I tried to keep my response honest, but still formal. I knew nothing of the man and this being a strictly professional conversation, I wanted to respond with that in mind. This might very well be a test to see how naive I was as a businessperson. I was definitely wet behind the ears when it came to Apocosmos business—the Apocosmos in general for that matter—but I was determined not to let this show.
I heard Louie howl as I turned on the coffee mixer.
“Can you possibly be any louder?” he shouted from the bathroom and I heard the door shut behind him.
“Sorry!” I shouted and for the first time felt how my parents probably felt in my teenage years when hiding behind closed doors was one of my favorite pastimes.
The notification light on the tablet was blinking again so I picked it up right after I put a straw into my masterpiece of a coffee. Upon reading the message, I almost dropped my glass.
If you didn’t want to meet at your place, you should have made your address private, son.
See you in less than an hour.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I shouted.
My address has been set to public all this time?
“Alex?” Louie shouted from inside the bathroom and then started barking loudly. “What’s wrong? Open the door!”
I tapped on my settings and there it was. Staring at me as if this was the first account I had ever made on any platform. My address and name were set to public.
“Alex, open the door now!” Louie shouted even louder, and I heard a thump come from the bathroom.
He was probably trying to break down the door.
“It’s fine!” I shouted back and rushed to open the door. “I’m coming buddy.”
Before I was able to put my hand on the door handle, another thump shook the door. Before Louie was able to charge at the door for the third time, I opened it and fell to my knees. He came running to my lap, looking around to see what all the commotion was about. His heart was beating rapidly, his teeth were bared, and he was breathing shallowly.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I said, rubbing his chest and trying to calm him down.
“Damn it, Alex!” Louie said, his voice colored with a mix of anger and relief. “I was about to blast the door down because I couldn’t reach the handle. What happened?”
“I found a level 3 recipe for arrows—”
“Why would you—”
“I’m going to source steel from our world, but I need a crafter,” I continued, not giving him the chance to voice any further questions. “I contacted one and he’s on his way here now because I stupidly left our address public.”
“Should we be worried?”
“I don’t know, buddy. He’s at least level 43.”
“Oh. So we can’t even ask for Leo’s help. Perhaps we can ask for help from Leo’s family?”
“And he’s a dwarf,” I added, while I thought about asking for help from the DiFiores.
“A dwarf?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Like Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur?”
“Is this really the time for jokes, man?”
“First of all, I’m no man. I’m a dog. And second, isn’t crafting what dwarfs do best? And aren’t they honorable and all?”
“Well, I don’t want to make any assumptions,” I said half-jokingly, a bit relieved that Louie didn’t seem to be feeling threatened by the situation. “He has a lot of awful reviews from some years ago.”
“You mean that his latest reviews are good?”
“Yes. Five stars every time, for quite a few months now. But his old reviews still drag his average down.”
“Well then, I don’t see a reason to worry about it. He sounds like a professional. But perhaps you should make the apartment a bit more presentable for a business meeting?”
“Like, clean it?”
“I don’t know, man. I’m just a dog,” he said and jumped up on the couch again. “Oh, and didn’t you say you weren’t going to do anything to get back at your competitor?”
“Well I’m not taking over the bone arrow market,” I said in my defense.
“No. You’re trying to take over the E, D, and C-grade arrow markets.”
“Will you help me clean then?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“Please give me the device. I need to do something else first,” he said and pointed at the DEM tablet. “And I’ll need some kind of allowance.”
“Allowance?” I asked, surprised, as I started gathering empty cans of energy drink from the living room table. “What do you need money for?”
“I have my needs as well, Alex,” he said and he dropped his eyes to the tablet’s screen as soon as I placed it in front of him. “We can talk about the amount later tonight after I’ve done my research.”
“Your research on the average corgi salary?” I teased as I picked up a shirt from the floor.
He didn’t reply to me verbally but he did swing his tail softly a couple of times, a sign that he’d enjoyed my jest.
I prepared the apartment as best I could, considering the limited time I had. This mostly meant pushing everything into the spacious bedroom, which hadn’t been used for more than three years, and shutting the door. Having nothing more to do while Louie browsed on the DEM tablet, I started to get anxious about letting a stranger into our apartment. But seeing Louie’s tail wagging lazily as he tapped away on the tablet helped to lessen it somewhat.
He wasn’t looking at me and I couldn’t resist pulling his fluffy tail while he was concentrating. I grabbed the tip and pulled it softly, more so to surprise him than hurt him. He turned around immediately, his eyes focused on my hands, growling playfully.
“I’m gonna get you!” I said, eager to play with him the way we had done so many times before.
Our little chase was interrupted before it even began by a knock on the door. Not the doorbell from downstairs, but a knock on the apartment door. Louie, who still hadn’t shed all of his old habits, immediately started barking, pausing only to jump down onto the floor and run to the door. I moved behind him and put my hand on the handle, my heart beating faster in my chest.
Should I just not reply? No, it’s too late now.
