I was so engrossed in my reverie I didn't at first hear Rita addressing me,
"Master Olgerd! Sir! Are you okay?"
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "I'm fine," I muttered. "Sorry. I was just reminiscing. Did you say something?"
She nodded. "I said we were expecting you."
"Were you really?" I asked in surprise, then slapped my forehead as I realized. "Did Ronald tell you I was leaving?"
"He did," Mila said. "That's why we were waiting for you. We were sure you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."
I could read in her face that she wanted to ask me about something. Something very important.
"Let me guess," I began. "There's something you want me to do, right?"
A blush flushed Mila's face.
"The thing is," Rita spoke for her, "she thinks you're already fed up with her constant requests over these last few days."
"Not at all," I waved my hands at her. "That's nothing. What's more: I might owe you just as much. Without your recommendation, I might have spent ages looking for a reputable place to stay. I suppose I could say that you and Tommy were the first friends I made in this city."
"Exactly!" Rita said. "That's what I told her myself. Nothing's too inconvenient for good friends, is it?"
A message flashed before my eyes. I very nearly jumped. Good job the other two didn't notice.
Congratulations! Two or more locals consider you their friend.
Reward: +300 to your Reputation with Mellenville.
I did a quick check of my characteristics. Almost fifteen hundred, excellent.
"You're absolutely right," I replied with a smile. "You can count on me. I'm all ears."
Rita laid an encouraging hand on the other woman's shoulder.
"You see," Mila struggled to find the right words. "What I'm about to ask you is sort of... risky. Dangerous even."
I tensed up. We had developed a friendly relationship, that was true, but I didn't need any unnecessary risks, either. Especially as I already had too much on my plate as it was.
"Before I tell you what it's about, please promise me you'll decline if you consider it to be too dangerous. Your refusal will not affect your relationship with our family, I assure you. We understand perfectly well that you aren't a warrior nor a combat wizard. You are a regular peaceful citizen of Mellenville."
I nodded. What could I say? She was perfectly right.
Mila smiled. "Thank you for being honest with me. I can speak freely now. The thing is, Ronald did tell us where you were about to go."
"He did indeed," Rita agreed. "The Maragar Citadel is not the best place for the likes of you, dear Olgerd."
I only shrugged, as in, Ours is not to reason why.
"And we admire you for that! You make a worthy example for all Mellenville citizens!"
I almost expected a new system message but no, it looked as if there was a limit to their freebies.
So I preserved a modest silence. Had you known, my dears, how I'd have loved to decline your quest.
"I'm not going to beat around the bush," Mila said. "You must be in a hurry. The thing is... I'd like you to pass this letter to my husband."
I glanced at the object she was offering me and very nearly choked, seeing the recipient's name on the envelope.
Name: Letter from Mila
Type: Quest item
Deliver to: the Maragar Citadel
Recipient: Captain Gard
Chapter Two
Captain Gard! A coincidence? Very possible. Another prank of my mysterious patron programmer? Not very likely. Whoever he was, Andrew "Pierrot" Petrov wasn't that influential. Mellenville was way out of his league.
What was it, then? Could it be my Trust characteristic finally kicking in? This was a workable theory. Why not? I would be the first to agree that none of it sounded particularly plausible. Then again, anybody could have been in my place. I'll tell you more: had there been a player back there by the fountain on my first day in Mellenville whose Trust level was one point higher than mine, Tommy would have asked him for help instead — not me.
Then again, what if I was wrong? That was also a possibility. In any case, I had plenty of food for thought.
It looked like I'd managed to lay my hands on one of those multi-step Reputation quests that Dmitry had described in such picturesque detail. If I stuck to my "theory of non-eventuality", I was looking at a very interesting picture indeed. What had happened could be viewed as some sort of chain reaction. First I meet Tommy. Through him I meet his Mom and his uncle Ronald. Next thing, the system generates a long-term quest tailor-made for me — which was already a bit of a stretch. Actually, had I asked Mila about the name of Tommy's father earlier, it would have clarified a lot of things straight away.
So that man with a scar from the picture was Captain Gard. In other words, my future commander was Mila's husband and Tommy's father. I found it hard to believe that there might be another Captain Gard in the game. Hadn't Mila told me her husband served on the border? At the time, I hadn't paid any heed to her words. Oh well, lesson learned. If I wasn't mistaken, of course.
Actually... I got the impression that an NPC's status in the city directly affected the size of quest rewards. No wonder players flocked around the Mayor's and Chief of City Guards' houses. I could understand them: they wanted it all and they wanted it now. But as a rule, their kind didn't last in Mellenville. It didn't take them long before they gave all these Reputation quests the finger and left for the more mob-rich locations to prove their prowess. I had nothing to do with the likes of them.
I just hoped that Captain Gard was a powerful figure in this game.
I had to stay in Ronald's house for another half-hour. The moment Mila had learned about my mission, she immediately wrote another letter recommending me to her husband as a friend of the family. Things seemed to be working out. Better still, things were definitely looking up! It's true that some high-paying player might find my petty reputation exploits a worthless waste of time — and my forthcoming trip to the Frontier, an exercise in senility. I didn't care. I didn't give a damn what anyone might think about me. As Weigner had rightly said, each Mirror World player had his or her own agendas.
