by S. R. Witt
Robert hadn’t expected Sizemore to run through his quests like a veteran gamer, but he had expected the senator to at least start playing. Surely the man had a pro gamer on staff—or was he really so unaware the idea simply hadn’t occurred to him? Something about that bothered Osmark, but he couldn’t put his finger on what. “What is he spending his time on?” he asked.
“Pretty much what we expected,” Sandra said and gulped down another dripping spoon filled with porridge. “Wheeling and dealing. Including himself, Sizemore has ten of the twenty-five board members firmly in his camp. Peng, Novotny, Hamada, Sokolov, Tang, Lerch, Petrov, Weber, and Gallo. That gives him China, Russia, Czechoslovakia, Japan, Germany, and even Canada.”
Robert raised an eyebrow at that. “Canada? Erin Gallo?”
That was much worse than Osmark had expected. He and Erin had worked together a time or two and had remained friendly up until the news about the comet broke. They hadn’t spent much time talking since then, but she was here on Osmark’s personal invitation. To think she’d turn on him because of Sizemore was both unnerving and irritating.
He’d have to deal with her personally.
“I think Erin was a jab at you,” Sandra said as she finished slurping down her porridge. “She doesn’t have any real power, and there aren’t enough Canadian players to be a threat, honestly. The rest is pretty much what we predicted. I’d hoped Hamada would hold out, but Sizemore must be cooking up a pretty tasty dish if half the board is eating it up.”
Osmark devoured another slice of bacon and drank his porridge straight from the bowl. “How many are in the bag for us?”
Sandra fidgeted in her seat, fingers running nervously over her napkin. “We’ve been busy with quests and keeping an eye on Sizemore,” she said after a time. “We weren’t focusing on the political stuff.”
Robert didn’t need to hear the rest of the sentence to know what she meant. He’d kept his people jumping from one assignment to the next, and none of those had included sweet-talking the rest of the Imperial Advisory Board. While Robert and his people had been gathering power in the game, Sizemore had been out schmoozing people who could make a serious difference when he opposed Osmark.
“I know,” Robert said, bristling at his failure, “but how many do we have?”
“Other than you? Smythe and Schuler, for certain.” Sandra stalled for time by taking a deep drink of the spiced tea in front of her. “And, probably, Carrera.”
Three.
The meeting of the board was in just a few hours, and Osmark was outnumbered by Sizemore’s people more than two to one. It wasn’t the position he’d anticipated being in, and there was nothing he could do to fix the problem while the board members were in transit to Tomestide. He gnawed on a sausage, gulped down a mouthful of tea, and motioned for Sandra to continue. “There’s nothing we can do about Sizemore’s political edge,” he offered. “Not at this point. We’ll just have to deal with it at the board meeting. What does Garn say about the Coldskulls’ and their lieutenant?”
Sandra’s eyes brightened. “Her name is Dural Gont, and she oversees all operations for the Coldskulls in Wyrdtide. Both Garn and Dorak confirm she’s been meeting with Sizemore every night. Garn says the assassins have been leaving Wyrdtide in small groups since yesterday morning. It’s a safe bet they’re headed here—and you know what that means.”
That, at least, was a problem he could handle. “Let them come. The more, the merrier. I have quite a reception in store for the Coldskulls. It’s going to be something to see.”
Osmark ate in silence for a moment, filling his belly while he turned the pieces of his plan over in his mind, carefully examining them for the hundredth time. Finally, he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and leaned back in his chair. “Tell Garn and Dorak to get back here, now. I want them at the board meeting with me.”
A spoonful of porridge stopped midway to Sandra’s mouth. “I thought I’d be attending the meeting with you?”
Robert rubbed the scrubby bristles of an incoming beard on his chin and shook his head. “I have something else for you to do. Something more important.”
He opened his interface, toggled over to the inventory, and pulled out the engineered weapon he’d spent the previous evening building. It was sleek and black, with an articulated scope, an oversized magazine loaded with heavy shells, and a steam core the size of both his fists put together. He grabbed the barrel and stock and yanked, extending the rifle to its full six-foot length. “This is Icebreaker. She’s yours.”
