels or not, quins or not, I was exhausted. In the morning, Elmac, Morgana, and I had to come up with a plan to stop the Syndicate from murdering us and the others on that hit list. I suspected there would be another long walk ahead of us too.
Just thinking about it made my eyelids feel like lead, my body stuffed with cotton, and my thoughts kept drifting over to that lovely bed just two paces away.
“My friends and I are leaving in the morning,” I whispered. “But next time I’m here, I’d be happy to teach you a—”
“I see.” Sadie sagged, then pushed away from the table to stand.
As she did so, her dress sleeves pulled back.
There were bruises on her wrists and forearms.
Finger-shaped bruises.
She caught me looking, pulled down her sleeves, and became very still.
I wanted to ask who had done this, find the guy, and convince him that such ungentlemanly behavior might not be in his best interests… and do so with my fists.
But Sadie hadn’t asked for a protector. She had asked to be taught how to defend herself, and not owe anyone for it, either.
I respected that.
“I’ll show you what I can tonight,” I told her. “Basic principles. Some escapes. No charge. And no strings. Okay?”
Yeah, I’d be a little tired in the morning. So what? This was more important.
She studied my face, blinked rapidly as she teared up, and nodded. “Thank you.”
I heard a considerable amount of iron, and pride, in her voice. Good.
So I taught her.
We started with a few wrist-grab escapes. If she got nothing else out of tonight, I wanted to make sure no one could hurt her like that again. One especially nasty technique left the aggressor with a choice: let go or have his thumb and wrist broken. An even nastier variant I showed her didn’t give said aggressor a choice about it. Sadie liked that one.
We then covered basic stances and moved on to discussing overall defensive strategies: Use simple moves, not fancy ones; faster is better than stronger (especially for her body type); be prepared; train; be aware of your surroundings and who is around you.
That last one Sadie already seemed to know. No surprise. Waitresses typically had a good eye for cads and a few points in the Evasion skill.
This took a few hours.
I was beat, but had a little left in me to cover a few specific tactics I thought would work for her: keep a barrier, if you could, between you and your opponent; control your opponent’s hips and hands; and most important, fight as dirty as hell.
This included instruction and a few slow demonstrations of eye gouges, face rakes, punches to the throat, and the classic knee to the groin (seven variations on that one).
I started to show her elbow strikes but stopped. My mind was fogged over. If I didn’t teach her these strikes well, she could end up hurting herself along with her opponent.
As someone who had his elbow recently snapped, I was a tad sensitive about this.
By this time, Sadie had worked up a decent sweat, so she washed up in the bathroom.
I used the few minutes alone to sit and meditate (and maybe I dozed).
Sadie came back glowing and sat at the table across from me. She produced a corkscrew from her apron, grabbed the wine bottle, and opened it. She brushed the dust off its label. “A thirty-year-old dwarven vintage, Cabernet Ferico Alberto,” she said. “Cost that merchant a fortune. If you’re not going to drink it…”
She smiled, a sly curling thing upon her lips.
I thought that might be her real smile, one never shown to mere customers. Maybe good friends, though.
She poured a glass for herself, and then since I wasn’t objecting, she poured one for me as well.
For one second, I considered letting whatever was about to happen, happen. That is, whatever Sadie wanted to happen; as always, it’s the lady’s choice.
I then remembered, given my unique circumstances, all the reasons why I wasn’t dating. One might sum it up as, bad for me, probably lethal for my partner.
So, whatever might have happened tonight, wasn’t going to.
Also, this: Some lone neuron in my brain still awake enough to care, continued to bring up the notion that Sadie could be with the Silent Syndicate, and this wine could be, well it’s such a cliché… poisoned.
She plucked up her glass. “What shall we toast to?”
I took my glass and held it lightly, examining its garnet-colored contents. “May you know peace in your soul,” I said, “and failing that, may you live to hear the lamentations of your enemies.”
