The Time Master

by Dmitry Bilik

  “It’s Fifty Shades Freed,” the girl said in a softly obsequious voice, as if conspiring with me to commit a minor offence.

  “Great, give me the whole back row.”

  “It’s a romance,” she tried one last time to talk some sense into me.

  “The back row, please,” I repeated.

  “Wait a moment... It’ll be forty-eight bucks.”

  “There you go.”

  “Very well. Fifty Shades Freed, Screen Four, seats one, two, three, four...”

  “Up to seat fourteen,” I finished for her as I peered at her computer screen, picking up the roll of tickets.

  I ripped off seats seven and eight, and put the rest in my pocket. Just as I did so, Julia finally appeared.

  “Hi,” I gave her a peck on the lips.

  “Hi. What’s showing?”

  “Apparently, some cool new movie.”

  Your Lying skill has increased to level 6.

  Okay, okay. At least now I knew the film wasn’t up to much. That might save us a bunch of time.

  We spent another twenty minutes hanging around the multiplex, chatting about nothing in particular, then returned to Theater 4. It wasn’t very busy: it was a workday, after all, and the movie — if you could call it that — had been running for a while. Girls of every possible age made up the bulk of the audience. Not that that bothered me.

  We honestly watched a few trailers, after which the back-row magic did its trick. I tried to kiss her, and she definitely wasn’t against it. Only when my hands started wondering, did she lay the law down. I didn’t insist.

  All things said and done, I did like the film. The setup, the development, the climax — everything was good, if not a little arousing. Some like it hot, you know.

  We left the theater slightly disheveled and more than a little turned on. Julia pressed her body against mine while I tried not to think about inappropriate things. We had some pizza on a terrace and hung about the theater for a while, silently this time, after which my girl said she needed to go home.

  The cab driver seemed to cast disapproving looks at us, apparently on the verge of telling us to get a room. Still, the traffic-free roads made it a short journey. We spent another twenty minutes standing by her front door, complaining that the film had been too short. Finally, Julia went upstairs to her apartment.

  I came back home feeling hot, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Bumpkin solemnly announced that the master of the house was “a little worse for wear”. And when I declined his offer of a dinner, he turned dark as a cloud. He trudged around the apartment grumbling that his travails weren’t “appreciated”. The good old goblin seemed to have really taken offence.

  It took me a long time to fall asleep. At first I spent some time corresponding with Julia. After she’d gone to bed, I began fantasizing about all kinds of liberal stuff. In the end, I missed the moment when I’d dropped off to sleep.

  My phone alarm seemed to have gone off the moment I’d closed my eyes. Shit! My eyelids felt as if they were packed with broken glass.

  I rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed, trying to get a grip. Why had I had to set the alarm to 7 a.m.? I had a funny feeling it must have been done by a stranger, not myself. I had to go back to bed and sleep it off properly. I had lots of things to do and no one but myself to do them.

  It almost worked. My head very nearly hit the pillow; then I opened my eyes, fully awake.

  That’s right. I had to arrive at the Community way before our departure. I still had a few things to sort out before setting off on our Purgator raid.

  Chapter 23

  THE BEST INVESTMENTS in the world are those you make in yourself. You’re the least likely person to betray or disappoint yourself. The time you spend on furthering yourself is bound to pay off a hundredfold.

  Which was why this was exactly what I was going to do today.

  Compared to yesterday, the Community was deserted. The few Players who scuttled between the houses ignored each other completely, all businesslike. Then again, why did that surprise me? It was still early. Also, the fact that there were six guards posted around the square must have had something to do with it, as well as the occasional silhouette of a Seeker.

  I walked past the Syndicate and stopped at the last street. From where I stood, I could actually see the exit. Did that mean that the Community was open-ended? Oh well, you live and learn.

  Here, the small houses were considerably shabbier. You could tell that nobody bothered what they looked like. Following Traug’s instructions, I carried on until I reached the house I was looking for.

  I stopped. This was an old brick building with a sagging front porch. It might have belonged to a 19th-century Russian merchant, had common citizens ever installed themselves in the Community.

  The sign over the front door said,

  Rumis’ Magic Emporium

  The man who was sitting under it smoking a regular cigarette had orange skin. That made him a Purg: a native of Purgator.

  “Hi,” I said. “Are you Rumis?”

  “The very same. Who are you?”

  “I’m Sergei. I’m here on Traug’s recommendation.”

  “I see. Come in, then,” he stubbed his cigarette out and flicked it into a giant cast-iron trash can.

  In the meantime, I gave him a closer look.

  Rumis

  ???

  Spell Modifier

  Gravitates to the Dark Side

  ???

