by John L. Monk
BINDING UPDATE: Crimson Sigil Stronghold, town of Brighton
“You say you needed shoes?” Gunther said.
I looked at him hopefully. “And money.”
Gunther reached in a bag and pulled out a pair of sandals. “Best I got, and yeah I know it’s raining. Nothing special. Plus 10 strength, plus 10 magic resistance… Here.”
He tossed them to me and I put them on.
“Comfortable,” I said.
Gunther snorted. “Wore them my first ten levels. I can only spare 30 gold. Guild fees are too damned high, and if you complain they kick you out. Got a purse?”
I shook my head.
“Oh yeah, I forgot you were looted. Here. Don’t spend it all in one place.”
He handed me the coins and I slipped them in my pants pocket.
“Good luck,” he said. “And remember—no skulking around inside. Everything valuable’s locked up secure and warded six ways from Sunday.”
I shook his hand. “And guarded by the fearsome Gunther.”
“Grrr,” he said, smiling the first time since I’d met him.
“Always leave them smiling,” I said, strolling comfortably through town in my brand-new used sandals.
The Briny Scalawag was a tavern, not an inn, but there was a cheap, player-owned place just down the road that had been there forever called Motel 86. For 7 gold a night, I could have a pocket instance upstairs all to myself, though without a window. If I wanted a window, the lucid night manager said, it was 20 gold. Out of necessity, I chose the cheaper and set myself to sleep for ten hours. When I got up, I went to the Briny Scalawag and looked around. Still no Zor or Sarah, so I headed to the warehouse district and flagged down a lucid laborer in dirty dungarees.
“Heya, fella,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to know if Ezinsio’s caravan’s arrived yet, would you?”
The man eyed me up and down with an offended air. “What, like we all know each other?”
I started to apologize and he broke out laughing. “Got ya! You should see your face. But to answer yer question, nah, it ain’t been in yet. Try back later this afternoon.”
“I’ll do that.”
The man nodded and kept going.
With time to kill, I found a shop that sold “Earth books,” as they were called.
“Whatcha in the mood for?” the lady behind the counter said when I walked in. Player, not lucid. I could tell by the way she squinted at me.
“Horror? Something good and scary that makes me lose all hope?”
“No horror here,” the woman said with a grin. “How’s that for lost hope? But we do have some good detective novels—twentieth-century. Fantasy and sci-fi, of course, but nothing newer than twenty years.”
Stores in Heroes’ Landing had new books made with actual paper that magically appeared on the shelves when they went on sale in the real world. Cities like Brighton had to get their books second-hand, and the new ones got snapped up quickly.
“What sort of detective novels?” I said.
“Raymond Chandler collection someone brought in two weeks ago. A gold each. Everything else is 10.”
“Why so cheap?”
“I can raise it if you want.”
I had a look at the collection and picked out The Thin Man.
“You don’t want more?” the clerk said.
I shook my head. “I’m just about broke. Recently looted.”
“Hurt much?”
“Oh, yeah.”
The woman blanched. “That’s why I do my adventuring in town, where it’s safe. Well, mostly safe.”
I thanked her, said goodbye, and left, heading for the motel. Along the way, I kept an eye out for that pesky paladin. She’d clearly learned my destination, though I didn’t think Bernard had told her. More likely she’d paid one of the noobs I’d been helping, and they’d told her I’d joined Ezinsio’s caravan. I wasn’t too worried. Nothing she did could be as bad as that mirror.
For the rest of the day, I sat in my room reading, with occasional trips to the Scalawag to see if Zor and Sarah had arrived. Later that evening, when I’d just about lost hope of seeing them, I saw an update in my Ambulareum:
THERE IS 1 QUEST READY FOR TURN-IN.
“Just one?” I said.
I hadn’t checked the Ambulareum tab since earlier that day, so I was surprised to see a great big FAILED next to Zor’s entry. Sarah’s, however, was still active. With a pep in my step, I hastened to the tavern.
