Too Young to Die
Page 9
“You have achieved Level Two,” the AI told him.
“Yes, despite your best efforts,” he retorted. “Now where’s that fucking wolf? I want to avenge—well, myself.” He set off through the grass and his feet crunched on the ground. This time, when he heard the growl, he was ready. He turned with a lunge and a slash and the wolf yipped in pain. It danced away sideways to crouch and bare its teeth.
“Yeah, what’s up?” Justin asked. “I came back and I’m Level Two now, bitch. That’s right, a hundred percent better. What are you gonna do with—no bitey!” He threw himself sideways as the beast snarled and charged, and his wild strike missed.
Fair enough. Physics was physics, after all, and apparently, this game had more realistic physics than usual.
“Clumsy, Level Two,” the AI announced.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” he yelled in response. “I don’t have Bunny Slayer Level Two yet, but I have Clumsy Level Two? That is bitchy.”
The AI made no response. Justin supposed that having won the argument by virtue of running the game world, it didn’t have to say anything.
Anyway, he had a wolf to kill. He took two running steps, feinted right, and switched his sword to his left hand and slashed. This strike connected, the wolf yelped again, and a big chunk came off its health bar.
More satisfying, several achievements flashed up on the screen.
MOVIE-STYLE SWORDFIGHTING, LEVEL 1
AMBIDEXTROUS, LEVEL 1
CHUTZPAH, LEVEL 1
“What the heck is chutzpah?” Justin asked the AI. It didn’t answer, and he devoted his attention to the animal again. It had become desperate and crouched like it intended to spring and bite him again.
He knew he couldn’t let that happen. Before it could act, he charged it with a battle cry and dropped onto his stomach as the wolf launched itself into the air. It wasn’t a total success, given that the creature’s back feet caught him in the head, but he avoided the bite.
He also got Clumsy, Level Three.
“That one was on purpose,” he told the AI. “You take that level back.”
It did not.
His adversary might have thought it was snarling quietly as it snuck up on him, but Justin heard it. He turned and swung the blade forcefully and although he lost two points to fatigue—fair, he supposed—the wolf fell. It disappeared and left three copper coins and a scrap of fur, all of which disappeared into his inventory almost instantly.
“Excellent,” Justin said. “Hey, AI? I don’t suppose you have any more quests.”
“There are no more quests at this time,” the AI said.
“So…what am I supposed to do next?” he asked it.
Not unexpectedly, no answer was forthcoming.
“Great,” he muttered. He looked around and thought he spied movement in the distance. A windmill, maybe? Something that looked like civilization, anyway. Keeping a careful lookout for more wolves, he made his way through the grass until he found a road—another good sign—and headed alongside the river and toward the town.
Chapter Twelve
The village wasn’t exactly close, and unlike most video games, Justin’s character didn’t automatically run everywhere. On the road, however, there were no more wolves, so he found he was happy to walk and use the time to study the scenery.
He couldn’t quite get a handle on it. That was one of the things he noticed first. Sometimes, the textures didn’t seem to load and then they loaded all at once. At other times, he could swear the shape of things changed. He noticed groups of trees that he was sure shouldn’t go together, but when he looked back, they were suddenly all the correct types.
In all honesty, he didn’t know what to make of that.
One thing that was like other video games was that time seemed to go faster in the game world than in the real world. The sun had barely begun to set as Justin reached the signpost at the edge of the village that read RIVERBEND.
“New zone discovered,” the AI told him. “Riverbend is a small village on the western edge of the Golian Plains.”
“Thank you,” he replied.
“You’re welcome,” it told him promptly.
He stopped and squinted into the air, trying to sense whether there was some kind of trick in the AI’s politeness, but there didn’t seem to be.
The village, as it turned out, was amazing. It was realistic with broken cobblestones and dirt between them and houses of plaster and thatch, and it was also incredibly beautiful. The whole picture was as if someone had told him to imagine the most beautiful, cozy, picture-perfect English village he could. Some things were unfamiliar—instead of crosses, for instance, he saw elaborate windchimes hanging from the corners of the buildings.
