by D. J. Bodden
I booked down the alley behind me as fast as I could and jinked left at the first cross-alley. I didn’t look behind me. Looking behind you was for people who wanted to be billed as “Dead Body #3” in a horror movie.
A right, then another left. No patrols. Yesterday, I couldn’t spit without it landing on an officer of the law or a legionary, and now there was no one.
I was thinking of checking my map when Garrett came out of a side street ahead of me. I took the first and only right. Mog’s hand swiped the air behind me. I almost stumbled, recovered, felt awesome, and then saw they’d herded me into a dead end.
I turned around and shouted, “Help!”
Keen-Sight kicked in again just long enough for me to see Garrett’s dagger spinning past my face. It was a simple, well-weighted throwing knife with no guard, the kind a professional knife thrower might favor. The next one wouldn’t miss.
Time resumed. Garrett drew another knife, and his Risi friend moved forward in a wrestler’s stance. “Okay, okay, wait!” I said.
“Nothing ’ersonal, uajaah. Wrong ’lace, wrong time.”
I didn’t know what “uajaah” meant, but it sounded like Risi for Dead Body #3. “You don’t want to do this,” I said, using a suggestion.
The Imperial and the Risi hesitated.
“Why?” Garrett said.
I started talking. I could use Suggestion once every thirty seconds or so. The more I got them to listen, the more potent it would become. “You want me dead, right? Why, because I’m a witness? Yeah, that’s got to be why, and I get that. Far from me to get between you and the rest of your lives, but killing me won’t get you out of trouble. Did you know who you were attacking, yesterday? That was Provus Considia, the Griffin of New Viridia’s bastard son. The whole Empire wants you dead.”
The Risi looked at his Imperial friend. “’Arrett?”
“All the more reason to kill you and get out of town,” Garrett said, stepping forward with his knifepoint dancing.
“But you can’t, can you? The best time to get out was right after the attempt, when Provus hadn’t gotten back to his people. He’s a praetorian, right? Lots of connections, on top of being related to the biggest, baddest general in the Empire. You’ll never make it past the gates, not without money, and I was just about to go cash in on his armor. You remember his armor, right? Rare gear, worth a couple gold at least. If you kill me, I can’t get paid, and you can’t get paid. I’m worth more to you alive.”
Garrett stopped. He looked at his companion for support. The Risi shrugged. “Fine,” Garrett said, slipping his throwing knife into a sheath on his thigh. “But Mog’s going to walk with you, and if you draw attention to us or call the watch, he’ll crush your head like a melon.”
I swallowed. I’d never spent much time crushing melons, but I believed Mog could do it. I’d foolishly set the pain feedback in V.G.O. to as realistic as possible, so getting my head crushed was really going to hurt. “You’ll let me go once you have the money, right?”
“Sure,” Garrett said. The corner of his mouth twitched. A smirk. A freaking smirk. Like I wouldn’t see that, you asshole. Things were looking grim for me, and probably for Titus too if they were that concerned about witnesses.
Mog’s hand fell on my neck. I could feel the restrained tension that would snap my spine at any moment.
“For what it’s worth,” Sandra said, “your synchronization is just about perfect right now.”
Super, I thought. I’ll make a note to drop all new players into life-threatening situations, right after I survive my own.
TITUS WAITED WITH A familiar flutter in his chest, a tingle in his fingers, a spring in his step as paced in front of his store. How long had it been? Three years? Longer? He had the slight dryness of the mouth and nervous excitement he associated with some of the best, worst times of his life.
The praetorians Gaius had sent to help were stealthed into the shadows of the plaza. They were kitted out as hastati, light-armored skirmishers with pila—six-foot-long throwing spears—and oval leather shields for fast blocking. Titus didn’t think it would come to that; Alan had seemed like a good sort, smart but naive. It would be a simple matter to talk him into a meeting. The only crack in that picture was the predatory smile he’d flashed when he’d told Titus about selling the knife, but Felix was an ass and Titus would have been proud of that sale, too.
