by Thad Ward
“Alms for the poor, young master,” came a raspy voice off to Ike’s side. He popped the last of his first biscuit in his mouth before turning toward it.
From the looks of him, Hamish had seen better days. His clothes were threadbare and his skin was weathered. From his thin, aging frame, Ike guessed he wasn't eating well. Hamish's face turned in Ike's general direction, but it was clear from Hamish's milky pupils that he couldn't see Ike. Hamish sat by the side of the road and held a slightly trembling hand out in Ike’s direction.
Ike remembered his own night out in the elements with a pang of sympathy. “How about alms and some breakfast,” Ike said. He walked over to Hamish, knelt, and placed a silver knight in the beggar’s hand along with the second biscuit. “Sorry if it’s a little on the stale side. It is filling, though.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” Hamish said with a smile, pocketing the coin and biting into the biscuit. Crumbs fell from his lips and his eyes rolled back like he was eating a delicacy.
“Not at all,” Ike said. It was only getting this close that he realized something was off. However drab the color of Hamish’s clothes, they seemed to pop. Ike had only seen this sort of conspicuous vibrancy once before. He decided to strike up a conversation. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you call me ‘young master’?”
Hamish chuckled dryly. “Why, everyone is a beggar’s master, sir. As for young, well, that’s more likely than not, isn’t it? Call it a blind guess.” Hamish laughed harder at the joke.
Ike joined in laughing. “Fair enough. My name’s Ike.”
Hamish raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see. I’ve heard tell of a rat-taming goblin slayer by that name. And some damned bird screeching it over and over again.”
Ike grimaced. “Yup, that’s me. Sorry about the bird. Just trying to drum up some business.”
Hamish nodded. “No need to apologize. Must be a handy way to get customers. I’m Hamish, but most folks call me Old Blind Bates. When they think I can’t hear them, anyway, which is silly since I’ve got little else to do but listen to people.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hamish,” Ike said. “I get the feeling you’re better informed than most of the folks around here who can see just fine.”
Hamish grinned at that. “And I get the feeling you’re wise enough to flatter the elderly. But why waste your breath on a beggar like me, master Ike?”
Ike smiled. “It wasn’t so long ago I was stumbling in the dark and sleeping under the sky. It takes courage to face that and come out smiling all the same. Maybe I don’t think it’s a waste at all.” He clapped Hamish affectionately on the shoulder.
Even though Ike was expecting the vision, it still came as a sudden shock to the senses. The world went dark. He could hear yelling and fighting a ways off. He felt great gusts of wind nearby, then the roar of some enormous beast towering over him. The old man cowered in fear before searing pain pierced him and the darkness became absolute.
You have gained experience.
Your Prophecy skill has increased to level 2.
“Master Ike?” came Hamish’s voice. “Lad, are you okay?” The beggar had his hands around Ike’s shoulders and was shaking him.
Ike gasped and coughed. He looked down at his body frantically, sure he was mortally wounded. He calmed down when he saw that he was okay, though he could still feel the phantom tingling from the vision of Hamish’s death. “It’s fine,” Ike said at last.
“What was that all about?” Hamish asked. “You suddenly went stiff and stopped breathing.”
Ike considered what to say and decided on the truth. “It was a vision. Something my race gets from time to time.”
“Your race?” Hamish said. He took his hands off of Ike as if he’d inadvertently touched something sacred. “Bless my soul. An astral? A child of the stars?”
Ike was calming down. “You know about astrals?”
Hamish nodded. “From old stories my father’s father told me as a boy. He said astrals are heralds descended from the starry firmament and gifted with glimpses of the future. He said astrals appear during times of great change, with calamity and upheaval following in their wake.” Hamish closed his eyes in concentration, reciting something from memory. “They shall descend from the heavens crowned in white, radiant and pure as the North star, and their words shall ring with the weight of destiny.”
Ike’s eyes widened. “I don’t know about all of that. I’m no messiah.”
“Please, master,” Hamish pleaded, holding his hands out toward Ike, “it was my future you saw, wasn’t it? My future? What did you see?”