He stood and handed the weapon to Sandra. A burst of skepticism dashed across her features, but she accepted the massive weapon, handling it as gently as a newborn. Her skepticism grew as she examined the weapon, her lips turning down into a disappointed frown. “It’s beautiful, but it’s also a firearm. I don’t have the skill to use this.”
Robert waved her concerns away with one grease-smeared hand. “You will when you need it. Leave that to me. Now,” he said, “here’s how we’re going to deal with Sizemore …”
THIRTY-FIVE:
Board Meeting
Osmark regretted sending Sandra off as soon as the first of the board members arrived at the Saddler’s Rest. He was used to attending business meetings, to giving speeches to employees, and to making public statements. But he was far less comfortable when it came to socializing with his so-called peers. He’d pulled himself up from nothing, but many members of the board were born not just with silver spoons in their mouths, but swaddled in the whole damn cutlery drawer.
Elizabeth Schuler, the first of the board members to find her way to the Saddler’s Rest, was a perfect case in point. Born into a wealthy industrial family, she’d spent her whole life encased in the nigh-impenetrable armor of privilege. There was nothing she’d ever wanted that her daddy hadn’t bought for her, including a seat on V.G.O.’s Imperial Advisory Board.
Robert was surprised to see she’d chosen a blonde-haired Wode as her avatar—he’d assumed most would flock toward the Imperials—but even the barbarian class kit she’d chosen couldn’t disguise the faintly dismissive tone that accompanied everything she said to anyone she didn’t see as her equal.
Which, basically, was everyone.
Osmark greeted Elizabeth at the door with a mug of mead, which she snatched out of his hand like she hadn’t had a drink in days. Her long braids danced on either side of her throat as she gulped down half the mug. “Ah, that hits the spot. Which way to the food?”
He kept his eyebrows from shooting up by sheer force of will. V.G.O. had changed Elizabeth, and he wasn’t sure if it was for the better or the worse. “We’ve set out a buffet across the common room,” he replied. “You should be able to find anything you need there.”
Elizabeth shed her fur cloak and handed it to Garn, who glanced at it as if the woman had just deposited a dead animal in her hands. Elizabeth didn’t wait to see what the security guard did with her cloak; instead, she stormed across the room and began loading up a plate with roasted meats, small loaves of bread, and a towering mound of fingerling potatoes.
Dorak joined Osmark by the door. “I hope they’re not all that hungry,” he whispered, eyeing the woman, “or we’ll be out of food in no time. I’d better go talk to Murly and see if we can get the cook on the case.”
Robert watched Elizabeth wolf down food like a wild animal and shook his head. V.G.O. changed people. It either brought out their real selves or allowed them to indulge whatever fantasies they’d kept locked away from polite, proper society. He wondered how long Schuler had been hiding this side of herself, and whether or not she still had her eye on the ball. She was supposed to be one of his allies, but if she’d gone native …
Well, he didn’t know if he’d be able to depend on her when push came to shove.
Before Osmark could speak with her, however, more of the board members poured into the common room.
Despite their changes in physical appearance, Osmark found he could sti
ll identify them without too much difficultly. Sokolov and Petrov, the Russian contingent—both now short, stocky Dwarves—pumped his hand briefly, then made their way to the buffet, stopping only to snatch tankards of ale from the bar. Kaleka and Lerch came next—wearing the forms of an Accipiter and a Hvitalfar, respectively—and they didn’t even bother at pretense. They simply blew right past Osmark’s outstretched hand, ignoring him as though he were hired help, beelining toward the Russians.
As uncomfortable as Osmark was by the influx of board members making their way into the Saddler’s Rest, Gorn and Dorak were getting the worst of it. They’d been conscripted into cloak check and guide duty, forcing them to leave Robert on his own.