The knocking on the door resumed and Louie’s barking intensified. There was no turning back now. I pulled the door open and was greeted by the toughest son of a bitch I had ever seen.
“Took yer fuckin time, didn’t ye?”
10
Diggy diggy hole
The man was all I had imagined dwarfs being like and more. He had a heavy Scottish accent and was significantly shorter than me but extremely sturdy. Despite the years I’d spent in the gym, the widest part of my biceps was still probably only half as thick as his wrists.
I stepped to the side as he stepped forward, barely fitting through the doorframe while walking straight. Worried that someone else might have seen him, I hastily closed the door behind him. He definitely was a sight to see.
His head was completely shaven apart from a long fire-red Mohawk that bounced with every step he took. His beard was of the same color, braided and separated into strands by metal rings that clinked all the way down to his waist. What looked awfully off-putting about his face, apart from his unnerving, piercing blue eyes, was the complete absence of mustache. You can never think about how weird beards look without the mustache until you see it.
I tried to take my eyes off his facial hair and awkwardly stretched my hand out toward the sofa to offer him a seat. But in reality, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to sit, or even touch any of my furniture. His pants were covered in smudges and his shirt, if you could call it a shirt with that many holes, would do little to prevent his bare skin from rubbing all over my sofa. Taking a quick glance at his impossibly thick fingers confirmed my suspicions that his fingernails were as black as a car mechanic’s at the end of their shift.
“Ye gonna sit, lad?” the man asked and I realized I was just standing in the middle of the room, looking at hi
m.
It was the first time I’d ever seen a dwarf and also the first time I’d ever seen a person so impossibly muscular and frightening. His arms, back, and head were full of deep scars and burns, the sign of a man who had seen labor and battle. I tried to suppress my awe and fear and remembered the basics of hospitality.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I offered.
“Aye, ye got any Fireoak whiskey?”
“No, sorry.”
“Lagavulin?” he asked again.
“No, I meant I don’t have any whiskey.”
“Water will do then,” he said and cracked a very discomforting smile. “Man’s gotta hydrate.”
“Sure,” I replied and headed into the kitchen.
I grabbed a water jug I had forgotten even existed from the top shelf, filled it up with water, and brought it back to the man along with a glass. As soon as the glass touched the table in front of him, he used two fingers to grab the jug as if it was a teacup and poured some water into the glass.
Apparently, this water in the glass was for me, since he proceeded to down the rest of it directly from the jug, droplets of water slipping from his completely shaven upper lip down into his rich beard. This, however, gave me the chance to examine him better.
Name: Rory Battleforge
Race: Dwarf
Class: Mastersmith
Level: 43
The only additional information I could gather was that he was level 43, though I had no idea if his class had been upgraded or not. You didn’t need to change your class to keep leveling, so they might well have skipped the level 40 class change quest. They would unlock new skills or better versions of existing ones, which was something I couldn’t see, and thus, with my limited knowledge of class trees, I didn’t know if Mastersmith was a level 40 evolution of a class.
“So, are ye a Celt?” he said and offered a wide smile.
“Not exactly,” I replied as I took a seat on an armchair at the other end of the room. “My father’s Greek but I got my mother’s last name. She was born here but her parents were Scots, so I guess they were Gaels.”
“Greek, huh? Old bastards. But then we’re made of the same material from yer mother’s side. Ye don’t mind if I get me smoke on, do ye?”
Without really waiting for an answer, he produced a long thin pipe, similar to the one used by Gandalf, from one of his pockets. At first, I was surprised at how he was able to fit the long piece of wood in such a shallow pocket, but then I guessed I should expect a lot of magical gear on a smith of his level.
Without having lit any sort of fire on the pipe’s bowl, he inhaled deeply and blew out a thick purple cloud in the rough shape of a pickaxe. The smoke carried a sweet lavender aroma as it filled the room and had Louie coming between us, smelling the air.
“Ye got a fine regal dog here,” he said and patted Louie’s furry butt with a couple of his fingers. “They might be known for being the queen’s favorite pups, but did ye know that the tradition of having corgi companions dates way back to the Celtic kings? As a matter of fact, the almighty Brennus still has corgis.”
“Wasn’t Brennus a Gael?” I asked, trying to remember some of the lore I’d once come across while wandering down one of the bottomless, obscure, after-midnight web rabbit-holes.
“Gaul, Celt,” he said and waved his hand dismissively. “Use whatever word ye want. He’s me people and used to be a friend.”
“What do you mean used to be a friend?” I asked, confused.
“We had… an argument,” the dwarf replied reluctantly, “and haven’t spoken in centuries.”
“No, sorry. That’s not what I meant. Didn’t Brennus live and die two and a half millenia ago?”
“Boy, ye must be really new in the Apocosmos if ye really think the truth that’s written in the Cosmos is what actually happened.”
“I wouldn’t call myself new,” I said, trying to cover up my misstep. “I just haven’t heard his story.”
“Well then, ye’re definitely new to doing business with dwarfs at least. I asked ye a personal question and ye didn’t do the same until much later. And with one that was too personal. I offered ye knowledge on something ye didn’t know, but ye kept asking questions instead of returning the favor.”