Sarah was sitting across the room against a wall by herself. The crowd was just as rough as the previous day, so it was hard to blame her.
“Oh, now what’s that smell then?” the beggar-hating dwarf, Tranter, said behind me.
“What smell?” I said.
He made a show of sniffing the air. “Ah, yes, I barely recognize it from yer last visit. Money! Hah-hah! There’s a sittin’ fee too. ’Tis but a gold, and ye’ll pay up front. Need a cushion? That’s another gold.”
I tossed the annoying dwarf a coin, which he deftly caught, then headed for Sarah’s table.
“What happened to Zor?” I said, taking a seat.
Sarah flinched in surprise, then smiled happily. “You’re here!”
When she got up, I did too. She hugged me quickly, then we both sat back down.
“We’re separated,” she said angrily. “Again.”
“What? Why?”
“He wanted to keep the money, that’s why. Pestered me the whole way from Zha’daran after that woman…” Sarah looked at me strangely. “Um … Howard… Is someone looking for you?”
At her words, I felt a sudden stab of anxiety.
“Why do you ask?”
“Shortly before we got to Zha’daran, a high-level woman flew down on a dragon. A nice one, too. The dragon, not the woman. She wasn’t nice at all. No idea what class she was—or level, obviously—but… She took us all aside and questioned us like criminals, asking about you. Is your name really Underpowered Howard?”
I nodded. “Some people call me that. High-levels, mostly. I’ll tell you about it later. Then what happened? With the woman.”
Sarah’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “She said you were trying to destroy the world. Her exact words. She wanted to know where you were going, what you’d told us, everything. Offered 10 thousand gold if we had any information about you.”
“What did you tell her?” I said.
“The truth—that we didn’t know anything. Brian didn’t either, but that’s all he needed to change his mind about the money.” Blinking back tears, she shook her head angrily. “He’s such a jerk sometimes, I swear…”
“Hold that thought,” I said and called for a server.
Though I wasn’t big on alcohol, I recognized its uses, and this was one of them. Moments later, a human lucid with hollow eyes and an Ichabod Crane look approached.
“What’ll it be, then?” he said.
“Wine,” Sarah said. “Red.”
“Ain’t got proper red,” he said, scratching his head with grubby fingers. “We got red-ish. But mainly, we got ale. Regular color.”
“Ah … I guess … um, ale then?” Sarah said.
I nodded. “Me too.”
The man stared suspiciously between us, then left. A minute later, he returned with two tankards and plonked them unceremoniously on the table, causing some to spill over. He then demanded 2 gold for this. I paid him without tipping and he left grumbling under his breath.
“That was weird,” Sarah said.
“You were saying about Zor?”
Sarah held up a finger to wait, then took a long pull of her ale. “Oh, good, its calibrated.”
Calibrated ale would get you drunk no matter your vitality score, unlike the weak but tasty stuff at the Slaughtered Noob.
I took a sip and gagged.
Sarah said, “Pretty bad, huh?”
“Least it’s the right color.”
Sarah straightened in alarm. “Oh, I almost forgot. I’m as bad as
Brian. Here.” She took out my coin purse and bottomless bag and handed them to me. “It’s all there, don’t worry.”
“I was never worried,” I said.
Sure enough, the money was there when I touched the purse.
“I love that little boat,” she said, “how you can see the people…”
I felt around in the bag and brought it out.
“When are you planning on using it?” she said.
“Not sure yet.”
Sarah grinned. “Will you tell me before you destroy the world?”
“I’m not gonna destroy the—”
“Oh, I know,” she said. “Zor did tell her you were coming here. Sorry… After she left, he said if you were going to destroy the world, then it was okay to rob you. Hold on.”
As I absorbed the news of Zor’s treachery, she finished her ale in a long pull, then dragged my mostly untouched tankard over next to hers.
“I told him we were through,” she said. “He’s staying with the caravan right now. They’re supposed to leave tomorrow.”
