"I see," I said.
"How's the Beast?" Turbo asked me, flexing his enormous shoulders.
"How's who?" I asked back.
The trio exchanged understanding glances. "We can see you're a newb," Count said.
"Beast is what we call Gard," Irene explained with a vague wave of her hand. "He may be an NPC but he's a sick bastard."
"Yeah," Turbo nodded. "He makes you wait for a quest like it's some lottery draw."
I stood there, listening to them shooting the breeze and studying their awesomely expensive gear, amazed by the fact that they treated me almost as an equal. Already in Mellenville I'd noticed the behavior of some high-level types. They treated everyone below level 100 like some kind of human ant. But these guys here stood next to me, cracking jokes and sharing their problems. They might be simply nice; alternatively, my medals might have earned me the right to join in their conversations. In any case, I chose to keep my mouth shut and listen.
In the time that we stood there, several NPCs had walked past. Each of them thought of slapping my shoulder or saying something along the lines of "Keep up the good work!"
Seeing my reaction to their praise, Count grinned, "Don't be shy. It's always like this when you get a medal. Tomorrow it'll calm down. That's the admins' way of encouraging players to strive for new heights."
"Do you mean that tomorrow they won't be so friendly with me anymore?" I asked.
"Oh yes they will," he said. "They'll still have the respect for you but it won't be as explicit. Medals are a great thing. You should do all you can to get new ones and upgrade the old ones."
"Thanks for the tip."
"You're welcome."
Irene was about to add something when the door to Gard's office opened.
"Olgerd!" Gard's adjutant barked. "The Captain will see you!"
When I re-entered the room, I was faced with the same sour-faced Captain Gard as when I'd seen him first.
"Now, Master Olgerd, you said you weren't a recruit. Am I correct?"
He spoke as if there hadn't been any letter at all. Still, I smelled a rat. This looked as if he was testing me.
"You are, Sir. I'm a regular citizen wishing to serve my people. I can't fight. But as I already said, I have other talents that you're welcome to use as you see fit."
Gard theatrically furrowed his brow. "Aren't you afraid I might make full use of your offer?"
I cracked a lopsided grin. "You can see I'm no warrior. Of course I'm afraid. If I lied to you, you'd have noticed it straight away. But despite my fear, I really need these ninety days in the Citadel."
"All right," he said pensively. "I believe you. You can go now. When we have a job that answers your, ahem, talents, I'll let you know. My aide will show you to the barracks. You can go now."
I turned around and headed for the door. His stare seemed to have warmed in the end. I could understand him. Some Digger brings him a letter from his wife, thinking that he would get a cushy posting. Oh no sir, not me. I was quite prepared to give it my all. I needed every Reputation point I could get. The more the merrier.
My hand lay on the door handle.
"Did you know what the letter was about?" Gard's voice asked.
I half-turned to him. "Some of it, yes. I know what Mila wrote about me. She told me herself."
As I closed the door behind me, Gard gave me a curt nod and a faint smile.
Chapter Eight
I thought it was his adjutant's job to take me to the barracks. As if! Too much honor for the likes of me. Did he or the Captain ever leave his office at all? I made a mental note to ask someone about it.
The "aide" meant by Gard turned out to be a limping, old NPC gnome, awfully talkative, clumsy and curious. As he took me up and down numerous staircases, he stopped every now and then to listen in to other players' or NPCs' conversations. A few times he joined their discussions which twice even rose to arguments and finally very nearly ended in a fight with a black-bearded dwarf.
It was interesting to watch two NPCs tugging at each other's beards, panting. Luckily, it hadn't come to blows. The guards pulled them apart just in time. I watched the scene wide-eyed. Where the hell had I come to?
Apart from the guards, another player had helped to stop the fight. Once the two opponents calmed down, I saw his face light up. I could bet my bottom dollar he'd just completed some hidden quest or other.
