Liz sent me a few pictures and videos of the town street with a caption saying,
They did a nice job of our damp little town! Finally our backwater has its fifteen minutes of fame!
Depends on what she meant by it, of course. Burned houses, collapsed brickwork; stone fences that had melted away like candles. Once again I commended myself on not having gone there last night. I could understand Liz' excitement. She must have received plenty of Valor and this, for her, was the only thing that mattered. For adventure seekers like herself, moments like these were in the same league as major raids to smoke a location boss. If anything, they were more important.
Uncle Vanya sent me a line too,
Hi dude,
How do you manage to always be in the wrong place at the wrong time? This is crazy. He never leaves his mine and still he's always in the thick of it! Me and my guys had a chat and we're going to give you your cut of yesterday's spoils.
Oh, and one other thing. You didn't notice anything strange in their camp, did you? By the time we got there, the Darkies had their hands full with other things. I'll tell you later.
Go get yourself some sleep.
See ya!
Uh oh. I could sense their questions coming from miles away. They even offered me a cut, just to stay on my good side! I had to urgently come up with a convincing cover story. Last night I'd already spun Uncle Vanya a tale about my supposedly lucky escape from the camp and the subsequent hike across the Wastelands to the Citadel with the help of some high-level dudes. It looked like my story had failed to satisfy him.
"Never mind," I said out loud. "We'll think of something."
Hearing my voice, Prankster turned his head from his nest on the wardrobe's upper shelf. Now that Tronus knew about my little menagerie, I could safely let the Grison out into the tower corridors for a bit of a trot. He cost me next to nothing Energy-wise, so let him have his fun.
Talking about Tronus. Last night I'd thought he'd have a heart attack when I'd told him about Crast stones. They turned out to be a very important resource for him. Then again, which of Mirror World's resources wasn't important? Everywhere you turned, you could find something valuable here.
Oh, yes. The wizard had been ecstatic to see the stones. Why would I complain? Not many can boast results like mine in this respect. Unfortunately, what Tronus had offered me for them hadn't lived up to my expectations. To say the least. My account just wasn't up to it.
It felt like I was having my wings clipped. I could still fly after a fashion but it wasn't the same thing, of course.
If the truth were known, I'd counted on the Crast stones to get a bit more Rep. But what Tronus had offered me was completely different. Better in a way but unavailable to Grinder accounts.
Firstly, when I'd handed the twenty Crast stones over to him, I'd received a new system message closing yet another hidden quest. This was turning into a habit.
Secondly, this latter development had improved my and Tronus' relationship to Brotherly. Or something like that. I didn't quite remember how the message had been worded.
And thirdly and mainly... I'd received access to the tower's sancta sanctorum: Tronus' lab. You couldn't even imagine the amount of stuff he had there — portal scrolls, elixirs and runes, tons of useful goodies. Crast stones served as some kind of exchange currency, allowing Tronus to swap his inventions for rare No-Man's Lands resources. Which was the catch.
Grinders had no right to own them. Our type of account had some sort of "do-not-touch" policy on rare resources. Like some freakin' museum. In my case, this was a disaster. The thousand-plus Crast stones that I had in my bag would have allowed me to stuff my inventory stupid with all sorts of goodies. Actually, Tronus seemed even more upset than I was.
I slumped onto my bed. Prankster turned his curious little head to me.
"Wait up, Speedo. I'm not going anywhere. Let's do some Engineering. Time to level it up a bit."
So, what did we have here? I opened the Engineering Designer tab. Assembling the Replicator had brought my skill level to 200. Plus the two blueprints I'd studied, each more useless than the other. And the completed Replicator, whatever that was. Now I could start on the Unworked Charm of Arakh. Let's have a look.
I activated the blueprint.
In order to build an Unworked Charm of Arakh, you will need:
A fragment of Blue Ice
Warning! Building an Unworked Charm of Arakh will deprive you of 100 pt. pure Energy!
Would you like to build it?
Accept/Decline
Well, compared to assembling the Replicator parts this was a good deal. I pressed Accept
Congratulations! You've just built an Unworked Charm of Arakh!
You've received +1 to your skill.
Current skill: 201.
The maximum skill limit for your current profession level: 400.
All right. What did we have here?
I took the item in my hands. It vaguely resembled a rune made of a murky fragment of blue glass. Or ice, rather. I could see some scribbles at its center. What was I supposed to do with it? It had no prompts, no activation messages — nothing.
And if I studied another recipe, would that help me solve this mystery, maybe? But I might not get such an opportunity until I leveled up some more. Four hundred points sounded like an awful lot. And I only had 69 fragments of Blue Ice left. I might need another trip or two to No-Man's Lands.
In any case, I could forget new adventures for the time being. For the moment, my priorities lay elsewhere. The bank. I had to make sure I came prepared. I needed to do some math. Tomorrow morning I'd have to go to Mellenville.
As I was finishing the seventh Unworked Charm, my mailbox pinged. Uncle Vanya just couldn't give it a rest, could he?
I opened the letter. No. Not Uncle Vanya. Weigner. What might he want with me?
