The Spider Grotto wasn’t at all what I’d expected it to be. I’d imagined it as a nasty place blocked with cobwebs to the point of being impassable. A kingdom of arachnid monsters, so to say. In a way I’d been right, of course. The cave was hung with cobwebs complete with skeletons still clinging to them. The size of some of the bones was impressive. The designers had done an excellent job. No; it was something else that I found interesting. The spiders weren’t the original inhabitants of this place. Judging by the ruins, the crumbling monuments and the dilapidated roads and sidewalks, once this place had been occupied by sentient beings.
“I wonder,” I decided to share my deductions with the group, “why is this place called a Spider Grotto?”
“Ah, you noticed it too, didn’t you?” Sir Tristan replied readily.
“Oh, no,” Knuckles said jokingly. “Here it starts again.”
“There you go, Olgerd,” Flint laughed. “Get ready for a lecture.”
“Brace yourself, man,” Sprat shouted to me from the front. “He’ll turn you into a smartass like himself!”
Sir Tristan didn’t bat an eyelid. “I simply have the habit of refreshing each location’s story before I go there.”
“I do too,” I admitted, then corrected myself. “Since recently, anyway. But this time I gave it a miss. I know I should have looked into it. But Spider Grotto sounded self-explanatory.”
“Look at those two!” Sprat cheered. “Kindred souls meet!”
“I just don’t bother to read that crap,” Knuckles said. “Usually what it says is just to pull the wool over your eyes.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, dear Knuckles, but sometimes this wool, as you eloquently put it, can tell a lot about a location. And even offer a few tips.”
“Oh, no,” Flint mumbled. “Here comes the Pearl Citadel stash story.”
As if in confirmation of his words, Sir Tristan said, “And the Pearl Citadel stash can serve as a dramatic example of the latter.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Jesus,” Knuckles groaned.
Regally ignoring his friends’ jibes, Sir Tristan began to explicate,
“A few months ago, a certain low-level player discovered a one-off stash in one of the rooms of the Pearl Citadel. At the risk of preempting myself, let me tell you that the sum raised from the auction sales of the stash’s contents had resulted in some sort of gold rush as everyone in Mirror World set off in search of new stashes. And what was especially instrumental in creating this kind of reaction, was an interview the lucky player had given to some local blogger. In it, he admitted that he’d come across a helpful tip in an article about the location’s history.”
I grinned. “I can imagine what happened next.”
Knuckles nodded. “Everybody went mad!”
“All the forums and blogs, everything was packed with all sorts of interpretations,” Flint added.
“Each even more stupid then the next,” Sir Tristan said.
“So how did it all end?”
“It didn’t,” Knuckles said. “No one has found anything ever since.”
“I don’t think the player told us everything he knew,” Sir Tristan objected.
“I think he was pulling the journalist’s leg,” Sprat said.
“That would be too much,” I said.
“It would,” Flint agreed. “I’ve known people’s bones being broken for less.”
“Back to the subject,” Sir Tristan continued. “Talking about the Spider Grotto. From what I read, initially these dungeons used to domiciliate a certain clan Under the Mountain. The Black Axes, to be precise.”
“Dwarves again,” Knuckles spat.
“They’re everywhere,” Sprat agreed. “Bunch of bearded tight-ass bastards.”
I’d already noticed that my new workmates seemed to have a thing about dwarves. I didn’t dare ask, hoping to glean some information from their conversations. Instead, I said, “What’s so special about these Black Axes?”
“And how can it help us discover treasure stashes?” Knuckles added with a grin.
“I don’t think it can,” Sir Tristan answered pensively. “The chronicles say that these Black Axes were rebels.”
“What did they do?” Flint asked.
“You see, it was about that time when the Alven Race and the Highlanders made an alliance against a strong kingdom of humans.”
“Let me guess,” Knuckles grinned. “Our midgets sided with the humans?”