Titus put a lot of stock in his ability to read people, but he was a professional, so he’d dusted off his much-reduced assortment of gadgets and concealed weapons, just in case things went sideways.
It was a little past seven in the morning when Alan emerged from a side street with the sun peeking over the rooftops behind him. Titus saw two shapes with him, a slender human and a Risi who appeared to be gripping Alan by the neck.
Titus smiled. His heart beat faster. Was this an attempt at robbery or a hostage situation? “Alan! Sorry for the short notice. Are these friends of yours?”
“Hi, Titus! I just need the money from the sale, and my two friends will go. Do you have it on you?”
“I do!” Titus fumbled with the pouch at his hip. He could barely keep the smile from his face. Trading was all well and good, but it had been years since he’d felt this alive.
When the trio was clear of the alley, the old salesman straightened, brought his fingers to his lips, and blew.
TITUS LOOKED AT US with an expression I can only describe as childish glee and whistled. It was a loud, high-pitched note that echoed off the buildings in the deserted square. Or not deserted. Two fully armed and armored legionaries stepped out of their hiding places and fell in at our sides, herding me, Garrett, and Mog forward. The legionaries were carrying oval leather shields and metal spears with long metal necks and a small sharp tip with no barbs. I was pretty sure those were meant to be thrown; I just needed to get out of the way.
“’Arrett! What do we do?” Mog said. He had me up on my tippy-toes, and I was seeing stars dart across my eyes.
Garrett looked over his shoulder, his eyes flat, his mouth twisted into a snarl.
I grinned. “No, wait! I’ll save you the trouble. He’s going to tell you to drop me, Mog!” I shouted. My Spirit dropped by 100 points and Mog’s hand went slack.
Then things got crazy. A pilum—one of the throwing spears—sprouted from Mog’s left shoulder and punched out of his back. The Risi roared, which is a really hard thing to do with a punctured lung. Garrett was throwing knife after knife at Titus, and Titus actually dodged two, then batted one from the air with his cane. Mog pulled the spear out and charged the legionary to the right. The soldier to my left put a second spear through Mog’s calf, slowing him down.
There was an explosion of gray smoke between Titus and Garrett that washed over all of us, making me cough as I tried to get clear, and somewhere in all that mess Garrett was screaming, “Mog! Kill that double-crossing shitheap! Kill him, kill him, kill him!”
There was a gust of wind, and the smoke cleared. Garrett had two daggers drawn and was bleeding from a cut over his eye. Titus had disappeared. One of the legionaries was down, unconscious, and Mog had his back to me with his spear raised to finish the man off.
I acted without thinking. I grabbed the spear that was still stuck in Mog’s calf and yanked. Mog howled, turned, and his leg collapsed under him. I just raised the spear because I was scared and he fell onto it. Then the second legionary knocked me aside and started laying into the Risi with both spear and shield.
“Mog!” Garrett yelled. He looked at me, murder and grief in his eyes, and cocked his arm back to throw. Then Titus was there. He’d been right behind Garrett all along, hiding in his shadow. He whirled under the thug’s raised arm, drew a short, slender blade that was hidden in his cane, and slid it up into Garrett’s brain from under his chin.
GARRETT SAW THE THIN golden blade slide back out and smiled as he fell. He’d gotten to meet a Gentleman in New Viridia after all.
“HOLY CRAP, ALAN,” SANDRA
said.
“Yeah,” I said. I had more blood on me—Risi this time. I wondered if Horace would be able to tell the difference of if he’d been bullshitting me about the Dokkalfar.
One of the legionaries was still unconscious. The other had Mog seated against a wall, spear poised to stab. “I’ve got this one alive, sir!”
The gray Risi was bleeding from several wounds, and I doubted he’d last much longer without healing. His breath came in wheezes and gasps. Mog caught my eye and smiled. “Not a uajaah a’ter all, eh? Good ’or you, ’uman. Do us a ’avor and ’inish the job.” There was no resentment in his voice. His face looked friendly, aside from the creepy gray skin and red eyes bit. I think I might have liked him, under other circumstances.