After that, the gnome scrambled down the steps without stopping, ignoring conversations and greetings, muttering something under his breath and casting evil glances my way. At first I didn't understand what had caused such a change in this initially so friendly and talkative guy. Then I understood. He was taking me for a dwarf, wasn't he? The "image matrix" that Lyton the barber had created for me worked like a dream. Actually, it was about time I renewed it.
I suffered the gnome's unhappy sniffing for a couple more minutes, until finally we got to my room. Judging by all the laughter, noise and stomping of feet overhead, he'd taken me to the ground floor. There was only one door here, separating a small room from the dark corridor.
Oh yes, I'd been right. This was the ground floor. I'll tell you more: this was an underground floor. No windows. The walls were black with mold, the furniture covered in white spots of fungi. A tuberculosis breeding ground. But strangely enough, it made me feel rather cozy. It must have had something to do with my racial traits. And as for the damp... it wasn't a problem. With my elemental protection, I could sleep in a pool of water if I had to. So if my being billeted here was the gnome's little trick and not Gard's order, I could only be grateful. Imagine the gnome's surprise if I thanked him!
And again I was right. As the gnome left me, he closed the door with an evil grin. He probably thought I hadn't noticed. What an unhealthy individual. I could easily imagine his creator: he was probably just as volatile.
Well, see if I care! I was perfectly happy here. Fewer eyes meant more freedom. It was a good job the gnome hadn't noticed how happy I was.
Now, let's have a look. But first we needed to latch the door. Safer that way.
What did we have here? A rough plank bed without a mattress or a pillow. A wooden crate acted as a bedside table. A three-legged stool... better not to touch you, buddy, or you might fall apart at the slightest prod.
No wardrobe. Not even a table. This wasn't a room in the barracks: this was a prison cooler about to collapse around your ears. Never mind. The main thing was, I was alone here. Away from prying eyes.
Every heavy step overhead showered me with dust and sand from the cracks in the plank ceiling. Only now did I notice that the room had no lighting. Still, I could see everything. Ennan's eyes are the next best thing to a night vision system.
I really had to let my Prankster out. Time for him to stretch his little legs.
Would you like to summon your pet: Yes/No
Come on, cheeky face, out with you.
Prankster appeared out of nowhere as was his habit. He froze, focusing his beady eyes on me as if asking my permission. He'd learned his manners pretty quickly! Yes, little one, you can run around for a bit. Not that the place allowed for much running.
The Grison dashed around the room like greased lightning, sniffing every corner and studying every nook and cranny. Several times he snorted unhappily.
"Oh well," I said, "you might not like it here but at least I do. Why don't you? What's wrong with this place? Do you want to go back to the Steely Mountains? How I understand you. I'd like to go back to lots of places. But I'm afraid we'll have to grin and bear it, little 'un. I'll tell you this: as soon as we get somewhere nice away from prying eyes, I'll let you out for a breath of fresh air."
I reached into my bag and produced a small chunk of cheese. "Here, it's for you. I know you like it."
With a cheerful squeak, the Grison darted toward me, grabbed the cheese with his tiny little paws and sank his teeth in it. He literally rolled his eyes with delight.
I stroked his soft back. Talking abo
ut his eyes: the lack of lightning didn't seem to faze him, either. He could find his way perfectly well in the dark — better than myself, actually. I really had to look him up once I logged out. He might not be as useless as he looked.
Actually... how was that trap faring in my bag?
The trap was faring just fine. Its Energy levels kept growing. Very soon I was going to have a net all of my own. No idea what I might need it for but let it just sit there. Waste not, want not.
I was about to check my other belongings and get my wits together when an unceremonious knock at the door put a lid on my best intentions.
I opened the door — which actually was the sturdiest part of my new dwelling. A young guy stood outside. Definitely a player, his level 35 rather low for this location. Ignoring me, he was rummaging through the contents of his enormous bag.
"Wretched place... Dark as a cow's ass..."