All of it was soothing, however. Flowers climbed the walls of the cottages and roses bloomed in the hedgerows. He could hear chickens, cows, and dogs and once, he saw a cat streak across his path. Swallows darted through the air as night fell.
And the people were nothing like those in any game he’d ever seen. Some poured slops, weeded gardens, and lit lanterns. A few nodded as he went past and others looked at his sword, which resulted in an awkward few moments during which he tried to determine how to sheathe it. They called greetings to one another and the banter between them was comfortable and familiar as if the community was close-knit. He’d never seen a game so detailed.
Justin was content to wander and look around and finally saw the tavern. A wooden sign creaked faintly, a large flagon of beer emblazoned on it in black paint. He smiled as he wove through the crowd. Taverns were where the good stuff happened. He’d buy a drink, chat to other NPCs, and learn this game’s rest mechanic.
It occurred to him that he was incredibly hungry. As soon as he was done in the tavern, he would shut the game down and order food. He’d probably missed dinner already, he realized. His parents wouldn’t be happy with him.
With a sigh, he moved into the shadowed interior.
He paused in a corridor lined with sputtering lamps. The din of the tavern spilled into the small space, the walls papered with jobs on offer. He saw requests for rabbit slayers—Aww, yeah, I can get that sweet, sweet, Bunny Slayer Level 5—and someone to deal with the wolves on the plains—“Oh, hell no”—as well as requests for five bunches of a herb or ten rockworms.
He didn’t want to know about the last one.
Some were so mundane that he laughed out loud.
ONE YOUNG PERSONE TO SCYTHE MY YARDE
SALE ON FLOUR AT THE FLOUR MILLE
How had he not heard about this game before? Despite his initial response, he was having an awesome time. He strolled the corridor and read each of the posters in turn. At the end, pinned to the door frame of the tavern itself, was a piece of paper that looked as if it had been taken down and put up several times, the top of it ripped and full of nail holes. Unlike the others, it wasn’t written in an all-capital scrawl but instead, in a neat, practiced script.
WANTED: one adventurer to rescue a kidnapped maiden. Will be generously compensated. Speak to Mayor Hausen for details.
“Find Mayor Hausen,” Justin said to himself. “Got it.”
Inside the tavern, rough wooden tables were surrounded by men in the patched, worn clothes of day laborers. They drank from foaming mugs of ale and laughed with one another, and a few of them looked at Justin and gave him a nod.
It occurred to him that he wore stupid, Level One gear and a rusty sword and probably looked like a lunatic. Thankfully, NPCs didn’t care about things like that. He threaded through the maze of tables, ducked under one or two low-hanging lanterns, and strode past the huge hearth to the bar.
The woman there was dressed in the most traditional tavern-wench costume he had ever seen. A white shirt peeked out from behind a close-fitting vest and her brown skirt was embroidered with flowers and leaves. She curtsied.
“What can I get for you, sir?”
“One ale.” He leaned on the counter and smiled at her.
“That’ll be a copper,” the woman said to him.
An idea occurred to him.
“Only a copper?” Justin asked. He leaned forward to grin at her. “Surely I should pay for that smile too.”
FLIRT, LEVEL 1 popped up on the screen.
He took another sip. The woman had smiled and looked away, clearly embarrassed, and he was curious—not only to see how extensive this game was in its programming but also to see what he could come up with. It wasn’t like he’d ever be cheesy enough to do this in real life, after all. “They make a beauty like you handle the money?”
“Sir, I’m a betrothed woman.” She looked flustered.
“Ah, who is the lucky man?” Justin looked at the room. None of the NPCs gave him a death glare, so that was good.
“Yannick Hausen,” the woman said proudly. She raised her chin. “The mayor says Yannick can do better’n an innkeep’s daughter, but Mayor Hausen’s in here often enough. Or…he was.” She had a sad expression now. “Before Zaara, of course.”