A squad of legionaries ran into the square, from the direction of the praetorian barracks.
“He lives long enough to talk,” Titus said. “Force the potion down his throat if you have to.”
“Yes, sir,” the legionary said.
“Alan? Come to the shop. We need to talk.”
SANDRA TOOK THE HEADSET off and looked at Jeff. “Do we have a lot of footage like that?”
Jeff scrunched his nose up. “Not really? He foiled an assassination attempt yesterday, but he mostly got his ass kicked.”
Sandra nodded to herself. This was good. It might be enough. If she could convince Alan to stick himself out there a bit more, it could be great.
“Umm... Ms. Bullard? Could I have my headset back?” Jeff asked.
“No. Get a second set and plug in. We’re going to stick with this for a while.”
SIXTEEN
“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?” Titus asked me, closing the door behind us.
I sighed. “Remember I told you I stopped a noble from being murdered?”
“Yes, I do,” Titus said, leaning his cane against the counter.
“Those were the two thugs who got away.”
“Ah.”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t mention the nobleman in question was Provus Considia, though.”
I licked my lips. “No, I didn’t. You didn’t mention you were bringing legionaries to our meeting.”
“But aren’t you glad I did?”
“I’m very glad.”
“Good. Because there’s someone who very much wants to meet you.”
“Is this the kind of meeting that involves thumbscrews and hot pokers, or the kind of meeting that involves medals and beer?”
“What are thumbscrews?” Titus asked.
“I think I’d rather not share that information unless it’s over medals and beer.”
Titus chuckled. “Well, I do know what a hot poker is. Did you have anything to do with the attempt on Provus’s life?”
“No.”
“Not even some kind of mad scheme to gain the Griffin’s favor by saving his son?”
“Is that like an open secret or casual conversation?”
“The scheme?”
“The fact that he screwed his sister.”
“Stepsister, and no, I wouldn’t recommend ever mentioning it to either of them. So you’re just an innocent bystander who did the right thing?”
“Pretty much.”
“Let’s go get medals and beer, then. But first, we need to do something about those clothes.”
TITUS RUMMAGED AROUND the back of his shop and found me a blue tunic and a pair of dark green pants that would fit. It wasn’t anything I’d have worn in the real world, but people wear all kinds of stupid looking mismatched clothes and accessories in video games.
He also gave me a pair of simple sandals and taught me how to lace them. He wanted me to look presentable before meeting the general. I felt like I was a kid going to school for the first time. He charged me two silver for the lot, which he deducted from the ten golds he gave me for the armor. I now had ten golds, six silvers, and nine coppers to my name, so I was rolling in it. I wondered what his share of the sale had been.
“Is there somewhere I can change?” I asked.
“Let’s get you cleaned up first,” he said. “I’m not sure where you’ve been living all these years, but most of us prefer to bathe before changing into clean clothes.”
I blushed and pulled up my status effects.
<<<>>>
Current Debuffs
Unwashed (Level 3): Goods and services cost 20% more; Merchant-craft skills reduced by (3) levels; some vendors may refuse you service.
<<<>>>
“Yeah, actually, a shower would be great,” I told Titus.
He gave me a funny look, then said, “Take your clothes and follow me.”
We left the store. The legionary who’d been unconscious was on his feet, taking a moment to gather his wits while his partner stood by. The newly arrived squad of legionaries were taking Mog away in chains. The gray Risi turned his head to look at me, his eyes pleading.
“What will happen to him?” I asked.
“He’ll be questioned, probably tortured, and then executed,” Titus said.
“Even if he cooperates?”
“He’s going to cooperate whether he wants to or not,” Titus said, giving me a bemused grin. “You do remember he was going to kill you?”
“And he apologized for that. I got the feeling Mog was just doing what he was told.”