Hi there, O brave defender of the Realm! Are you guarding our frontiers well? Good for you! Why I'm writing, do you remember the bigwig guy who wanted to talk to you? The one you failed to meet?
Did I ever! That was Lady Mel's representative who'd wished to see me earlier. Later, Weigner had written me an apologetic letter saying the guy was terribly sorry but something had come up and he couldn't make it. He said the moment he got business out of the way, he'd contact me. At the time, I'd been even happy it had gone the way it had: I was too busy throwing my solo raid together. So now I had every reason to believe this "bigwig" was going to schedule another meeting. Very well, let's take a look.
So basically, this guy is over there now, in the Citadel. He's apparently dying to meet our valorous warrior. Between the two of us, his desire to meet you has only increased. He was very insistent I contacted you.
I'd really appreciate it if you could write back at your first convenience.
Weigner
Surprise surprise! Let's write back, then.
I jotted a brief note saying I could meet him straight away. Weigner replied at once.
Ten minutes later, I strode down the Citadel streets to meet Lady Mel's impatient representative.
* * *
"So how do you find Mirror World?"
Tanor — which was the bigwig's name — sipped the fragrant coffee from a tiny bone china cup. He didn't look as if he enjoyed it. From his greeting I'd understood that he was my immediate boss who supervised all the mines in the area. Or rather, those of them which were Lady Mel's property.
I shrugged. "Takes some getting used to," I studied him out of the corner of my eye. Because, let me tell you, taking stock of a character and their appearance can tell you a lot about the player himself lying motionlessly in a capsule.
Take me, for instance. I often asked myself: why Ennan? What had prompted me to have chosen this character and this type of appearance? Because of his characteristics? Please. At the time, I'd known very little about the game. You see, my Ennan was a generalized idea of a gray, mousy little person, quiet and inconspicuous. Few notice him, leaving hi
m alone with his thoughts. To tell you more, I was even happy in my solitude. That's what I'm actually like, to a point. Gray. Silent. Reserved. The only ray of light that made it worth my while were my two girls: Sveta and Christina, my wife and my little daughter. Without them, my life would indeed have been sad and dark.
Likewise, I could tell a lot by looking at the man in front of me. The first thing that caught your eye was his neat appearance. Buttoned-up even. It showed in everything: his meticulously clean clothes; his well-calculated movements; the unsmiling, non-committal absence of any unnecessary facial gestures; calm speech that gave you the impression that he'd rehearsed his every line in advance.
It wasn't for nothing he'd chosen the Alven race for his character. It suited his intentions like none other: sophisticated and highly adaptable, unlike the cumbersome awkwardness of a dwarf or a Horrud that would have failed to communicate his human traits.
His account was another surprise. He was a Grinder like myself. His Profession and other stats were hidden. He must have been using some rare and costly settings. But I still could glean quite a bit from his clothes. He was dressed like a lawyer. Well, everyone couldn't be diggers and herbal doctors.
"If you don't mind me asking... what are your plans for the game?" he asked matter-of-factly. The guy seemed so cordial and laidback. Still, every word he uttered seemed to add to my doubts of his real intentions.
"I'm here to stay," I replied curtly.
That's how you should speak to these guys. No word mincing. No trying too hard. Not giving them a leg to stand on. The longer he was sitting there next to me, the stronger was my desire to show him the door.
"Excellent!" he exclaimed.
"You think so?"
"But of course! Workers like yourself are very important for us."
"Eh... I did say I was here to stay, but I didn't mean I was planning to stick to one particular employer."
"Ah! Of course," he waved my response away. "This world may be virtual but it still has to comply with the principles of democratic society. Am I right?"
"This is exactly my point."
"I see. You want to put the record straight right from the start."
"Exactly. No promises means no responsibilities. Apart from the contractual ones, of course."
He nodded. "Only the facts."
"Yes. Including all the possible legal ways of canceling the contract."
"Well, I hope it won't come to that."
The more he smiled, the less I liked the whole situation. This may have looked like an ordinary conversation. Still, I had a hunch that something wasn't right.
"How do you like your working conditions?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Same as everywhere. Farming stones, then scrambling out to declare them. That's it."
"This I understand. But there're other places one might go to in order to farm resources. Should I say, more-" he looked over the tavern, "more comfortable ones."
I shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. A mine is a mine."
"This I doubt," he said. "I can't see your gear's stats at the moment but I'm pretty sure that you have humidity protection installed on all your items."
Cold protection too, Mister Smart Ass.
"My job has made me a good judge of character," he continued. "Now my gut feeling tells me that your gear's protection is above average. Am I right?"
I shrugged again. "You won't find many people who don't have it. It would be penny wise and pound foolish. Skimping on these little things might cost you."
"That's right, of course, but... we come back to where we started. Wouldn't it be easier to work in a mine situated somewhere with neutral weather conditions?"
I nodded. "Sure."
"Then why?" he squinted at me. "Why would a professional of your caliber make his own life difficult? Do you really need all these unnecessary risks, facing Dark raids and such? Spending your hard-earned money on elemental protection? You can't even imagine the number of people who've been playing for over a year and are yet to leave their locations!"
