by E. M. Foner
“If I know Dorothy, we’re going to end up on a search for a lost thimble,” Affie said. “Our run-in with giant rats the last time really put her off the whole killing monsters thing.”
“If you dragged me here on some fashion quest, I’m not going to be happy,” her boyfriend grumbled, adjusting his sword belt. “I rented all this stuff for combat.”
“Don’t worry, Stick. If there aren’t any monsters, I’ll let you fight with Judith.”
“Finally, they’re coming back.”
“Got it!” Dorothy proclaimed, waving a scroll. “Where are Flazint and Tzachan? They’re supposed to lead Group D.”
“They keep sneaking off to stare at each other in privacy, but I swear they’re both too shy to talk,” Affie said. “Try your telepathy skill.”
“My what?”
“Didn’t you listen to the orientation for your own LARP? As the party’s co-leader, you can contact us all telepathically.”
“But I’m not a telepath.”
“You are in here. Use your implant.”
“Oh.” Dorothy paused for a moment and pointed at her own ear. “She’s coming. Anyway, I got our quest and it’s not exactly what we discussed. I think the basic plan with the groups will still work, except that now we’ll all be together.” The ambassador’s daughter stepped up on a tree stump and addressed the crowd of partygoers. “Listen up. Thomas and Chance will lead Group A, so anybody with an ‘A’ on your ticket, form up with them. Judith and Bob are leading group B, Affie and Stick will take Group C, Flazint—raise your hand, you and Tzachan take Group D, and Kevin and I will be on point with Group E.”
“Why do we need five groups if we’re all going together?” Bob asked.
“It was my dad’s idea when I told him how many tickets we sold. He said that in the mercenaries they always divided their company into platoons so they could spread out and still maintain a chain of command.”
“But you just said that we’re staying together. The old Roman armies on Earth were based on a century, or a group of one hundred,” the Galactic Free press reporter informed her.
“We could do that too. I’m not an expert or anything.”
“Tell them about the quest, Dorothy,” Kevin urged her, while trying to maintain a straight face.
“Right. Everybody has probably heard by now that I didn’t want to kill a bunch of giant rats or anything like that, so I asked the NPC guy for a quest involving textiles.”
A groan went up from the players, many of whom were friends of friends and had bought tickets to the Jack-and-Jill as a cheap way to get into a LARP.
“No, really, it will be great fun,” Dorothy insisted. “It’s just a quick jaunt through the Forbidden Woods and we’ll be at the Fall Fair. All we have to do is present this scroll and then we can pick out all of the clothes we want from the merchants. We’re basically on a buying mission for the king, and a local guide will be arriving in just a few minutes to lead us there.”
“Did you say the Forbidden Woods?” a man dressed in leather armor and carrying a long sword on his shoulder called out.
“Yeah. Cool name, isn’t it?”
“Haven’t you watched any of the professional LARPing league?” another combat-ready figure cried excitedly. “Any journey through The Forbidden Woods qualifies as an accelerated gauntlet quest.”
“No, I’m sure it’s just a place name,” Dorothy protested. She looked about for the NPC who had given her the quest, but the old caravan master had already disappeared. “Anyway, aren’t gauntlets just the male version of women’s evening gloves?”
“Not that kind of gauntlet,” the first man replied with a snort. “The players have to stay on the road while everything and everyone in the woods tries to stop them from passing.”
“That can’t be,” she said, looking to Kevin, who gave an innocent shrug. “Here’s the guide now. We’ll ask him.”
The holographically enhanced robot playing the guide limped up to Dorothy and Kevin and spat loudly on the ground. “Just this lot? We’ll never make it through alive.”
“What do you mean?” the girl demanded. “You’re the guide. You’ll get us there safely.”
“A few of you, maybe, if the rest are willing to sacrifice themselves,” the scruffy NPC replied dubiously. “Well, there’s no use fighting against your fate, I say. Follow me.”