Titus shrugged. “It’s a nice thought. I’d stay focused on the meeting with the general, though. That Risi is an albino. Their own people shun them. They usually don’t survive to adulthood.”
I took one last look at Mog. I understood the reasoning, but it didn’t sit well with me.
Titus led me a few blocks away to a large, single-story building with two entrances. Men were walking into the larger entrance on the left, and women went into the smaller wing on the right.
“Welcome to the baths,” Titus said.
We went into the men’s section. A slave at the door collected the one copper entry price. The first room was a vestibule with cubbies set into the wall for storing clothes or personal belongings. “Should I leave my things here?” I asked.
“Gods, no,” Titus said. “You’ll be robbed blind. Grab a towel and put the rest into your inventory.”
I did as instructed.
I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about what happened next. There were three rooms, one that was kind of like a lukewarm sauna, a hot bath, and then back out through the sauna to a cold plunge. We lathered up with scented oil, scraped the excess off with a stone spatula, and scrubbed ourselves clean in the steaming hot water.
And if you’re wondering if V.G.O. is one of those idealized worlds with airbrushed, fit bodies everywhere, it is not. There were man boobs, love handles, guts and paunches, bald spots and hairy spots, more cracks than the San Andreas fault line, and dings and dongs of all ages, shapes, and sizes. I saw more wrinkled ball sacs than I’d ever had the pleasure of trying not to look at, and I did my best not to laugh in the cold plunge where we lost the last of the grime and all of our dignity.
“That’s better,” Titus said, putting his clothes back on as if there had been nothing strange about the last half hour.
“Uh huh,” I said, equipping my new clothes. It was nice to feel clean.
“It was certainly educational,” Sandra said in my ear, and I just about died.
“Nice one, bro,” Jeff said.
I equipped the sandals, lacing them up the way Titus had shown me, my face hotter than it had been inside the baths.
<<<>>>
Quest Update: Productive Citizen
You managed to find some decent clothes! In return, as your reward, you have received 500 XP and the satisfaction of not looking like a bum. You have also been awarded 1 renown—in-world fame—for completing this quest. Greater renown elevates you within the ranks of Eldgard and can affect merchant prices when selling or buying.
<<<>>>
I felt like I’d been given a golf clap by the quest system. But hey, XP is XP, and I was only 170 points from lev
eling up again.
From there we headed toward the Heights.
IT FELT LIKE A LIFETIME since I’d landed in the Heights in my dirty rags and gotten escorted off by Gork and his partner. It had seemed nice, then. Now, after living in the poor quarter for close to a day, the Heights looked scandalous in comparison, or maybe I’d only seen the edge of them. We emerged from the passageway through the third curtain wall and the whole world changed.
The streets weren’t just free of garbage, they’d been cleaned, and the paving was made of larger, regular blocks of granite. Buildings were solid stone was well, either perfectly square, tightly fitted blocks or carved semiprecious stone, with embellishments at every level and ornamental railings on the wide balconies. Everything was brighter, cleaner, and more expensive. It made my modest upgrade in clothing seem like a joke.
And the people! About thirty percent of the people we met were Imperials sporting crisp white tunics. The men wore expensive togas of varying fabrics, colors, and lengths, adorned with patterns and tassels at the ends, and either had blank tunics, a pair of thin red stripes like Provus had worn, or a thick vertical band with one stripe on either side. Some younger women wore simple white tunics and supplemented these with ribbons, pins, and arm bracelets. All the women over their mid-twenties wore stolas, a covering they wore around their shoulders or sometimes covering their heads and faces. These were fastened with clips and ribbons, and it seemed like the brighter the colors and more numerous the pleats and folds, the more important the wearer. This all fed into a constantly changing pecking order, with a corresponding series of salutes, gestures, and slights I would have been fascinated to map out and study if we weren’t just passing through.
Titus and I were beneath notice in all of this, which was just as well because I might have insulted someone by mistake.