“And their silence forever thereafter.” She clinked her glass to mine. “Kanpai!”
Okay… a little bloodthirsty, but like I said, there was iron in her. I wouldn’t want to be the person who had given her those bruises after tonight.
Sadie leaned over the table and quickly kissed me.
It wasn’t one of those kisses that drew one in and invited more, but it sure as heck wasn’t a demure little peck, either. Her lips were hot and velvet soft.
She detached and sat back down.
“That’s for being a complete gentleman,” she whispered.
I thought I detected… what? Disappointment? No. But some odd melancholy nonetheless that I didn’t understand.
Sadie took a large gulp of her wine.
My lips still burned from her kiss and I wanted more.
With a slightly shaking hand, I lifted my glass.
As much as I could have used a drink just then, I’m not always a complete idiot.
Like I had done with the tea Master Cho had offered me, I tilted the glass to my mouth, but didn’t quite let the liquid touch my lips… just in case this wine was poisoned.
Too bad. Its bouquet was magnificent.
I set the glass on the table.
Sadie’s sly smile was gone. “I am sorry, Mister Saint-Savage.” There was an edge to her voice that hadn’t been there before, cold and jagged and cruel.
I was going to ask what she meant, but I no longer felt, or could move, my lips—nor my hands… along with the rest of my body.
WARNING!!!
You have been poisoned…
CHAPTER 37
The entire in-game alert before me read:
WARNING!!!
You have been poisoned with:
Venom of the “Glory of Onoskelis” cone snail (Conus Cor Subsisto).
Causes immediate voluntary muscle paralysis,
followed by involuntary muscle paralysis and death.
Seek immediate assistance.
Thank you, faithful game alert. I would have never figured that out on my own.
I blinked. Or tried to. I couldn’t move my eyelids. Or my eyes.
Adrenaline made my heart race, pumping the venom deeper into my tissues. My heart fluttered—seized for a beat—then resumed its thumping.
The red pixels in my health bar soured to sickly green. Pips started vanishing at an alarming rate.
&nb
sp; Sadie walked to the door, shut, and locked it.
“If not for my assignment,” she said, and her sweet voice was now all business, “I would have very much enjoyed your company this evening.” Sadie looked me over and sighed. “I must stay until the sting of Onoskelis’s Glory finishes her work. I have my orders. There will be details to be seen to… after. You will, at least, not spend your last moments alone.”
Thanks a bunch.
“Mister Saint-Savage—may I call you Hektor?” she asked. “My thanks for not taking advantage of Sadie tonight. I find seduction effective, but it is a common gutter tactic that I disdain. Fortunately, your weakness finally revealed itself.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Chivalry is not dead after all.”
If she was here to murder me, why hadn’t she just slit my throat already?
I struggled to move one finger… just a millimeter…
No dice.
Every voluntary muscle in my body had locked tight.
How long until my heart and diaphragm did the same?
Right. I’d use Spiritual Regeneration. I needed only one second free from the paralysis to drink the vial of Karl’s De-toxinifier in my inventory.
I fired it off.
ALERT!
The Venom of the “Glory of Onoskelis” is not affected by magical healing.
“I felt that,” Sadie whispered and smiled. “The Spirit Warrior’s famous chi-regeneration ability, yes?”
She moved the other chair in front of me and sat.
“Mystical healing will not work on this venom. It was quite difficult to obtain, but you destroyed four Syndicate squads and escaped the basement of the Bloody Rooster without detection.” She shook her head. “So I can see why they insisted on this exact species of Cone Snail venom. Your fourth-level Spirit Warrior status indeed does not represent your true threat level.”
She knew I was a Spirit Warrior? A player?
But she wasn’t a player. Or at least, there was no placard over her head.
Although, the assassin player class must have a way to hide their placard, something like my Obscura Totata ability. Otherwise, every player would see them coming.
“Oh hello, Madam Assassin. Nice shiny placard you have there. I’ll just slowly back away.”