Ike considered giving Hamish the truth again but stopped himself. Telling the old man he was going to die horribly would only serve to upset him and quite likely exacerbate Ike’s reputation. He didn’t like the idea of adding “herald of woe” to his growing list of accolades. Lying wouldn’t do, either; he didn’t want to withhold information Hamish undoubtedly needed. Besides, lying had always left a bad taste in his mouth.
Ike took a deep breath. “I saw something that needs to be prevented,” he said. “You’re not safe on the streets. More than usual, I mean. There may be more fighting soon, like the goblin attacks the other night.”
Hamish brought a trembling hand to his face and nodded shakily. “Prophet, please. What should I do? I have no home of my own. No kin to take me in. No skills to offer any who would shelter me. I was a painter before I lost my sight.” His words were despairing and reverential in equal measure.
Ike hesitated to touch Hamish again but saw that the aura of importance had faded and decided to risk it. He held Hamish by the shoulders to steady him. “First, you take a deep breath.” Ike paused until Hamish had done so. “Now, we calmly consider your options. I’ve known you for five minutes and know you’ve got a lot to offer. Your keen ears, for example, or the old stories you know...” Ike’s words drifted off as an unpleasant idea occurred to him.
“What is it, master Ike?” Hamish said, sensing Ike’s hesitation.
Ike swallowed his distaste; it could save the old man’s life, after all. “Do you mind coming with me, Hamish? I’ve got an idea.”
Hamish collected his meager belongings and Ike led him down the road to the market square. Ike saw Fu unloading a box at his stand and waved at him in passing. It didn’t take Ike long to find what he was looking for: A small shop with a sign showing a pair of scissors crossing a comb as if it were a coat of arms. The words “Warren’s Whiskers” formed a circle around the design.
Ike pushed the door open and heard the gentle ringing of a bell overhead. “Be with you in just a minute,” came Warren’s words from further back in the shop. Ike saw him bent over another figure in a chair. With Warren’s back to the door, it was hard to tell what was going on until a moment later when Warren’s shoulders strained and there was a tearing, popping noise accompanied by a stifled groan of pain. The sound made Ike wince.
Ike and Hamish waited while Warren exchanged business pleasantries and saw the customer out. “Like I said,” Warren said, turning to the two of them and wiping his hands on a rag, “barbers are the dentists of the medieval world.”
Ike grimaced. “Pulling teeth seems like an odd activity for a game. You enjoy this sort of thing?”
“Yes and no,” Warren said with a confident smile and a shrug. “I like growing a business. I’ve already done that in the real world. Here I get to do it from scratch. It reminds me of my early entrepreneur days when I worked eighty-hour weeks and wore half a dozen hats. It’s hard to feel like a self-made man if you never get your hands dirty.”
“More literally than back then, I imagine,” Ike said, nodding toward the blood-stained rag. “At any rate, I was here to talk business if you’re interested.”
Warren flashed his teeth. “And here I was worried I’d scared you off. Your lady friends didn’t seem to care for me very much.”
Ike shrugged. “They have their opinions, and I trust them. And while I appreciate th
e pin you gave me, I’m not here because of that, either.” Ike met Warren’s gaze. “How would you like to know everything going on in this town?”
“Oh ho,” Warren said, wagging a finger at Ike. “Straight to the sales pitch. I like it. Does that have something to do with this gentleman accompanying you?”
Hamish had remained quiet until now, listening intently to his surroundings and the conversation. “The man who left here a minute ago,” he chimed in. “He likes his drink and lost a bar brawl two days ago.”
Warren raised an eyebrow. “You got all that by seeing him pass by?” Warren squinted at Hamish and waved a hand, noting the lack of response. “My apologies, by hearing him pass by?”
“He smelled of stale liquor,” Hamish explained. “He hasn’t changed his clothes. And he came to get a tooth removed. Probably got knocked loose, plus he was dragging his foot on the way out.” Hamish made an uncertain gesture. “It’s just an educated guess, but I’d bet on it if I could afford to.”