“Exactly,” Sir Tristan nodded. “But they didn’t even get the chance to warn the human king about the looming war. The clan was brutally massacred. I can tell you more: the clan had already been doomed.”
“Why?” Sprat asked.
“Apparently, the clan’s artifact makers had learned to build some kind of battle machines but they weren’t in a hurry to share their secrets with other clans.”
“If I can’t have you, no one will!” Flint said theatrically.
“Not really,” Sir Tristan corrected him. “The great master and his best apprentice had been taken hostage.”
“Good!” Sprat exclaimed. “That’s the spirit!”
“End of the line!” Flint suddenly announced. “Level six, everyone’s invited to disembark!”
“Oh,” Knuckles said. “I didn’t even notice! Time flies when you’re enjoying yourself.”
I glanced at the clock. Our descent had taken thirty-five minutes in total. Holy cow. Good job I wasn’t alone here.
“To work, comrades!” Flint exclaimed mockingly.
The level six cave was enormous. By my estimation, its ceiling reached to the height of a nine-story building. Its walls were streaked with stalactites as if some mythical giant had tried to melt them with a blow torch.
I suppressed a sarcastic grin. What was I thinking of! This was only a game, a set of clever stage props. But still it looked so real it sent shivers down your spine.
The cave was the size of two football pitches, its floor littered with rock debris and the remains of crumbled columns and statues.
“Impressive, eh?” Sir Tristan asked, smiling.
I nodded. “It is. I have to remind myself that all this was created by computer designers and not by some mythical ancient beings.”
“Heh! That’s right!” he agreed. “The location looks very believable.”
“Never mind,” I said. “Let’s do it!”
Chapter Sixteen
At three in the afternoon we decided to stop for a lunch break. We deserved it. We’d done the whole of level 6. Predictably, our haulers had suffered the most. Still, they didn’t complain—they even tried to be cheerful about it. As far as I could understand, we were making good progress. If we kept it up, we could mine more Twilight Crystals.
We also celebrated Knuckles’ new skill point. Twenty more, and he’d make a new level. Everyone seemed sincerely happy for him. I sat there keeping a low profile. I’d already done nine skill points. And the best was still to come.
Only now did I realize the true value of my Shrewd Operator. Knuckles had the highest skill numbers in the group but he’d remained a Seasoned Digger for two months already—and that’s considering he was only doing the mining!
I didn’t disclose my stats. Not that anyone had asked me about them. They seemed to be seriously thinking I’d only just got a new level. The few precious crumbs they received to their skill were a pittance. For the first time in the cave I wished that my Operator slowed down a bit. The cave was crammed full of crystals and I kept hacking at them non-stop. Both Sir Tristan and Sprat kept a watchful eye on the scene to make sure everyone had a trolley at hand. I winced and rubbed my chin.
Apparently, Knuckles misread my body language. “Cheer up, Olgerd,” he gave me a friendly slap on the shoulder. “We’ll level you up so you won’t know yourself! You, and Sprat, and Sir Tristan too!”
“Oh yeah,” Flint agreed. “I can already see our group of Experienced Diggers doing level-two instances. Th
at’s better than climbing down some spider’s hole!”
“You can make good money with emeralds too,” Sprat suggested. “Lord Shantar has this mine...”
“Please,” Flint winced. “Rubbing shoulders with those midgets, thanks but no thanks! Great deeds await us!”
I listened in to their conversations, faking a self-conscious smile. I tried so hard to play the part of a newbie embarrassed by the attention of his more experienced colleagues. Even as I did so, I realized this was our last outing. More than that: I realized that if I happened to make Experienced Digger here in this cave, I’d have to disappear from Leuton. Here, it took people months of daily grind to earn their skills, point by miserable point. And here I was, rising through levels faster than some magic goose could lay golden eggs. Was I really a fraud—or as they called them here, a cheater? I didn’t know. I’d chosen a race. I’d registered my account. I’d done some cruel things to my char trying to save every point in order to invest it in my future characteristics. Had I used any dirty tricks?—I didn’t think so. I’d been offered a choice. So I’d done what everybody did when joining the game: I’d made my choice. Theoretically, everything was kosher. But it’s true that most of the time theory disagrees with practice. I was 200% sure that had the true nature of my skills become known, it would have created quite an uproar. And that was the last thing I needed. Really.