He flashed me a pearly smile. "Compared to them, Olgerd, you're a seasoned pioneering traveler."
"You flatter me."
"Not at all. These people log in, do their quota and log out. They're protected. They have occasional bonuses, like mopping up instances and such. Lots of other things, too. I assure you that lots of workers of a lower level than you have much better working conditions than you do. Why would they want to move to a nasty, unpredictable location?"
"No reason."
"So what's stopping you, then?"
"Just that you know nothing about me."
"Here's where you're wrong."
Our eyes met. His, the dark Alven grey, exuded a relaxed confidence. Not a grain of sarcasm or disdain. Only a light squint: he's curious to see my reaction. This was one hell of an experienced head hunter. He'd pressed all the right buttons, appealing to my self-preservation skills. He'd given me a brief run-down on how happy other Grinders were in the tender care of his masters. He'd even thrown in a dash of flattery.
"Oh, am I?" I said. "What is it you know about me, then?"
"Heh heh! We know enough to realize how badly we need you."
"And still?"
"Very well. If you insist. You came to Mirror World for a reason."
"You could say that about any of us."
"I could. But you — you have a purpose. Christina, your daughter, is very sick."
I frowned.
"We know," he gave me a calm nod. "She needs expensive surgery. We even know how much it costs. Finding out such things is not a problem for my employers."
My face must have changed because he added even more smugly, "It didn't take our analyst long to work out what keeps you in this God-forsaken hole. Tracking your movements allowed us to conclude you're here to level up Reputation with Mellenville. You need a loan in Reflex Bank. It's a large amount so you need lots of Reputation. I hate to be the bearer of bad news but according to our estimate, you won't make it. And even if by some miracle you do, you still risk a lot."
Oh yes, mister, you know a lot about me. A lot — but not everything.
I attempted to calm myself down, trying hard to disregard the unpleasant chill in my chest and belly. "I see," I forced a smile. "You've worked out my multi-move super plan. There's only one thing I don't understand."
He arched a quizzical eyebrow. "Which is?"
"Why would you invest so much research in a regular Digger? You even had your analysts on me. Strange, don't you think?"
He flashed me a smile. "That would be strange, I agree, provided you described yourself correctly. The thing is, your situation has nothing to do with how you've just described yourself. Don't look at me like that. I haven't come here just to offer a job to an Experienced Digger. I'm here for the actual Master."
Chapter Twenty-One
There are moments in life when you just expect something bad to happen. Some might call it a premonition. Oh well. You might say so, I suppose. The word isn't a hundred percent accurate, but it conveys the meaning quite well.
In my case, it wasn't just a premonition. Oh, no. I'd known all along that sooner or later I'd have to suffer through this kind of conversation. That someone was bound to call my bluff. That's why, strangely enough, Tanor's words had brought me an enormous relief. Why, was I so fed up with living undercover? No, not really. It was something else too. But I was still curious what plans they might have in store for me. Had I been right all along?
There was a glint of interest in Tanor's eyes. "You're not really surprised, are you?"
I shrugged. "It's not going to change anything, is it?"
"Olgerd, please. What is it with you? Why all this defeatist talk?"
"It's not. I've long given up looking at the world through rosy-tinted glasses. I always prepare for the worst. It helps to roll with the punches."
"Then I suggest we quit the overtures and speak openly. This would save both of us an awfu
l lot of time."
"Can you speak openly?"
He smiled. "Try me. You think you can?"
"I might actually beat around the bush for a wee bit longer but that's because I have a very vague idea of who you actually represent. So much effort invested into wooing even a Master Digger — that's too much, you know."
He clapped his hands. "Bravo! You're full of surprises. I think... No — I'm absolutely sure we'll make a good team."
"Dear Tanor, or whoever you are. Will you please leave all the sales pitch for Mirror World fans? I have other objectives in this game. Massaging my own ego fortunately isn't one of them."
He forced a smirk. "In other words, you don't give a shit that one of the most powerful coalitions in the Glasshouse has sent you a personal head hunter? Hah! Quite a few players would have given a lot for this kind of attention."
"I didn't say I wouldn't."
He snapped his fingers. "I think I know! Correct me if I wrong, please, but had this conversation taken place within your first few weeks into the game... would your reaction have been different then? What do you think?"
"There's nothing to think. It would have been. The problem is, normally a worker is supposed to prove his worth to a potential employer before starting to talk up his price. Am I right?"
"You are indeed. We need professionals. Yes, I can see you disagree. Of course it's a game, of course you're forced to do work you would never have accepted in real life. Things are different here, I agree. A lawyer collects rare herbs, a surgeon farms marble down a mine while a clergyman sneaks out every night to climb into a virtual capsule and head for a far-off instance to kill yet another monster. Mirror World dictates its own rules."
"Meaning, you have to adapt in order to survive?"
"Not exactly."
"How is it, then?"
"We don't adapt We make the world adapt We just follow its development."
The Citadel (Mirror World Book #2) Page 24