Ike had planned on presenting Hamish as an asset. The old man was quick on the uptake, which made it that much easier. “Warren Fairbank, this is Hamish Bates. As you can see, he’s got a knack for noticing things and a quick wit to go with it. Hamish, Warren here is a man who knows the real value of the sort of information you can offer him.”
Warren rubbed his beard. “I get it. So you’d like us to come to some sort of arrangement, then?”
“I don’t need much,” Hamish said. “Just a roof over my head and a little food.”
Ike frowned at Hamish selling himself short, though he couldn’t criticize. Beggars truly couldn’t be choosers. “Don’t fret, Hamish. Warren’s a generous man. I’m sure he can do a little better than that.”
Warren clapped his hands once and smiled. “Absolutely. I treat my employees well.” The statement was directed at both Ike and Hamish. “Not exactly the role I was expecting to fill first, but I’m sure the intel he can gather will pay for itself and then some.” Warren reached into a pouch and produced a platinum tenth, placing it in Hamish’s hand with a firm, two-handed shake. “This should get you started. Your first assignment is to see what you can dig up about a place called Blackstone Gulch. Some of the… adventurous types that frequent the market square ought to be a good place to start.”
Hamish’s eyes opened wide as he felt the valuable coin and realized its value. “At once, master Warren.” He turned and felt his way toward the door, turning back before leaving. “And thank you, master Ike. I will heed your prophecy.”
Ike cringed a little on the inside, not wanting to share that tidbit with Warren, but tried to smile outwardly. “Happy to help, Hamish. If you wind up needing a place to stay tonight, the Weir Crest is pretty budget-friendly. And I may be able to put in a good word with the owner.”
Hamish nodded and left, the bell above the door jingling on his way out.
“Prophecy, hm?” Warren said without skipping a beat. “I’ll have to look that one up on the game wiki. I can’t say I’ve heard of it.”
“I don’t know much about it myself,” Ike responded, carefully saying no more than necessary. “I hope Hamish works out for you. One way or another, I appreciate your help.”
“Of course,” Warren said magnanimously. He held up a finger. “May I ask a favor in return?”
Ike took a deep breath and nodded. He’d been prepared for this when it first occurred to him to introduce Hamish to Warre. “Sure. What can I do for you?”
Warren gestured to the seat at the back of the barber’s shop. “Let me give you a shave. I promised I would give you one free of charge, didn’t I? And, not to be rude, but it seems like you could use one.”
Ike rubbed his hand across the stubble on his cheek. He’d only gotten a good look at his reflection a few days prior. The game world didn’t seem to have many mirrors. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t even realize the game simulated hair growth.”
Warren led Ike to the chair, wrapping a smock around his shoulders. “This game really is a work of art,” Warren said. “Most games gloss over the little details of everyday life. You never have to worry about mundane things like eating or sleeping unless they give some sort of special bonus. That way you get to focus more on the fun stuff. Here, though, everything’s so real. All those little details draw you in and, somehow, make the fun stuff that much more thrilling.”
“Leave the goatee, please,” Ike said. He leaned back while Warren whipped up shaving lather with a brush and bowl. Ike was well aware that Warren’s small talk veiled some ulterior motive and that responding could play into it somehow. Just the same, Ike was indebted for Warren’s help, and couldn’t help but wonder what the barber was scheming. “I imagine it has to do with contrasts,” Ike said. “The fantastical elements of the game world stand out better because they’re surrounded by things we consider familiar and ordinary.”
Warren nodded as he applied the lather. “Genius. True genius. It’s got the whole industry in a fit. There are other VDX games, of course, but none with such a grand scope or, shall we say, unconventional mechanics.” Warren began stropping a straight razor on a piece of leather.
“Does your company make any of those?” Ike asked. He didn’t need to make an effort to sound conversational; he was genuinely curious.
“Indeed it does,” Warren said proudly. “I’ll concede that True Calling has the crown. For now. But we’ve got some of the best minds in the world, and our technology is top of the line.” Warren drew the freshly sharpened blade across Ike’s neck in a smooth motion, washing off the lather in a waiting bowl. “Of course, there’s always room for one more.”
