I could see the city walls from far away. Verdaille, if the truth were known, was just another one-horse town. Same as Leuton really, only with a bigger population and three times as many mines.
The Outskirts of Verdaille City was a location controlled by the Steel Shirts clan. Or, to be more precise, it was Lady Melorie’s domain—the clan leader’s wife’s. Even if you disregarded her high standing, The Lady of Storms was a very influential figure in Mirror World. A level 270-wizard, she obviously wasn’t the kind of woman to indulge in needlework in the safety of her own castle.
Once again I congratulated myself on my choice of seigneur. It meant safety for me too. She wouldn’t even know I was there. The less I stuck my neck out, the better. I had to level up my skill first, and then we’d see.
The city gates were pretty crowded. I’d never seen so many people in one place here before. The air hummed with voices. My eyes watered from all the loud colors and the glittering of armor. Domestic animals crowded the road: horses of every race and size, clumsy cows and bleating sheep. I noticed quite a few identical carts, heavy and unyielding—apparently standard-issue transportation. I focused on one of them.
Name: Wooden Cart
Durability: 3554/5000
Restriction: Requires the Slow Coach skill.
“Eh, she’s not as she used to be,” the driver said, noticing my interest in his vehicle. “I’m gonna get her some new wheels at the market and add a few points to the shaft, then you won’t know her! She’ll roll off the road like some freakin’ Mercedes, by God! Only I need to sell my beasties first.”
“Good morning,” I hurried to greet him.
“Same to you,” the man answered. He spoke almost in a singsong, with a soft and melodious Ukrainian accent. I glanced at his tag. Zachary.
I did a quick check on him. A Daily Grinder like myself. A Farmer. Race: Human. Level: Prosperous. From what I remembered, it was equal to Seasoned Digger. Did I have access to the driving skill, I wondered, or was it only available to farmers?
I took a look around me, focusing on every driver. Lots of Farmers among them, but also quite a few Herbalists and Fishermen. Which meant that the skill was available to everyone. I’d have to check it out later. What a shame the game didn’t have Internet access. That would have simplified a whole bunch of things.
“Excuse my asking, dear sir, but what’s actually going on here?” I said, walking next to his slowly advancing cart. “Why all these people?”
“There’s a fair today, isn’t there?” he answered eagerly. “It’s like this every six months.”
I could see he was in the talkative mood. Such long, slow queues usually make one disposed to shoot the breeze.
“I see,” I commented. “How long does it last?”
“The whole week, what do you think?” he grinned back.
The man was positively beaming. He probably hoped to sell his “beasties” for a good profit.
“How are things overall, then?” I asked. “Is it quiet here? Any robbers or highwaymen?”
Zachary shrugged off my suggestion. “Forget it! What would they want with us? The idiot hasn’t been born yet who’d mess around in Lady Mel’s lands! She’d make quick work of any evil-doers.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. This was exactly what I wanted to hear.
Noticing this, Zachary asked sympathetically, “You must have had it rough in other parts of the world.”
With a sad smile I nodded at my feet, “You could say that. Even my boots are gone.”
The farmer threw his hands up in dismay. “What kind of creature is man? You tell me! Always trying to profit from others’ misfortune!”
I sighed. “Sort of.”
“Why won’t you stay here with us?” Zachary suggested. “I can see you’re a Seasoned Digger. We have lots of work for the likes of you. Plenty of mines around.”
I smiled back. “That’s exactly what I’ve come here for. I’d like to make a new start.”
“Good decision. You won’t regret it.”
“Actually,” I asked, “where does one go here to look for work?”
“Well, if it’s the dwarves you want, their office is in the Craftsmen’s Quarter.”
I shook my head. “Sorry, sir. I’d rather apply to Lady Mel. I liked how you spoke about her.”
The farmer beamed like a newly-minted gold coin, puffing out his cheeks. My compliment had struck the right chord.