The partygoers gave a cheer and shook their weapons in the air. Dorothy chewed on her lip but had no choice other than to follow after the suddenly unresponsive guide.
“Maybe we should let some of the experienced fighters move up,” Kevin suggested. “You don’t want to be killed before the party even gets started.”
“I hope you’re finding this amusing,” Dorothy said, slowing her pace to let some of the armor-clad weapons-wielding characters pass. “You knew all along what was happening when the old man gave me the quest, didn’t you?”
“I might have guessed something of the sort,” Kevin admitted. “I watched a couple of the professional LARPs with Paul while you were busy plotting wedding stuff with your friends every evening.”
“A wedding doesn’t just happen by itself, you know.”
“I offered to help.”
“Like you know anything at all about—what was that?”
“An arrow! Duck!”
Those players who had shields attempted to form a barrier against the arrows whistling out of the woods on flat trajectories, but several had already been pin-cushioned by the noodle projectiles, which splattered on contact and then reformed when they fell to the ground. The few mages in the company dashed around casting frantic healing spells on the wounded and passing out health potions, but a half-a-dozen players already had holographic bunches of flowers showing above their heads, indicating that they were dead. Then a few of the more experienced guests brought their own bows and other ranged weapons into play, and the brigands melted back into the woods.
“What happened? Is everybody alright?” Dorothy asked.
“Group leaders. Casualty report,” Kevin shouted.
“Group B, two dead and waiting for the meat wagon to take them to the respawn point,” Judith shouted back in good military style, if out of alphabetical order.
“Group A, one dead and I’ve got an arrow hole in my new beret,” Chance complained.
“Group C, three dead and waiting for their next life,” Affie replied. “One of them said that there’s a bar at the respawn point and a chance to level up fighting drunken monsters, so they’re just going to hang out there rather than coming back.”
“Group D, all present and accounted for,” Tzachan announced.
“Anybody killed in my group?” Dorothy inquired. “Show of hands?”
“We’re good. Thanks for the leadership,” a Vergallian swordsman she didn’t recognize replied sarcastically. “May I suggest a counter-attack?”
“That would be ill-advised,” a woman’s voice announced from somewhere behind the group of partygoers bunched up on the road.
“Battlemage!” somebody cried, and all of the players who could see the newcomer began firing arrows, casting spears, and shooting whatever magic projectiles they could in her direction.
“She’s too powerful,” another player called. “Run away.”
“Freeze!” the woman ordered imperiously, and a chill swept over the Jack-and-Jill guests, causing their feet to stick in place. “Do you see this?” she demanded, brandishing something in her hand. “It’s a ticket. That makes me a guest, and as the most powerful player, I’ll be running the show from here on unless one of you cares to challenge me for the position.”
Receiving no answer, the Teragram mage stalked forward through the crowd until she reached Dorothy and Kevin.
“Baa,” the ninja seamstress greeted her. “What are you doing here?”
“Jeeves interrupted my meditation and forced me to accept a ticket. I’m supposed to be here to study fashions in LARPing for my new job, but I suspect he sent me to s
ave your party from getting slaughtered by low-level NPCs.” As if to confirm her suspicions, another volley of arrows issued from the woods, but this time they all vanished in a puff of smoke just before reaching the players. This was immediately followed by a series of explosions from the forest and a gruesome display of body parts flying through the air. Baa blew on her fingertips and looked pleased with herself.
“Can you keep any more of us from getting killed?” Dorothy requested.
“Thank you for reminding me.” Baa drew herself up to her full height, raised her feathered arms over her head, and the black bracelet on her wrist shot out inky tendrils that tore away the holographic funereal bouquets floating above the heads of the slain players. “Come,” she commanded.
“Necromancer!” one of the experienced players exclaimed. “That’s so cool. What level are you?”
“Gods don’t have levels,” Baa responded haughtily, and then she addressed the six players that her necromancy had just raised from the dead. “You’re mine now, but if you’re good little boys and girls, I’ll return your souls at the end of the party. Got it?”