“How long have you two been dating?”
Sarah made a face. “Fifty-two years, would you believe it? All that time, we acted like we didn’t care about marriage. Then one day he stopped caring for real.” She blinked back a tear and wiped both eyes. “Anyway, I waited three years for him to turn sheventy before we could do the tras-verance … transference. And thiz-ziz the thanks I get?”
Sarah hiccuped, then giggled in surprise. She held up a finger—one sec—and took a long pull of my ale. With her next breath, she called back our miserable waiter.
“Two more, please.”
“Aye, missus,” the man said, glowering my way. “Though I ain’t got much left in the way of promptness.”
One piece of news, though it was self-evident by now: The attacks on Ezinsio’s caravan were far less dangerous after I’d left. Two groups of desert nomads over two days—not fanatics or zealots—and both were easily defeated.
“We should probably get going,” I said when Sarah looked ready to call for her fourth round of ale, all of which she’d been consuming herself.
“But we jes got ’ere,” she said sadly, blinking in numb confusion.
Not wanting to leave her alone in the Briny Scalawag, I came around and helped her up.
“We’ll come back another time, I promise.”
Ignoring her protests, I led her from the tavern.
“Where are you staying?” I said.
“Nowhere yet,” she said. “Didit … didit … din get nothin’.”
“All right, come on.”
Sarah leaned close and purred in my ear, “Your place or mine?”
I pulled back and looked at her and … and wow. She now seemed twice as pretty as before, and she’d already been pretty. Clearly, she’d applied a bunch of points to comeliness. In years to come, she’d learn to never-ever-ever apply stat points while drunk.
Through an effort of will, I took her hand, turned in the direction of the inn, and started walking.
Sarah giggled. “Where we goin’, Howsie-wowsie?”
“To get you a room,” I said tightly.
And me a cold shower…
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, I caught up with Sarah in the Motel 86 common room. She’d been waiting for me to come down. Ostensibly to say goodbye.
I asked how she was feeling.
“We don’t get hangovers in Mythian,” she said vaguely.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“You mean about the jerk.”
I just waited.
“He’s always taking shortcuts,” Sarah said. “Get rich quick stuff his whole life. We stayed poor because of it. It made him a good gamer. You know—instant gratification. I wanted to retire somewhere else, but he wanted this. He loves a good challenge, but not too much. Nothing long-term or that ends up mattering… It’s hard to explain. We’ve broken up before and probably will again… Just how it is with us.”
Lowering my voice, I said, “Did he ever hit you?”
She shook her head. “No. And he never cheated, if that’s what you’re wondering. I on the other hand… But only when we were broken up. It’s complicated.”
“He seems like a nice guy,” I said.
“Not yesterday.”
“Mythian’s perfect for a guy like that. Lots of instant gratification, then one day you realize what really matters doesn’t have stat points or special effects. For what it’s worth, I forgive him. Twenty million’s a lot of gold. He probably thought if I had so much it was no big deal. Anyone can have a moment of weakness.”
No, I didn’t a hundred percent feel that way, but I was trying to.
Sarah glanced at me guiltily, then looked away. “I guess.”
“You know what?” I said. “There are a lot of great restaurants in Brighton, and some of them serve breakfast.”
Sarah snorted. “Not like we need to eat.”
“Of course we need to eat. For our souls! And we can’t get fat, either, no matter how much we stuff down. Sounds like a challenge, if you ask me. What are you up for? Pancakes? Waffles? Eggs? Bacon?”
“Scones?”
“With butter and jam,” I said.
“And after?”
“Well, I have my plans,” I said vaguely.
“To destroy the world? Like that woman said?”
I leaned in close. “She’s delusional. If you can keep a secret, I’ll tell you more while we eat.”
Sarah smiled. “Deal.”