“I thought you were going to join your own,” he said. “In this case you need to go to the high street. That’s exactly where I’m heading. Get in, I’ll give you a lift. No good marching barefoot on the cold stone.”
Did he need to ask? A few saved Energy points were always welcome.
Apparently, Zachary must have taken me for a dwarf. Ennans did bear some resemblance to those fabled creatures. He must have glanced me over without bothering to check my tag. A short guy with a beard and a Digger to boot—he had to be a dwarf. I didn’t mind. He'd also called me a Seasoned Digger—probably judging by my clothes. I had yet to get myself some new gear.
Wait a sec. And what if?.. Without even knowing it, the farmer had just given me an idea. Nothing major but it was worth trying. I’d have to look into it when I had the time.
As I entered the city, I received the standard system message and the offer to download the free map and the city’s history. Plus lots of other offers for paid apps. Okay. I couldn’t say no to freebies. The rest I didn’t need.
It took us about twenty minutes to get to the city center. Remarkably, the town turned out to be much bigger than I’d assumed from forum discussions. Leuton wasn’t a patch on it. Broad streets. Three and four-story buildings. Lots of shops, inns and taverns. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and the sidewalks were heaving with people.
I actually might like it here. I absolutely had to check their fair stalls for any new clothes. The shop and the auction would have to wait. I just might find something cheap and cheerful.
“Here we are,” Zachary stopped his cart. “You see that green building with wide windows over there? The one with the bird on it? That’s where you need to go.”
I nodded. “The bird” was an Aquila—the picture of an eagle spreading its wings. The Steel Shirts clan had simply copied the Roman legion’s emblem.
“Thanks a lot, man. You’ve really helped me out.”
He grinned back. “My pleasure. Come and see me at the market.”
“Absolutely.”
Eight o’clock: logically, the office must have already opened. Last night I’d checked their schedule on the site, just to make sure.
The doorway was completely blocked by players: dwarves, gnomes, Dwandes and humans. I also noticed a few Horruds and Rhogghs. About eighty percent of them zero-level, the rest Seasoned. I didn’t see any Experienced ones. The beginning players in their start-up kits were an eyesore. They were standing apart from the rest, coveting the Seasoned players’ gear. Others stared openly. The Seasoned ones, in their turn, stood there as if the whole world belonged to them. They didn’t check out anyone; they just hung out talking calmly, casting an occasional ironic glance at the beginning players. I received the same kinds of stares: arguably even more scornful than if I were a bare-chested newb.
I checked my reflection in the window. I could understand them. I looked like a scaled-down dwarf, shaggy and disheveled. Although my stats were private, my clothes—whatever was left of them—betrayed me as a Seasoned Digger. My bag, boots, and gloves were missing. Even the new players looked better than I did.
I didn’t give a damn. This wasn’t Paris and I wasn’t on an haute couture catwalk. I took another look at them, noticing that all of the Seasoned players had their stats available to all. It felt weird—really as if they were part of some beauty pageant.
There was nothing particularly special about their gear: just some standard-issue tools and runes. Only three of the Dwandes stood out. Their gear was top of the range and virtually unused.
Not a single empty item. They stood apart from the rest, casting searching glances around as if looking for someone. They must have been a team. Their gazes scanned me en passant with a disdain reserved for a pigeon that had just shat in their soup.
Then the crowd perked up. Five dwarves were approaching the building from the direction of the square.
“The Ironbeards’ headhunters,” a zero-level Dwand commented.
“Yeah. They’ll start hiring in a minute,” a Cave Rhoggh agreed.
I cast a curious glance at the three Dwandes. They stood up straight, bright-eyed. Were they counting on this job? Then why hadn’t they gone directly to the dwarves’ office? Never mind. Why should I care? We’d soon find out.
The dwarves were only a few paces away from the front door when it swung open, letting out the powerful shape of a Cave Rhoggh. Everyone turned to the sound. The Rhoggh looked over the crowd as if it already belonged to him.