“Yes, Baaaaa,” they responded, drawing out her name until they sounded like a flock of sheep.
“Enough,” the Teragram mage commanded. “Where’s the worthless NPC who guided you into an ambush?”
The grumpy guide stepped forward. “Who are you calling worthless, you—”
“Hmm,” the mage interrupted, grabbing the NPC’s chin in her hand and turning his head from side to side. “Not just a holographic wrapping on a bot, this one. Must be a regular character.” Then she released the frozen guide and pushed on his forehead with her index finger, causing him to topple over on his back with a thud. “I’ll be leading now. Shall we?”
The six reanimated players bound to Baa by her necromancer magic jogged forward to take positions at the front of the column. The mage crooked her finger at Dorothy, who along with Kevin, joined her in the vanguard. The group leaders fell in behind them, and the rest of the players formed five single-file columns, according to their group designation. Most of the aliens were visibly disturbed to find themselves in the presence of a real Teragram mage, but nobody was willing to challenge her authority in a medieval LARP environment.
“So, how much gold do you have?” Baa demanded.
“I don’t know,” Dorothy replied. “Kevin?”
“Ten copper pieces, no gold,” he responded. “It’s the basic starting amount for everybody who bought a ticket.”
“So how do you intend to pay me?” the mage demanded.
“What?” Dorothy squeaked. “You just said that Jeeves sent you as part of your job. I’m not paying for that.”
“It’s not a matter of choice for any of us. Battlemages charge for their services or they’re prohibited from joining a group. I got away with repelling that first attack as a free sample, but if I do it again, the game master will remove me.”
“But you just claimed to be a god!”
“This isn’t real space so the game master reigns supreme.”
“And who is that?” Dorothy demanded.
“Probably your Stryx librarian, she seems to have her paws in everything around here,” Baa responded. “In any case, the rules which you apparently didn’t bother reading are quite clear. I need to collect gold if I’m to protect you again.”
“Could we do it on credit?”
The mage stopped short and folded her feathered arms across her body. “No.”
“Give us a minute to consult with our group leaders,” Kevin said.
“Yeah, play with your zombies or something,” Dorothy added unnecessarily, then fled after Kevin as Baa began to raise her hand.
“Problem?” Thomas asked. “I can talk to Baa if you want. Artificial people make her uncomfortable.”
“She demands money to protect us, or to be precise, gold,” Kevin told them. “She claims it’s part of the rules. Did anybody read them?”
“I did,” Flazint and Tzachan said at the same time, causing their hair vines to flush an identical shade of green. “She is justified in her demands,” the Frunge attorney continued. “It’s unfortunate she arrived late, because if she had participated in the party from the start, there would have been no need.”
“She was late on purpose,” Dorothy deduced immediately. “My brother bought some gear from her and he told me that she has a thing about money.”
“Does it have to be real gold, I mean, real virtual gold, or can we pool all of our coppers together?” Bob asked. “There must be a hundred people here, so that would be like a thousand coppers.”
“Ten coppers in a small silver, ten small silvers in a big silver, ten big silvers in a small gold,” Flazint recited from memory. “All of our coppers would come to one small gold.”
“Here,” a player dressed as a strolling minstrel said, thrusting a small pouch of virtual gold into Dorothy’s hand. “I’ve been playing a lot and I can spare it.”
“Thank you.” She tilted her head sideways. “I don’t recognize you, but the voice—Mornich?”
“Don’t say anything else,” the Horten ambassador’s son remonstrated her. “We’ll talk later.” He faded back into the crowd before Dorothy could ask questions.
“Nice glamour on that one,” Chance commented. “I really had to boost my refresh rate to see through it.”
“What was that about?” Kevin asked Dorothy as they walked back to where the mage was waiting.
“Jealous?” she teased him. “Don’t be. I set him up with one of Samuel’s friends from the university and they really hit it off. Last I heard their families were negotiating the terms for an official first date.”