Breakfast, as promised, was delicious. No, I didn’t tell her everything. Mostly about the Domination and my very general goal to get it fixed. What I’d told Lilly, basically. I nearly added that in a few months’ time, the only safe place in Mythian would be the three Sanctuary cities in Ward 1, 2, and 3. I wanted her safe from the slaughter to come. My problem was, if she found out—kindhearted person that she was—she’d almost certainly warn others.
I pushed it from my mind as best I could—morally flexible person that I was becoming—and tried to enjoy the moment.
“Take care, Howard,” Sarah said after we’d finished.
She’d decided to meet up with Zor before he returned west—to give it yet another one more try, she said. I wished her luck and meant it. She leaned in for a chaste hug that meant nothing but friendship, and I hated Zor for the first time since learning he’d tried to rob me.
“Take it easy, Sarah.”
Traveling north through the city to meet my future associates, whom Parker said lived in perhaps the only nice neighborhood in all of Brighton—Sandpiper Vista—I thought about Zor and Sarah, and greed. A major goal of most games was the accumulation of resources, which furthered progression, which fed more accumulation, and so on. From a purely game perspective, Zor’s move to take my money made enormous sense. He’d shave off years of work by buying the gear now and leveling quickly. But I’d learned a long time ago the only thing in Mythian that mattered was the friends we made. If he wasn’t careful, he’d lose far more than he’d ever gain.
There weren’t any mansions in Sandpiper Vista, nor any houses at all, in the traditional sense. There was a great view, though, in the form of a massive white cliff that soared over the crashing waves below. Riddled throughout were rune-lit tunnels that led to the various troglodytic homes carved out inside. I’d been inside some of them: beautifully carved archways and columns, clever recesses for storage or display, and all of it plastered over smooth and white. The nicest of these had carved-out balconies looking over the sea. Less-upscale residents had access to a community overlook.
Having lived in a carved-out dwelling myself for close to two hundred years, my appreciation was far from impartial, but I considered this tiny neighborhood just about the nicest place to live in all of Mythian.
A stunning map etched in brass was bolted into the side of the ornately carved entryway. After a minute spent searching—there were hundreds of residences—I found the
numbered address for Felix and Elfie Barnes. I then spent another ten minutes hunting through the spaghetti-like tunnels before arriving at a lovely door straight out of Tolkien—round, painted green, with a bronze knob in the middle. There was no knocker, so I rapped lightly with my knuckles—then louder when the wood proved too dense for the sound to carry.
The door opened to reveal a dwarf with a black mohawk and Van Dyke facial hair wearing a scarlet silk bathrobe, itself decorated with scenes from ancient Japan. He didn’t glare at me suspiciously as a lucid dwarf might, and when I squinted him, his class and level didn’t appear over his head. Which made sense if he was high enough level to travel in and out of Ward 4.
With a big, happy smile I said, “Underpowered Howard, at your service!”
There was a brief pause, then the dwarf glanced at the door and barked a laugh.
“Oh, that, haha,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “Oh, you’re a clever one. Must be a reader! So few of them these days… It’s true, yes, we loved the books. So much so that when we moved here, we had this specially made. Great to finally meet you! I’m Felix.”
We shook hands.
He turned and shouted, “Elfie! He’s here! Break out the cheap champagne!” Then to me: “Only kidding. Come in, come in. Welcome to our homely home, and hands off the silverware!”
Upon entering, Felix told me to look around, saying he’d be right back. Then he left.
Though the ceiling in these caves was of course rock, the Barnes’s ceiling was crisscrossed with heavy timber support beams, the space between paneled in dark, lacquered wood. Comfortable sofas and chairs surrounded a central hearth where a cheery, smokeless fire burned. To my left, I gazed out a floor-to-ceiling circular window onto a green country lane that definitely did not exist outside Sandpiper Vista. Riding down that lane in a mule-drawn carriage was a tall, wizened man with a gray beard and pointy hat. Sitting next to him was a diminutive, curly-headed…
“Pretty nifty, huh?” a woman next to me said, startling me. In my reverie, I hadn’t noticed her approach.