Osmark put a brave face on it, shaking as many hands and clapping as many shoulders as he could. It was an exhausting, boring job, but he needed to be seen. These people needed to understand that he was real, and he was ready to lead them into the future. No matter what Sizemore told them, Robert had to be the very picture of confidence and professionalism. Anything less was just giving ammo to the senator, and he refused to do that.
“Nice party,” a familiar voice whispered in Osmark’s ear.
He turned to greet his guest, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
Erin Gallo had chosen an Accipiter to represent her, and the effect was stunning. She’d been an attractive woman IRL, with flowing dark hair and startlingly blue eyes, but in V.G.O. she was an intimidating beauty. Her golden skin contrasted with the fiery copper of her braided hair, and her eyes flashed like polished diamonds. She wore little more than a diaphanous drape, which left her wings free to unfurl if need be and very little to the imagination.
“It’s nice to see a familiar face,” Osmark forced himself to say, balling his hands into fists. “Even if it’s not quite the face I remember.”
Erin laughed, a throaty chuckle that sent shivers racing down Robert’s spine. She eyed him from the bottom of his feet to his eyes and offered a sultry smile. “No sense bringing our flaws in here with us, right? You look well, Robert.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” he offered coolly, lips pursing into a thin line. Peng Jun arrived in the form of an enormous Risi wearing a polished suit of gleaming, rune-inscribed, brigandine armor. He wore a heavy spiked club on a strap across his back, and a golden-etched crossbow slung over one shoulder.
“… and that’s why I told him I’d consider the offer,” Erin continued. She paused and shot a look at Peng, realizing Osmark hadn’t been listening. “Don’t tell me that brute is worthier of your attention than I am?” She laid her delicate fingers on Robert’s wrist, and his skin tingled at her touch.
“Not at all,” he replied, offering her a lopsided smile. “I’m just concerned about where Peng’s friend is.”
“If you’d been listening to me, you’d know,” she replied with another one of her heart-melting chuckles and a smoldering glance that would’ve looked more at home on a hungry leopard. “He had some business in Wyrdtide—something he needed to attend to before he could travel to the meeting. That’s why he’s coming after the rest of us.”
Robert snatched a pair of mugs from a serving girl’s tray and handed one of them to Erin. “You’re friends with the senator, then? I’d heard as much, but I’m a little surprised to find it’s true, given our history.” He scanned the room as he talked. The other board members had split into groups along the lines Osmark had expected. Sizemore’s cronies flocked around Peng Jun like a pack of hungry jackals, dallying in the far corner of the bar.
And Peng himself stared daggers at Osmark even when he spoke to the rest of his party.
Erin turned her back to Peng’s group. “Sizemore approached me early on with certain guarantees. A girl would be foolish not to entertain such an opportunity.”
Robert’s mouth quirked into a sour frown. “It’s even more foolish to hitch your wagon to a falling star—and that is all Sizemore is.” He paused, drumming his fingers on the glass. “Can I ask what he promised you?”
Erin swirled her glass of mead and stared into its frothy surface. “Peace. Order. Power.”
Osmark struggled not to roll his eyes. “What makes you think Sizemore can deliver on his guarantees? He doesn’t have any more sway than any other board member. It’s not like he can bend the rules to suit himself or his allies.”
The Canadian shrugged, and Robert forced himself not to stare. “He’s a very convincing man. The kind of man who can make things true just by saying them often and earnestly enough.”
Osmark had no reply.
She was right, insofar as Sizemore’s power lay firmly in his mouth. If that silver-tongued weasel could convince enough board members to do what he wanted them to do, then maybe he could bring peace to V.G.O. Or, more likely, he’d use his ill-gotten power to crush his enemies and establish himself as God Emperor of this new world.
Before Osmark could respond, Erin leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, just a peck next to his right ear. “We were friends, Robert. We can be again.” Then she leaned back and cast a meaningful glance over Robert’s shoulder. “One of your guests needs to steal you away, it appears. You’ll know where to find me.”