Who did he think he was? I really didn't know what to say to this.
Finally he located something in his giant bag and looked up at me. "Are you Olgerd?"
I nodded. Not waiting for my reply, he was already offering me a scrap of gray paper.
"Here. Press your finger against your name in my journal. Like this... good. No, wait for the confirmation. There! You see it's highlighted? It works like a signature, sort of. That's it. I'm off. Bye!"
I poked a finger at his tablet's screen against my name, watching the gray letters turn intense green. The kid had already darted for the stairs while I stood by the door studying the little scrap of gray paper.
Name: An Order
Type: Quest item
Emitter: Captain Gard
Recipient: Olgerd
Read/Discard
Apparently, this kid was a messenger of sorts. That's right. NPCs couldn't use the chat, could they? Besides, it gave players an opportunity to complete petty little quests like this one. Myself, I used to run all sorts of errands in Mellenville even though I'd never delivered any letters to anyone.
Let's have a look, then. Or did they really expect me to discard it?
Master Olgerd,
Soon after you left, I had an idea how we could put your talents which you so profusely praised to good use. The Citadel's Wizard had been asking me to send him a man of exactly your profile and your talents...
Did the man ever stop? Talents! Why did he have to keep harking over the word? Admittedly, as an NPC he had a considerably higher IQ than all those I'd met before him.
With this, I instruct you to report to Master Tronus in his tower and remain under his orders for as long as he has the need for your talents. I've already issued orders and dispatched all the pertinent paperwork. Do not delay carrying out this assignment which is undoubtedly of the greatest importance for the Citadel.
Captain Gard
He was a piece of work, really. One moment you'd think he was normal, but then... Never mind. I'd earned my Reputation points for delivering him the letter, that was the main thing. If he wanted me to go see the wizard, to the wizard I'd go! You never know, it might actually work out for the best.
New quest alert: Help the Wizard!
Report to Master Tronus and put yourself under his orders.
Reward: Unknown
Accept: Yes/No
I heaved a sigh and clicked Yes. What else could I do?
I turned back to Prankster and shrugged my apology, then activated the summoning charm. "Sorry, boy. One of these days you'll have all the prancing around you need. But now we have to dash."
The wizard's name was highlighted in blue both in Gard's letter and in the quest message: a live link for my satnav to follow.
Having set up the route, I turned back one last time, casting a quick glance at my still unlived-in quarters. Oh, well. No peace for the wicked. Now I had to trudge through the night. Never mind: I'd just say hello to the wizard, then go beddy-byes. Tomorrow would be a difficult day.
It didn't take me long to get to the wizard's tower. The end of the day promised no danger. The streets were actually quite busy with players dashing around. This was apparently the bulk of real-life workers who'd clocked out and hurried to their respective module centers to log into Mirror World. Life is but a game, after all...
The wizard lived in the east part of the fortress just next to the wall. His tower was quite ordinary — its brickwork slightly darker, maybe. Either it was a local kind of brick or it was simply covered in grime. And it was at least the size of a nine-story building.
As I approached, the signs of the recent event damage came into view. The wizard must have taken the first blow, which was only logical. He must have been the one responsible for shield-casting. Judging by the fact that there was no other house within a good five hundred feet, this nice little tower must have served to attract the first hits. Which suggested that this must have been both the most protected and the most dangerous place in the entire Citadel.
I started to regret having agreed to be Mila's messenger. I had a gut feeling this Gard was one nasty motherfucker. Or even, as those Dead clan guys had put it, a Beast.
The street around the tower was deserted — dead even. Not a single blade of grass in sight. The earth here had been ploughed up by explosions: a familiar mixture of sand, cobblestones and fragments of rock left after the recent Caltean attack. Something told me that no one had bothered to repair anything here for a long time. Why would they want to? The next day someone would assault it again.