“Cool,” I tried to change the subject. “What comes after Experienced Digger, then? Isn’t it Master Digger?”
Sprat guffawed. “Won’t you be happy with Experienced?”
“Oh, I will,” I smiled. “Just curious. There isn’t much about it on the Internet.”
Flint grinned. “That’s all you’ll find. Firstly, because clans treasure their Masters. They keep their names under wraps. They provide them with bodyguards, individual capsules and whatnot.”
I whistled in surprise. “Why?”
Sir Tristan answered for everyone, “The answer to this question is pretty obvious. See for yourself: here we are in one of the most basic quest instances. But its resources cost like the most expensive class-one stones. There are certain locations in Mirror World that are the dream of every advanced player but venturing there is pointless without having a top-level digger to do the mining. The resources in such locations can be incredibly valuable. Without certain quest stones, for instance, you can’t level up your mount or improve your castle’s defenses. The examples are legion. People pay a king’s ransom for the opportunity to lay their hands on resources like these. And in their turn, they protect and value the workers capable of obtaining them.”
“I see,” I said. “And secondly?”
“Pardon me?”
“Flint said, ‘firstly’. What’s secondly, then?”
“Ah,” Sir Tristan’s voice rang with understanding. He turned to Flint. “ May I, sir?”
Flint nodded again. “Completely forgot. Masters have access to a second profession.”
“Exactly,” Sir Tristan said. “Normally, whoever gets access to a second profession concentrates on it and only agrees to clans’ occasional requests to mine a particularly rare resource. The rest of the time Masters spend in the comfort of their workshops-”
“... crafting stuff like our runes and elixirs,” Knuckles finished his phrase.
“Interestingly,” Sir Tristan went on, “other professions have more than their fair share of Masters. But amongst Mine Diggers they are few and far between.”
“That’s because our profession is the most dangerous and accident-prone!” Sprat announced.
“Absolutely,” Sir Tristan agreed. “Most people prefer an easier job even if it doesn’t pay as well.”
“As for Master Diggers,” Flint said, “you don’t need to be a brain surgeon to realize these people are quite wealthy. They aren’t interested in busting their humps in the mines anymore. Nor in running around instances like we do.”
“They definitely aren’t,” Knuckles rolled his eyes in anticipation. “Once I become a Master Digger, I’ll grow myself a big fat belly and get myself a personal assistant. I’ll buy myself a waistcoat like they wear in the movies, with little pockets and a gold watch on a chain. Then I’ll do nothing all day but saunter about like I don’t have a care in the world. That’s life!”
“Just make sure you don’t get promoted while working the instance,” Sprat said sardonically.
I pricked up my ears. “Why’s that?”
“What do you mean?” Sprat sounded surprised. “The moment you reach a new level, the system throws you out of the group.”
“Why?”
“Because an Experienced Digger can’t be subordinate to a Seasoned one. Likewise, a Master can’t be subordinate to an Experienced one,” Flint explained.
“I see,” I said. “I’d missed that somehow. What’s the problem, then?”
“The problem is, a rise in levels incurs the player’s deletion from the group and automatically teleports him back to his or her starting point,” Flint said.
“The biggest bastard is the fact that I would lose all the resources I’d already farmed during the raid,” Knuckles added.
“Everything you’ve done in the last thirty-six hours? Really?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Not everything, no. The stuff already declared is immune,” Flint reassured me.
Sprat nodded at Knuckles’ trolley filled to the brim with gray crystals. “But this isn’t.”