  ???

  The fact that I’d begun seeing two stats instead of one had nothing to do with me. It was simply because Traug had told me a lot about this vendor. Apparently, he was a constant turncoat, serving the Kabirids first, then defecting to the Archali, then back to the Kabirids. In the end, he’d ripped someone off big time and split into Cesspit where he bought himself a shop and kept a suitably low profile. But despite his background, he was a head and shoulders above the rest in what he did best: making and selling modified spells. At least according to Traug.

  We walked through a small hallway past a staircase into a big room. I noticed a few chairs, a tea urn on the table, and a tall pulpit like those used by university professors. There was another small room behind a curtain, just big enough to accommodate a bed.

  Rumis hurried to pull the curtain close and mounted the pulpit. “Come on now, give me your hands.”

  I walked over to him and gingerly offered him my hands. Rumis squeezed them.

  The world around me went out.

  I found myself in pitch-black outer space. I could barely make out the familiar constellations. Planet Earth hovered below.

  A list of skills was scrolling in front of me: Map Making, Observation Skills, Linguistics, Perception, Lability, Charisma, Logic. Interestingly, my Insight wasn’t on the list. I’d already gathered that it was a very rare skill.

  Each of them was clickable. I started pressing the ones closest to me.

  Map Making (Intellect). The ability to memorize the locations the Player has been to in order to preserve them in his or her mind in the shape of maps. For a certain fee, maps can be put onto pieces of parchment or transferred to Seekers.

  Cost: 100 grams

  Linguistics (Intellect). The ability to learn the languages of other worlds. For a certain fee, messages in other languages can be put onto various items.

  Cost: 100 grams

  Lability (Agility). The ability to improve the body’s natural maneuverability as well as the speed of stimulation cycles in nervous and muscular tissues.

  Cost: 300 grams

  Charisma (Elocution). The ability to endear oneself to both Players and commoners (excluding the cases when one’s reputation clashes with both sides).

  Cost: 500 grams

  According to my earlier mental calculations, I had about 155 grams of dust to spare. The rest I’d have to spend on our travel fees and Harph’s advance. So I wasn’t in a position to splurge. I wanted to buy some spells, too. Which meant I’d have to choose between
Map Making and Linguistics. Probably, the latter.

  The moment I thought that, I was dumped back into our reality. There I was again, standing in front of Rumis in his pulpit.

  “So you’ve chosen Linguistics, then?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Don’t just stand on parade. Give me the dust.”

  Of course. I reached into my bag and produced a big handful of the precious substance. Exactly a hundred grams; I’d measured it bang on.

  I wasn’t even surprised when the dust in Rumis’ hands began to transform into a large crystal. The shop owner kneaded it in his hands, adding new grains of dust, until it turned bright yellow and began to glitter.

  I also noticed that some of the dust escaped the process as Rumis deftly dispensed with it, secreting it in his invisible inventory.

  “Take it.”

  Gingerly I accepted the crystal. Holding my breath, I watched it falling apart in my hands until there was nothing left of it.

  A new skill appeared in my interface:

  Linguistics (Intellect). Your current Intellect level allows you to select up to ten of the most common languages within the semiotic system of one particular race.

  The list of racial semiotic systems you have come into contact with:

  Humans

  Archali

  Korls

  Beastmen

  Kabirids

  Purgatorians

  Please select the semiotic system you would like to study.

  As I didn’t even know which race I should be friends with, I hesitated between the Korls and the Archali. Then I reconsidered. Whatever my choice, I was temporarily bound to Cesspit anyway. Apart from an occasional raid, humanity was my family at the moment.

  The semiotic system selected: Humans

  Languages available:

  Chinese

  Spanish

  English

  Arabic

  Hindi

  Bengali

  Portuguese

  German

  Japanese

  Lahnda

  The sheer value of this gift made my head spin. For a measly 1150 bucks, I could instantly learn ten of the most popular languages on Earth. No registration needed, no jumping through hoops. Online language schools, eat your hearts out. Naturally, being Traug’s friend had played a big part in it: I wouldn’t be so sure that Rumis was quite so accommodating to his less frequent customers.

  “Anything else?” he asked.

  “I need some spells.”

  “Upstairs,” he pointed over to the staircase.

  Fine. I didn’t mind. I didn’t expect Rumis to follow me, though. I thought I’d be served by somebody else. And once I’d climbed to the second floor, I was even more surprised.

  The room was huge and devoid of any furniture, if you didn’t count the few scruffy mannequins and a row of battered paper targets on the walls. An identical pulpit rose at the room’s center. No, not identical: this one was much shabbier.