Having noticed the approaching dwarves, he scowled, “Breon, did anyone tell you that you look remarkably like a hyena?”
The smallest of the five dwarves hid a smirk within his fat beard. “Don’t worry, Weigner, you’ll have plenty left for yourself!”
He looked over the crowd, studying the workers. His mocking stare rested on me. Or rather, on my bare feet. He turned back to the Rhoggh and shouted, nodding at me, “I’ll leave you the best ones, don’t you worry!”
His friends guffawed. The crowd joined in. Even the newbs were laughing their bare asses off. I didn’t care. Let them laugh. You couldn’t surprise me with a brownnose here anymore. Their kowtowing was only witness to their own worthlessness. What else could a useless person do? They might be thinking they were gaining something by it: something worth the humiliation. They might realize they weren’t a pretty sight; they might even hate themselves for doing it. But as the famous French mathematician Blaise Pascal once said, “the pureness of a goal justifies the perversity of the means”. Which allowed me to take any and all such scorn philosophically. Now the fact that I’d been waiting here for a good ten minutes was much harder to take. I was losing time. I still had lots to do today.
Ignoring the useless dwarf, I looked up at the Rhoggh. Surprisingly, he was the only one who hadn’t even smiled at the joke. That was good. The guy had character. Silently he opened the doors wide, turned around and walked back in. Apparently, it was supposed to mean that the office was now open.
To my surprise, no one seemed to have noticed it. All the mine diggers stayed outside, watching greedily the five dwarves who were walking through the crowd as if they were shopping for a couple of old cart horses.
I seemed to be the only one not interested in working for the dwarves. Excellent. It meant I wasn’t going to languish in the long line at the PR office as I’d expected. How lucky was that?
I hurried to climb the steps in the Rhoggh’s wake. Breon the dwarf was just talking to the three Dwandes. Our eyes met. He gave me another smirk and went right on talking.
In the meantime, Weigner the Rhoggh was already climbing the stairs to the first floor, muttering something under his nose. The sound of my voice made him turn round,
“Excuse me! Could you please tell me where I could sign a work contract?”
“Ah, it’s you,” he chuckled. “Decided to join us? Simply because those midgets won’t hire you? Don’t you worry, all those idiots will be back in a minute. But today, you’re gonna be the first. Hurry up. I’ve lots to do.”
Without saying a word, I tagged along.
His office proved too small for his bulk. A giant of his proportions needed more breathing space. Actually, it was the second time I’d seen an office worker of his dimensions. Was this the current trend? Or the company’s policy? Or could it just be that the player was too puny in real life so here he lived life to the full, scaring any potential clients with his fangs and his booming voice?
“Shut the door,” Weigner grumbled. “And take a seat. I’ll make out the contract.”
I closed the door softly. I hate doors being slammed. It’s just some sort of a nervous tick I’ve had since early childhood.
Noiselessly I moved my chair closer to the desk and sat down. Been there, done it. I knew what was going to happen next.
The Rhoggh touched a dark wall panel with his clawed paw. A translucent screen materialized above the desk top. While the program was loading, Weigner was going through some paperwork, muttering deliberately loudly under his nose to make sure I could hear his every word,
“It’s the same thing every month! One might think the dwarves’ mines are paved with gold. Okay, so they pay a better wage, so what? Who would need their flippin’ circus? They’re not Ironbeards: they’re Cheekyfaces.”
It was probably time for me to butt in. “Why, what’s going on in here?”
He squinted at me, disbelieving. “Quit playing the fool, you!”
I shrugged. “I’m not. I’m just curious what this hoo-ha is all about. That’s the only reason I asked.”
Weigner froze, his tiny yellow eyes boring a hole in me. His gaze sent shivers down my spine.
“Are you saying that you’ve no idea that the Ironbeards keep on coming to our front door every month offering jobs to players of other races?”
“I had no idea, honest,” I replied, then added with a smirk, “Since when are they so generous?”