Bummer! More food for thought.
Gradually the conversation faded. Each of us was busy doing his own thing. Then Flint turned to me,
“Actually, Olgerd, there’s something we’d love to know...”
I tensed. Here come the questions. I nodded for him to go on.
“How do you like Mirror World?” Flint asked.
It took me all of my composure to suppress a sigh of relief. Unpleasant questions were being put off. “What do you mean?”
“What he wants to say,” Sir Tristan butted in as was his habit, “is that this game has a very high addiction rate. You have the developers to thank for that. They created a week’s free trial—perfectly functional with all the trimmings, mind you—in a special dedicated server.”
“Normally, a week’s enough for a player to get seriously hooked,” Flint said. “From what we’ve heard, ninety-nine people out of a hundred can’t imagine their lives outside Mirror World anymore. So we’re curious how it happened in your case.”
I chuckled. “I see. Well, I’m afraid my answer might disappoint you. I don’t like it here.”
They exchanged meaningful smiles.
“Please don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I fully appreciate the entire experience. I still can’t believe it’s possible. Everything’s so real. Too real. It’s like...” I paused, searching for the right words.
“Like visiting another planet?” Knuckles offered. “Or a parallel world?”
“Exactly,” I nodded. “Not even. My job requires a lot of traveling. I’ve seen lots of different places—lots of strange people and unusual cultures. I’ve been to some amazing places. But strangely enough, coming back to my family was always the best part.”
“A family?” Sprat asked.
“Yeah. A wife and a little girl.”
“So you miss them but not the real world as such? Not your home?” Knuckles asked. “Me, I’m homesick like you won’t believe.”
“I’m not,” I said. “You’re right: I miss them, not our home.”
“Are they away, then?”
I nodded, suppressing a sigh. The others fell silent, each thinking his own thoughts.
“And still,” Sprat broke the silence, “I don’t understand those specters. How can you swap the real world for this cage? The admins can interfere when you least expect it. What kind of life is that?”
“You think in real life you’re free?” I said. “D’you want to say we aren’t puppeteered around in the real world? That we don’t have to obey their sick rules and regulati
ons?”
“I couldn’t agree with you more,” Sir Tristan turned to me. “Absolute freedom is the politicians’ notion helping them to massage the voters’ egos. Nobody votes as eagerly as a free idiot.”
“In a way, I can understand those who’ve chosen this project to replace their real-world lives,” I said. “I’ll bet all you want that they’re desperate. Mirror World allows them to experience something they’re deprived of in real life. I keep thinking about my next door neighbor. The smartest guy you’ve ever met, handsome as hell and a mountain ski freak. One day he left on a ski holiday. A few days later they brought him back to his mother almost a vegetable. Completely paralyzed. He spent years on medications. His mother fought for his every breath. She placed him in all sorts of clinics and occupational therapies. Finally he could walk—after a fashion, moving around on crutches, all crooked like a bonsai. He can’t speak anymore, he hums. But at least he can move around!”
“Let me guess,” Knuckles said. “His friends gradually stopped coming. His girlfriend disappeared. He was all alone, if you don’t count his mom and his computer. Right?”
“Yeah, sort of,” I said. “At first he kept fighting. He walked a lot and he did all the exercises. Then one day his doctor said this was his limit.”
“And he believed him and gave up?” Sprat said.
“It’s not a question of believing,” I said. “He’d already done everything he was supposed to have done. Oh, no. He just joined an online game. Made quite a few friends there,” I smiled. “One day he even said to me that he’d got married... in the game. It may sound sick but I understood him. And as for Mirror World... I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that my next-door neighbor is here somewhere, walking around as some paladin in shiny armor.”
“You might be right,” Flint said pensively.
“Whether I’m right or not is of no consequence. I just think these people deserve some understanding. Having said that... I don’t think my neighbor cares that much about what other people think. It’s not going to change his life, that’s for sure.”
Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) Page 14