  “I’m warning you straight away: once you’ve bought it, you can’t use it more than three times. If you break a window or pull down a wall, you’ll have to pay for it separately.”

  “All right, then,” I nodded, not really understanding what he was on about.

  “Give me your hands.”

  This time, rather than in the icy void of outer space, we found ourselves standing on a picturesque river bank: green grass, cows grazing in the distance, a soft breeze playing with my hair. Shit. It was all so real.

  Still, I had no time to take it all in. I needed to select some spells. Here, they were grouped by skill:

  Illusions: Search, Courage, Sharp Eye, Valor

  Transformation: Flesh of Stone, Balance

  Sorcery: Battle Knife, Raising the Dead

  It took me some time to realize that the actual list of spells was huge, and these few were only the active ones available to me. It probably had something to do with a respective skill’s level. Once I’d sufficiently leveled up Sorcery, there’d be more spells available.

  I checked a couple of those.

  Healing of Minor Wounds (Regeneration). For the Player’s personal use only. Cost of use: 20 pt. mana. Cost of learning the spell: 30 grams.

  Courage (Illusions). Adds 30 pt. to both Health and Vigor. For the Player’s personal use only. Cost of use: 50 pt. mana. Duration: 60 sec. Cost of learning the spell: 60 grams.

  Okay. What about attack spells?

  Destruction: Feeble Flame, Ice Arrow, Electric Arc, Depletion, Combustion.

  The stats of the first three were absolutely identical, the only difference being that the first one burned your target, the second one froze it solid and the third one, gave it an electric shock. The fourth one depleted your target of its Vigor on contact — it sounded awesome but was too expensive both to use and to buy.

  Now the last spell was quite interesting.

  Combustion (Destruction). Sets your target on fire, dealing it 4 pt. damage per second. Cost of Use: 40 pt. mana. Duration: 60 sec. Cost of learning the spell: 150 grams.

  Compared to it, regular Fire was much more modest.

  Fire (Destruction). Creates a fireball which deals 40 pt. of one-time damage. Cost of use: 45 pt. mana. Cost of learning the spell: 30 grams.

  That didn’t make sense. Judging by this, Combustion was a much better option. Not the quickest way of cracking your opponent but much more effective. The problem was, I could only afford one of the simplest Destruction spells. I had to choose between the first three.

  I gave it some thought. Fire was a bit trite. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone here had protection against it. Ice... not too special, either. But as for electricity... what is it they say — waste not, want not?

  I selected Electric Arc.

  I found myself back in the house. Once again Rumis proffered me an expectant hand.

  There, take it, you greedy bastard.

  A few moments later, I took a new crystal from him which immediately disintegrated in my hands. To my delight, I was now the proud owner of three new spells.

  “Try to aim at the mannequin,” Rumis said ruefully. “No more than three attempts, remember.”

  I didn’t have any more mana, anyway. And even that was thanks to my trench coat. Never mind. Let’s do it. Time to check what this amazing spell could do.

  I extended my hand with the palm facing the mannequin. My hand instantly heated up, an irregular white arc leaping from it over to the mannequin. The air quivered. A black dot appeared on the wooden surface of the statue at the point of impact.

  Immediately I got myself commended. Not by Rumis, no. By the Game.

  Your Destruction skill has increased to level 1.

  Not bothering to read the whole message, I cast the spell again. Another black dot appeared on the mannequin which this time made it sway.

  I cast a doleful look at my remaining mana. Just over a third left. I absolutely needed to level up Intellect, by hook or by crook.

  I cast the spell one last time.

  Your Destruction skill has increased to level 2.

  “It’s a good job you didn’t take Fire,” Rumis said happily, putting away the fire extinguisher he’d produced from under the pulpit. “I’m sick and tired of those pyromaniacs! Never mind. Come back when you level up the skill to 10. I’ll either modify this spell for you or sell you a new one.”

  He put on a poker face, making it apparent that if I was done, I could clear off. I’d already noticed that the Purgs were not the friendliest of races. On the other hand, there was no telling what would have become of me had I been hunted by both the Archali and the Kabirids.

  Outside, nothing had changed. I glanced at my phone. They must have had some powerful magic jammer in the Community because here my phone could only serve as a gentrified pocket watch. I still had some time before our RV. I could, theoretically, go and check the other exit to the town. But honestly, I just didn’t feel like it. So instead, I ambled back to the Syndicate.
>
  Surprisingly, a third of all the tables were already taken. Don’t these people ever sleep? I stared curiously at the cyborg, studying the tangle of tubes and all the linkage and printed circuits fused with human flesh. As far as I’d gathered, this was a creature from one of the more advanced central worlds. How on earth had he turned up here?