Then she was gone, moving away from Osmark as gracefully as a dove on a gust of spring wind. He felt a pang of some rare emotion in his chest—loneliness, maybe—as she made her way to Peng’s table and took a seat among the traitors.
“Helluva thing,” a man said. “I guess you never know who you can trust, right?”
Robert turned, and Aleixo Carrera took the mug from his hand and replaced it with a short glass filled with amber liquor. “It’s not mezcal—this world doesn’t have such a drink—but it’s close enough.”
Robert found himself clinking glasses with the cartel mastermind and sharing a drink with one of the most dangerous and brutal men in the world. The liquor scorched his tongue and burned his throat like a splash of acid. Osmark forced himself to drink the vile stuff, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from watering just a little. “That was certainly something,” he said with a forced smile.
“That it is.” Carrera chuckled. “This is quite the place you have here.” He waved a tan hand around the room. He’d chosen to go with an Imperial—a smart, practical choice. But then, the Colombian drug kingpin was a smart, practical man, much like Osmark in that way.
He turned his back on Peng’s table and shrugged at Carrera. “It is what it is. It’ll be much more impressive given time.”
Carrera’s eyes twinkled like dark stars, and a sly grin crawled across his features. “Will he give you time, I wonder?”
Robert’s eyes skimmed over the gathered crowd. He’d brought these people here, he’d given them a new world, and he’d promised them kingdoms of their own to rule as they saw fit. A new golden age, so long as they followed a few simple guidelines, which would allow them to work together for the common good. He’d done so much for these people, yet now they were all scheming against him, laying plans to claim it all for themselves. Every conversation he saw, every hushed word and meaningful glance, was another weapon aimed at his heart.
Traitors. Scum.
“Did you come here to threaten me?” Osmark asked flatly, draining the last of the awful liquor from his glass. “Because, I have to be honest, it’s starting to lose its impact.”
Carrera laughed, a sound like embers popping in a hearth. “Oh, my friend, you mistake me. I don’t threaten. I don’t make promises. I just take care of things.”
Robert smirked at the thug’s words. “If that’s why you’re here, you might as well take your shot now and save us both the trouble of the dance—though I have to warn you, appearances can be deceptive.”
Carrera didn’t laugh this time.
His dark eyes gleamed like cold steel and his face became an expressionless mask. “I do not like to be mocked, Mr. Osmark, nor do I like to be threatened. We are men of means, you and I. Men of ambition and drive. We are more alike than we are differe
nt.”
Except I don’t murder people to get what I want, he almost said, then realized that was no longer true. Instead, he raised his empty glass in a salute. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carrera. It’s been a trying couple of days. Thank you for the drink, and my apologies if I’ve given offense. That was not my intent.”
“And it was not my intent to give you a reason to mistrust me,” Carrera said, shaking his head. “I’m not used to this dance, as you call it. May I be blunt?”
Osmark nodded, and Carrera took his arm and led him off into the shadows near the bar.
“These men and women,” the drug lord whispered, “they are the real monsters. Their money, their power, their laws and neglect created me. Enabled me to amass my fortune on the backs of others. I am not a good man, understand, but I am also only a symptom. They are the disease.
“If you’re afraid of me, Mr. Osmark, then these demons should terrify you. They’re not like us—men who work for what we have. Oh no, they come from a long line of monsters who believe the world is theirs to rule as they see fit. They will turn your heaven into a burning hell if you allow it. And they’ll enlist men like me to do it, unless you stop them.”
“And what should I do? Kill them all like you would?” Osmark shook his head. “I don’t believe they’re as bad as you seem to think. Are they snakes? Yes. Liars? Undoubtedly. Monsters, as you say?” He shrugged one shoulder. “Probably. But they’re here because we need them to keep this place from becoming unlivable. Better a government of thieves, liars, and monsters than no government at all.”
Carrera drained his glass and dropped it onto the bar top. “This is true, but what you need are allies, not serpents. Sizemore, the senator, he’s turning these people against you.”