I walked away and bade my farewell to the city. I especially liked the Flower Boulevard which led directly to the portal station. I could have taken a shortcut via Craftsmen's Alley — my route of preference in my errand-running days. But not today. Today I wanted to take my time to admire the beautiful flower arrangements that the city florists replaced daily.
Many years ago I'd happened to be in Beijing on business. They had put me up in a small, tidy hotel. My windows faced a square. Can't remember its name — nor that of the hotel, either. I remembered surprisingly little of that trip. Everything around me had been happening too fast. Besides, it hadn't been a long visit — two or three days at most.
The one thing I did remember were my awakenings — or rather, what I could see from my window every morning. An enormous flower bed occupied the center of the square. Beijing is absolutely packed with plants. In October, the city is full of flowers and greenery. So this particular flower bed — my flower bed — used to change its pattern and color scheme every morning. On the day of my arrival, I admired its blue blossoms. The next morning, I expected to see the blue and green patch from my window — only to be greeted by a red and yellow floral dragon. I froze by the window open-mouthed. Later I was told that a special team did nightly rounds of the city in their van, changing patterns on some of the city's flower beds.
The Flower Boulevard was very similar in this respect with its blossoming turquoise arches, colorful statues of magic animals frozen in fancy poses, its snow-white fountains and bright shrubs fashioned into fantastical shapes. Today of all days I was desperate for my girls to see their splendor. For the first time in the many hours I'd spent in Mirror World, I made myself a solemn promise that one day I would show all this to Christina and Sveta.
The por
tal station met me with its habitual bustle. Actually, this place revealed the players' respective gaming experience like no other. Newbies stood out like a sore thumb — they always did. And it wasn't even about their yellow name tags: more about their behavior. Take the two Alven girls who'd just stepped out of the portal. Their eyes were about to pop out, their heads seemingly turning at 360 degrees. Despite their rather high levels, the girls grinned from ear to ear, behaving like village schoolgirls on their first trip to a big city. Heh! I'd only stayed here for nine days but already I felt like a local.
I froze in front of the ticket terminal.
Greetings, Olgerd!
This is Portal Terminal # 4578.
Would you like to buy a ticket?
Okay, if you say so.
Please choose your destination.
Last night, I'd had plenty of time to look into this seemingly innocent request. Mirror World's meager info portal had offered me lots of options. Getting to the Maragar Citadel required two transfers. Or three, rather — but the latter, as I understood it, was nothing to look forward to.
My future duty station was located at the very edge of the Lands of Light. Which was probably why the game developers had decided not to create a direct portal jump to the Maragar Citadel. Why would they, if they could extract more gold from the players' virtual pockets this way?
I had several possible routes which didn't differ much, after all. I could make the first two jumps without even leaving the portal stations. Their choice made no difference: they all cost the same.
The Maragar Citadel and Its Environments was an enormous location that was divided into several smaller sub-locations, instances and one-horse towns. My initial itinerary was Drammen Town where Lady Mel's emerald fields were located. That was where I'd have to sign up in her local office. There were quite a few other little towns in the area: our Lady Mel, a.k.a. the Lady of Storms, had laid her manicured hands on quite a large chunk of real estate during the clan wars. Drammen suited me fine — mainly because it was quiet. Or so it was described on gaming forums.
As for the third and last transfer... as I'd said I wasn't looking forward to it. Especially considering the fact that I'd have to take it at least twice daily.
The thing was, the only way to get to the Citadel was by crossing a rather large location known as the Wastelands. And that, let me tell you, was something — at least that's what the few eyewitnesses used to claim. A wide prairie inhabited by all sorts of in-game creatures — which were, unfortunately, equal doses of advanced and nasty. In other words, my zero level precluded me from as much as showing up in that part of the world.
Still, every problem has a solution. As practice shows, human ingenuity knows no limits. Some of the more entrepreneurial players who must have realized that the Citadel would always be a Mecca for Reputation pilgrims had thrown together a quick and quite lucrative business: the Caravans.
I wasn't exactly sure how it was supposed to work but some forum members swore by their reliability. Very well. We'd have to see, wouldn't we?
I scrolled through hundreds of place names, finally settling on Drammen.
The chosen destination requires a double transfer.
Please choose the first transfer point.
I clicked randomly on the list of towns offered.
Cost: 20 gold.
Warning! The effect of teleportation will cause your Energy level to drop 500 pt.
Confirm your purchase: Yes/No
Confirm.
Thank you! Your name has been added to the Portal listings. You can teleport when ready. Have a good trip!
So that was basically it. I'd chosen my destination. I'd bought my ticket. Time to bid this station goodbye. I wasn't likely to come back here for the next month at least.
Before entering the portal, I cast a look around. What was awaiting me there? I just hoped I wouldn't end up as some mob's breakfast on my very first day in service. And I still had to get to the Citadel.
Never mind. Off we go!