“Well?” Baa demanded.
“This is all we could raise so it will have to do,” Dorothy said, pouring out the virtual gold coins onto the mage’s palm. “Wow, that’s actually a lot, isn’t it?”
“It’s adequate,” the mage replied, and proved herself a true magician by making the coins disappear. Then a staff materialized in her hand and she sent a fireball whooshing into the air. “That’ll bring them running,” she announced, using some trick to amplify her voice so everybody could hear. “I’ll handle the projectiles and their mages, but I don’t do swords and axes, so arrange yourselves accordingly.”
“Who asked you to bring them running?” Dorothy demanded. “I just paid you to keep us safe.”
“You really don’t know much about having fun, do you?” Baa replied testily. “Do you think your guests came armed to the teeth and wearing armor because they like to sweat?”
“But we’re on a shopping quest!”
“Just as soon as we kill all of the monsters,” the mage told her. “If there’s any time left.”
A wave of rogues and brigands surged out of the woods, shouting battle-cries as they brandished their weapons. They were supported by archers and mages who howled in frustration as Baa effortlessly waved aside their attacks. The best-armed Jack-and-Jill guests rushed to join combat, and as they whirled and hacked, holographic bubbles showing points earned appeared over the fallen non-player characters.
“Look at Judith go,” Kevin exclaimed to Dorothy. He pointed at the EarthCent Intelligence trainer, who was dancing through the melee, casually delivering critical hits. Then a rogue brandishing a large knife in each hand slipped past the screen of fighters and charged the party leaders.
“Mine,” Chance said, stepping forward to intercept the NPC and using some sort of martial arts to throw him all the way over the road to the other side, where he impacted a tree. “Ooh, twenty points.”
“Aren’t you going to fight?” Dorothy demanded of her fiancé.
“I’m the lead-from-behind sort, but if anybody gets past Chance and Thomas, I’ll protect you with my life.”
“You’re going to get cut off, Stick,” Affie yelled at her boyfriend, who kept charging recklessly ahead in his quest to earn points. He ignored her warning and chased after a fleeing brigand, leavi
ng the road and the grassy shoulder. A minute later he returned, a floral arrangement floating over his head, and succumbed to Baa’s ministrations.
“Do you have any money?” Baa asked the Vergallian girl during a lull in the fighting.
“Why? Are you willing to sell Stick back to me?”
“I brought enchanted headbands for the whole group that will protect you from turning into zombies if you’re bitten.”
“But you control all of the zombies,” Dorothy pointed out. “It’s like you’re running a protection racket.”
Baa looked thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll have to remember that for the next time,” she muttered to herself. “And for your information, I only control the zombies who I brought back from the dead. Your problem is with the mob of undead that will be coming out of the woods in about another minute or two.”
“How much?” Kevin asked.
“Ten coppers,” Baa replied. She reached into her shoulder bag and drew out a scrap of material. “Pay me.”
A bubble appeared over the Teragram mage as Kevin transferred his ten coppers. Baa handed over the strip of cloth, and her first customer tied it around his head.
“That’s not even a real headband,” Dorothy complained. “You just cut the old drapes from our office into strips.”
“Waste not, want not,” Baa replied, dangling a beige scrap in front of the girl. “Of course, if you’d rather be a zombie...”
A loud groan filled the woods around them. Tzachan yelled, “Zombies incoming. Everybody back on the road. Don’t let them bite you.”
Dorothy’s ten coppers appeared over Baa’s head, followed by Affie’s and Flazint’s. Thomas and Chance passed on the protection, either confident in their ability not to get bitten or their immunity from the dread infection.
“Get your magical zombie bite protection, just ten coppers,” Baa cried out, casually freezing in place the first wave of undead to stumble out of the woods, lest her customer base suffer attrition.
The partygoers formed a line and jogged past the mage, transferring their coinage and receiving enchanted strips of curtain to tie around their heads. Dorothy wrapped her own purchase around her wrist and scowled.