“Is that why you’re interested in me?” Ike said. “You want to offer me a job?”
Warren nodded thoughtfully as he continued shaving. “I understand there are some things you can’t discuss, especially in the game. I wouldn’t ask you to do anything against your morals or expect you to violate any legal agreements you may have made. You’re a professional, after all. But my people assure me you’re a programmer of exceptional skill, and I’m always looking for the best talent.”
Ike tensed at the mention of legal agreements. What did Warren know? Could he have inside knowledge of the non-disclosure agreement? Did that mean he knew Ike couldn’t log out? What else did Warren know? “I appreciate the offer. And I’m not against the idea of a new job. I’d want all the details first, of course. Is it okay if I get back to you on that? I’m on a sort of prolonged in-game vacation right now.”
Warren’s grin had a faintly wolfish quality. It made Ike suddenly very aware of the tech-CEO-cum-barber’s knife at his throat. “Of course. No doubt you’ve earned it. I’ll have one of my people set something up. Here,” Warren said, slipping a business card out of a drawer and into Ike’s pouch with a pat, “just call this number when you’ve got the time.”
Ike sat up and accepted a towel from Warren, wiping his freshly shaven face and handing it back. “Thanks for the shave. And thanks again for the help with Hamish.”
Warren continued to smile. It occurred to Ike how Warren never seemed to do otherwise. “You’re welcome, Ike,” he said, then held up a finger and looked around as if he’d forgotten something. “On that note, there’s one more thing I think I can help with.” He opened a cabinet and retrieved a small vial, handing it to Ike.
“What’s this?” Ike asked, eyeing the amber liquid inside.
“Cologne,” Warren said. “A pleasant musk to go along with the shave. You know,” Warren winked, “if you happen to be going on a date sometime soon.”
Ike stared at Warren, wondering how Warren had found out something Ike had talked to Ada about the night before. Dusty had known earlier. Could Warren have found out from her? “Thanks,” Ike drew out the word. “How much?”
“Free,” Warren said. “On the condition that you give me your patronage again the next time you need a shave.”
Ike nodded. “Will do. See you later, Warren,” he said. He gave a half
-hearted wave over his shoulder as he left, the bell tinkling softly overhead.
Ike looked down at the cologne in his hand and shook his head. He’d tried to play Warren’s game but come away with more questions than answers. Meanwhile, he was pretty sure Warren had gotten exactly what he wanted. “I think it’s time I grew a beard,” he muttered to himself.
Chapter 20
Party chat
T he sky was brightening and the city stirring as Ike made his way back to the Weir Crest. Hopeful merchants opened their doors as bodies began filling the streets. There weren’t many obvious players out and about yet, but Ike felt sure there would be before long. He hoped Ada would be among them.
Ike scarcely noticed the details of the people he passed. He was preoccupied with the visions he’d been having. There had been sensations of fire and combat in both the wolf's prophecy and Hamish's. Under normal circumstances, Hamish would never leave town. Did that mean the town was going to be attacked? Could it be the goblins again? The two visions seemed like they offered different perspectives of the same event. As Ike considered that, he realized his dreams the night before had been similar. Had they been more than just nightmares?
More than anything, Ike couldn't shake the sensation of Hamish's terror and death. He'd experienced it from the old man's perspective, so he couldn't see the beast. Ike wasn’t sure if that made it more or less terrifying. Whatever it was, the monster was huge, strong, and had claws or fangs, which didn't narrow it down much. Had it been tamed by the goblins, or was it maybe working with them?
“Ike!” Ada said, staring at him from perhaps three feet away.
“Ada!” Ike said, shaking himself out of his contemplation.
“I called to you like three times,” Ada said, a mixture of amusement and concern on her face. “Lost in thought much?”
“You could say that,” Ike nodded. “I’ve had an interesting morning. I’ll tell you all about it, but first,” he dug around in his pouch and produced a pair of small tubular bands made of silver. Each had a section missing along its side. He picked one out of the pair and handed it to Ada. “Here.”