I came closer. The tower walls were a sorry sight. Oh yes, I'd been right: those were no ordinary bricks. They were black and sort of vitrified as if made of solidified resin. Once restored, the tower might have looked really nice. But now...
I imagined the tower transported to some spooky solitary location — surrounded by a dark forest or a cluster of cliffs. Scary.
As I walked toward the tower's door, I was met by nearby players' stares. The kind of looks they gave me, you might have thought I was a nutcase. Yes, yes, I know. I should have stayed in some warm sunny location farming my little emeralds to my heart's content. But no. I had to do this. I had this gut feeling that declining Captain Gard's quests wouldn't be a good idea. I just hoped I was right.
Warning! This location is not recommended for players under level 100!
I paused in front of the door, staring at the system report and its rather sarcastic message. I held my breath and stepped in.
A navy blue light enveloped my body, then dissolved, leaving me standing at the center of a crumbling, ruined hall. I hadn't even had a chance to get scared. This must have been some clever mini portal the wizard used instead of an elevator. Of course. A small window nearby showed the tops of roofs and dainty tower spires. Nice.
So apparently, I was at the very top of the tower. And if the roofs and the spires were part of the fortress, then an opposite window might offer me a view of No-Man's Lands.
Let's have a look... That's right! I could see the Black Stream, slithering like a giant python in the dark. A thick moonlit forest of ancient trees overhung its opposite bank.
A shiver ran down my spine. One look at the other bank made it clear it was bad news.
Our side of the stream was littered with all sorts of siege-related junk. I could see one hell of a thick log, scorched in places. Judging by a row of shields nailed to it, this was a jury-rigged gate ram. Further away, I could see the burned-out skeletons of either catapults or siege towers. Whatever. My meager knowledge of siege equipment was based on Hollywood blockbusters and Instagram pics.
Judging by the vast numbers of still-smoldering fires, the Caltean attackers had been legion. What was it Irene had said? A ridiculous mini-event? Oh, well.
"Scary, eh?"
A soft young voice behind my back made me swing round.
Tronus the Wizard, Defender of the Citadel, turned out to be a young man of about twenty-five years old clad in dark leather. He wore a black bandana and a matching necktie. Old-fashioned pilot's goggles sat on his forehead. That'
s right! That's what he reminded me of: a pilot. His jacket, his pants, his cuffed flying gloves — the guy was a pilot and no mistake. Really, why had I expected to see a long-bearded mage in a dark-blue robe and a pointy hat?
"I've been here for years and still I can't get used to the view," he nodded at the dark bank of No-Man's Lands. "I take it, you're Olgerd? My new assistant, right? I'm Tronus."
He proffered me his hand as he spoke. Despite his puny appearance, Tronus' handshake was surprisingly firm.
"Exactly," I said. "Reporting for duty under your orders for as long as you have need of my talents."
The wizard burst into loud happy laughter. He must have received his own version of Captain Gard's message.
"That's Gard!" he finally said. "He takes some getting used to, Master Olgerd."
"Just Olgerd," I smiled back.
"Agreed. In that case, I'm just Tronus. You're a Mine Digger, I was told?"
"I am."
"Excellent. I've got loads of work for you. You're not afraid of work, are you?"
"On the contrary. I look forward to your instructions."
"Jolly good, jolly good. But that'll have to wait till tomorrow. You need a good night's sleep. You've been working hard today, I know."
He seemed all right. We might actually get on together.
"Talking about sleep," he said awkwardly, "I have lots of space here. So if you haven't yet found a room... you're more than welcome to stay."
His gaze was just as awkward as his voice — and hopeful, strangely enough. I could understand him. He lived alone here — virtually in solitary confinement even though technically this was the town center. He was probably bored out of his mind. Other players must have been giving his tinderbox a wide berth, declining his invitations in favor of safer dwellings. And judging by the fact that quest-seeking players weren't queuing all around the tower, there wasn't much to catch here.
"So what do you think?" the wizard repeated.
The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) Page 10