Weigner sat back, his stare still pinning me down. He paused, then spoke,
“There was this stupid discussion at some forum where the forum members accused the dwarven guild of being racist. People claimed they only hired dwarves and gnomes. I don’t know about the Stonefoot, but the Ironbeards decided to teach everybody a lesson. Now every month their scouts arrive at the offices of those forum members who were particularly outspoken in that discussion, and pick workers from other races.”
“But what about Lady Mel?” I asked.
“Well, she was the loudest. And the fact that they keep coming to her doorstep, she actually considers it her victory.”
“So that’s what it’s all about.”
“That’s exactly it,” he grumbled, then added, fuming, “And she doesn’t seem to give a damn about them stealing our best workers!”
“The rich and their whims,” I summarized. “Do the dwarves really pay higher wages?”
He shrugged. “Indeed they do. And they have better working conditions. They’re a guild, what do you want? They’re interested in making money first and foremost. And the Steel Shirts are a military clan. Admittedly one of the richest and most influential in Mirror World, but some of those clan members, while not exactly have-nots, have no idea of how to manage their riches. Or rather they don’t want to.”
I wasn’t going to tell him about all the possible solutions to their money-making problems. If the truth were known, I didn’t give a damn about all these “useless bosses vs. stupid rulers” conversations. What was the point? Why would I care about other people’s problems? I had more than my fair share of them. It was time to fold up this discussion.
“Had I wanted to work for the dwarves, that’s where I’d have gone to.”
“And you think they’d have hired you?” his voice rang with sarcasm.
“They might,” I said, unveiling some of my stats.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Watching the change come over his pallid fanged face was admittedly funny. He stood up in his seat, reading my characteristics. Naturally, I didn’t allow him to see my Shrewd Operator. He seemed sufficiently impressed with my Experienced level, anyway. I don’t think they had many diggers of my caliber here.
I flashed him a friendly smile. “So shall we sign me in? I’m a bit pressed for time.”
I left his office at nine in the morning. Not bad. I’d thought it might have taken longer than that. The corridor was already packed with sour-faced players lining up. Apparently, not many had been “lucky” enough to get a job with the dwarves. I didn’t see the three Dwandes anywhere. I was pretty sure t
he dwarves had hired them. I’d have done the same. A well-knit team is worth a lot. I knew this from experience.
I had signed their standard contract of my preferred piecework type. Two weeks. My level gave me no preferential treatment. Well, that was to be expected.
According to Weigner, Experienced Diggers didn’t stay in town long. They inevitably found a strong group and moved cluster in order to start mopping up instances. That was fine with me too. The fewer people down the mine, the more space for me to swing my pick.
Still, I wasn’t yet ready to join any mop-up groups. At my level, the minimum raid duration was six days. I wasn’t quite prepared to be stuck in some cave or grotto for almost a week without the chance of getting out. Firstly, because at this work pace I risked leveling up prematurely. You never know with my Operator. So as I wasn’t planning on blowing my cover, I’d have to work in a regular mine, slowly but surely. That also gave me the chance to check Zachary’s idea out, even though he knew nothing about it.
Secondly and most importantly, if my char’s Reputation with Mellenville wasn’t up to scratch, the in-game bank wouldn’t deal with me at all. And in order to level it up, I had to perform daily or long-term tasks within the city limits.
That decided it. I had to work in Lady Mel’s emerald fields. That would fetch me about fifteen hundred gold a week. No doubt I could have earned way more doing instances but at the moment, reputation was key. Plus I was desperate for a long-term work contract. If I failed to get a loan with Reflex Bank, then I’d have to go cap in hand to real-life banks. So the longer my working experience, the better. The main thing was to make sure I didn’t pop my clogs too soon. Nor do anything stupid. I had six weeks to raise a hundred eighty-five thousand dollars.
My next port of call was Mine Diggers Guild. I paid the weekly due of twenty-five bucks, this raising my Reputation with the guild 50 pt: 100 in total.
Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) Page 20