“It is quite obvious,” Louie took his turn in saying now.
“Oh, ye’re a companion?” the dwarf said and paused to examine Louie anew. “A spellcaster too. Quite an interesting duo, aren’t ye?”
“Yes, we are,” I said, slightly frustrated my cover had been blown and that I’d have to enter negotiations at a disadvantage. “But we’re here to do business.”
“Right. What is it ye want to talk about, Alexander?”
“You’re a long way from home,” I began saying and his face immediately darkened. “Also, your recent reviews are great, but your average is still quite low, and older reviews…”
“That’s none of yer concern, human,” he said, cutting my prepared argument in half. “Ye’ve got more than enough information to know the kind of work I do. If not knowing about me past is gonna be a problem, I’ll take me leave on the ready.”
“No, it won’t,” I said after a moment of intense staring and consideration. “However, I need to know you’ll deliver consistently and reliably.”
“It might not mean much to ye, or to anyone anymore for that matter, but the Battleforge name is one built on hard work and exquisite results. That, I can promise.”
“Before we talk money,” I said, trying to look as cool and professional as I could, considering I was talking to a fucking dwarf smith. “I need to know I can trust you to keep my name a secret. I’m going to be selling the items you craft for me and I’ll give you reviews for every batch, but I’ll do it anonymously. I don’t want anyone to know that you’re crafting for me.”
“Goes without saying,” he said and nodded. “Nobody will ever know I was here today, even if we don’t come into terms. Which brings me to what I want. Regardless of what ye want me to craft, I’m not interested in setting up shop at a place unless there’s regular income and ye can guarantee the jobs will keep coming.”
“To be honest with you,” I said, thinking that the best way to succeed was by coming clean, “it all depends on what you charge. I’ve found a way to dominate a consumables market—”
“Consumables?” the dwarf asked, suddenly interested.
“I have nailed down the sourcing of my materials,” I continued, disregarding his attempt to get more information on what I wanted him to craft for now, “and I’m considering my options on crafting. If I select the offer you present, we can start with a higher price per batch but a limited quota per month. Once I see that I can scale it, we will renegotiate the batch price and the minimum quota, hopefully reaching close to your capacity.”
“That sounds good and all,” he said, “but I don’t think you really have much space for negotiation, do ye?”
He raised his bushy right eyebrow and his lip crooked with a smile. He had me cornered and he knew it.
“Selecting me from all the available crafters,” he continued, “especially considering how much ye care about my average rating. There is no one else in the vicinity that can craft the recipe ye want, right? Ye said consumables market, which means high quantities and so ye’re looking for someone local. Something tells me ye ran into a wall while searching and were forced to pick me.”
I never was one to enjoy poker. It was a game of chance, spiced up with trash-talking and mind games. A game where the most intelligent rarely won against the most cunning, but I could see its appeal. This was the most crucial moment of our whole conversation. The single beat that would set the tone for all of our future business proceedings and I would have been so much better at it if I had troubled myself with playing poker more often. Thankfully, my lack of a poker-face was compensated for by my trustworthy, saving-the-day talking corgi.
“You’re one of the closest ones we found on our list, geograp
hically speaking,” Louie said, a bluff worthy of him taking a seat on one of those painting of dogs playing poker. “But when we’re talking about quantities, finding someone in a different state, or even a different country, isn’t a problem. Large shipments minimize the costs per batch.”
I doubted Louie knew that for a fact since he hadn’t seen any of the figures I had researched, but his bluff was outstanding. It was a pretty common practice to group large shipments together, even in the Cosmos, in order to bring costs down. This is what had made sweatshops possible in the first place. That and the insatiable greed of humans. However, knowing the quantities I would like crafted according to my available cash, it couldn’t be further from the truth in this case. But Rory, as experienced a crafter as he was, didn’t know that.
“That may be so,” the large dwarf replied, his face indicating that he was about to call Louie’s bluff, “but I’ll take me chances. This is what I want.”
He leaned forward, the couch creaking under the stress of his large body.
“I will put in the work,” he continued, “and make sure the finished products are delivered to the DEM warehouse that will distribute them to clients, no matter how many or how heavy they are. But I want fifty percent of the net profit.”
“That’s crazy!” I erupted at his incredulous proposal. “I’ve done all the groundwork. I did the research. I’ll source the materials. I’ll pay you for your work. And you still want to split the profit?”
Despite the dwarf being barely my height even when he stood up and I was still sitting, the way he moved made me sit back in fear in my armchair.
“I’m going to forgive ye for insulting me, human,” he said and pointed his thick index finger at me. “Because ye’re my kin on your mother’s side, and because ye’ve obviously never dealt with a dwarf before.”
He took a deep breath and stroked his beard, the rings on each of his braids clinking against each other. I only noticed the vein popping on his forehead just before it receded as he sat back down on the couch.
Berserker: A LitRPG Urban Fantasy Adventure (Apocosmos Book 1) Page 15