As I stepped into the portal, I glimpsed a player standing next to the terminal I'd just used. His face was half-concealed by the hood of a dark cloak. One of the magic classes, apparently. From where I stood, I couldn't make out his name or level. Nothing special really: just some guy standing by the terminal.
It was his eyes. The wizard's glare bored a hole in me. When our eyes met, he swung round and headed toward the exit.
For a few moments, I watched him go but he never looked back. Could I have been mistaken? Paranoid? Probably. Never mind. Now I really had to go.
* * *
This Drammen Town was a right hole! I could already feel that staying here was going to be a bunch of laughs.
Cold rain pelted me from the moment I'd exited the portal. A game it might have been, but I was cold and miserable just like in real life. The local architecture had some leaning toward gothic which made a nice backdrop to the lousy weather and knee-deep mud. Yuck. How had I managed to get into this cesspit after the neat sunlit Mellenville? I only had to hope that the rain wouldn't last.
The system's greeting set my alarm bells ringing too, especially its last part,
Greetings, Olgerd! Welcome to glorious Drammen Town!
Warning! Type of climate: moderately aggressive
Warning! Players below level 80 are advised to abstain from visiting Drammen.
I just loved it. Already I felt like turning round and diving back into the portal in search of sunnier climes.
I hurried to install the Drammen and Its Environments app. As if sensing my impatience, the bot helpfully highlighted the route to Lady Mel's offices. Off we go, then!
The first drawback declared itself soon enough. After only a few minutes of walking, I was soaked. Cold raindrops hammered my face, sending rivulets of water trickling down my beard as I waded through the mud. What was the local Mayor thinking of? Or was he simply past caring about his town's Reputation? If the game developers wanted to let players experience the entire scope of the doubtful allure of Frontier life — they had succeeded brilliantly.
Drammen indeed turned out to be a very quiet place. Too quiet, I'd say. Apparently, forum users had been careful not to alienate any potential newcomers.
As I walked, I met no one. The town seemed dead. Actually, I could understand them. They were probably sitting by their nice cozy fireplaces in their nice cozy houses, snug as a bunch of bugs in a rug.
Finally the bot brought me to a dark gloomy edifice with the familiar sign depicting Aquila — the Roman legion's eagle. It was already 11 a.m. but no one seemed in a hurry to answer the door. I couldn't see any potential workers impatient to get down to work, either. Apparently, business wasn't booming.
Never mind. Hadn't Weigner told me not to bother to clock on but to go straight to the mine and start working? Still I thought checking in was a good idea. I went on knocking.
After ten more minutes of unsuccessful door-bashing, I gave up and entered a new address into the bot's memory. My conscience was clear, anyway.
It took my satnav a few minutes to guide me to the town's center. Or should I say, to its poor excuse for a center. The dark gloomy buildings, some in a bad state of semi-repair, created the impression I'd somehow ended up in one of those vampire sagas.
The good news was, the road was getting considerably better as I progressed. Although no one had bothered to switch off the rain, at least the place was relatively mud-free. My first steps along a street paved with ugly uneven cobbles felt like absolute bliss. I'd only been here a half-hour and already I was prepared to run for my life! Which must have been exactly what the game developers wanted players to feel. Very well. In your freakin' dreams.
I still had another five-minute walk to the caravan office that pushed its services under a sign saying The Guiding Eye when a system message popped up,
Warning! Your Hat and Boots have lost 1 pt. Durability!
Was this a joke? I reread the message. It didn't look as if it
was. No one was poking fun at me. Apparently, local rain had this destructive effect on a player's clothes. No wonder the street was empty!
I stepped it up. I wasn't going to lose my expensive gear to some stupid rain!
As I pushed the caravan office's door, I was darker than the thunderclouds hovering over this abominable excuse for a place. My walk through the town had cost me a few points of my clothes' Durability. I had to look it up on some forum or other. I couldn't remember seeing anything about it anywhere. The admins must have kept a close eye on official resources. Their strategy was quite clear to me: players had to learn from their own experiences. And still I found it quite annoying.
I entered the caravan office and stood there, slightly lost. I hurried to check the bot — but no, it had taken me to the right place. Could the app be out of date? This place was anything but a caravan office. I saw rows of crude tables and wooden chairs and a bar complete with several thugs patrolling the entrance.
Excuse me? As if confirming my doubts, a system message reported that I had the pleasure of entering the Boiling Pot Inn which offered barbecued lamb with onions and assorted veg as tonight's piece de resistance.
A few players sat at the tables. The place didn't seem too popular. I studied their faces. They looked drawn and expressionless as if the men were sleeping with their eyes open. They paid no attention to me whatsoever. They must have been studying the info portal to while away the time.
Despite the building's gloomy exterior, the Boiling Pot's rooms looked considerably homelier — cozier, I'd say. An enormous fireplace breathed heat by the far wall. The floor and the walls were lined with wood. I'd expected myself to walk into a dark stone trap — and God was I happy to be wrong!
Mud squelched in my boots as I crossed the room toward the bar. Oh. I'd made a right mess of their floors. I just hoped they wouldn't take offence. Having said that, their cleaning lady needed to earn her skill points too, LOL. She might even make a new level mopping up after me.
The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) Page 2