“Of course,” he said. “And tell me about your Yannick.”
SILVER TONGUE, LEVEL 1 flashed across the screen, and the AI spoke over the woman’s monologue.
“Good work, Player Underscore 009. A silver tongue will get you farther than a heart of gold.”
“If you had a heart of gold, you’d be dead,” Justin said succinctly.
The girl paused in mid-monologue. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
He weighed the idea of telling her that he was speaking to a familiar but discarded that plan. It didn’t seem wise when he wasn’t quite sure how the people there thought of demonic magic. “My apologies. Do go on.”
She continued to speak while her character repeatedly picked up the same mug, wiped it dry with her towel, and put it down again. When she had run out of rapturous words about her fiancé—with the appropriate responses of “Mmm,” and “Oh, really?” from Justin—she smiled at him.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“I don’t suppose you have pizza,” he joked.
“I don’t think so, sir.” Well, there was the limit of the AI.
IMPOSSIBLE REQUESTS, LEVEL 1
“Oh, come on,” he muttered and shrugged. “How about some stew?”
“Of course, sir.” The meal appeared on the counter in front of him. “That’ll be a copper, sir.”
“You still won’t tell me what it costs to see that beautiful smile of yours?”
A man appeared in the doorway to the kitchens. He was broad-shouldered and with a ruddy complexion. His shirt sleeves were rolled to show massive forearms with a tattoo of several interlocking circles on one, and he wore a stained apron made of canvas. He strode toward Justin.
“’Ey.” His tone wasn’t friendly. “My daughter asked ye for payment.”
Normally, he would simply pay and be done with it. Well, normally, he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. But it was funny how being in a game world made you want to try things you wouldn’t ordinarily try.
“Now, now,” he argued. “There are so many kinds of payment. I’m a new adventurer in town and you don’t even want to tell me how I might help all of you?”
“She did,” the bartender said. “The coin, adventurer.”
“You know, I don’t think so.” He wanted to see what would happen. “That stew tasted a little pixel-y to me.”
Behind him, he realized the bar had gone very quiet. When Justin turned with the mug still in his hand, he saw most of the men there were standing now. Many seemed to wear a band of blue cloth on one arm.
“Are you all in a club?” he joked.
“We’re the town guard,” one of them said. He smiled. “Let’s chat, shall we?”
He was still trying to work out how to set the mug down and draw his sword again when the screen went black. Sounds of punches and kicks ensued and a flurry of red numbers floated on the screen. When the numbers stopped, his health bar flashed red and indicated that he had one point left.
The sounds of the blows made him wince and he could almost feel the pain each time a blow landed, but he was also laughing. This was amazing. You could smooth-talk bartenders there. Or you could flirt and walk out on your bill. The game gave you the option to step out of line.
Justin waited for the screen to clear and when it did, he wasn’t disappointed. Stone walls and chains on his feet announced that he was in the town jail.
Chapter Thirteen
“Hey,” a voice announced. “Look who’s finally awake.”
Justin sat and was rewarded by flashes of actual pain. He paused warily for a moment. That pain couldn’t be real, could it? Of course it couldn’t. It wasn’t real. He’d probably merely sat for too long while he played the game.
His character looked sideways and noticed a dwarf watching him. He hadn’t realized this game had multiple races, given that he hadn’t been allowed to choose one on the character creation screen. That didn’t seem very fair. He would put that in his review.
“Hi,” he said.
“You were out for the better part of an hour,” the dwarf informed him. “They dragged ye in looking like death warmed over. Course, even without those bruises, looks like ye’d be about as attractive as a bison’s hairy arse.” He laughed at his wit.
“Do you say things like that to everyone who comes in here?” The joke made him smile. Of course an NPC would say that to any character.
“Everyone who’s as ugly as you,” the dwarf said cheerfully, almost as if he were giving a compliment. “I’m Lyle Stout. And you are?”
“Justin,” he said.
“Player underscore 009, huh?”
Oh, come on, that was uncalled for.
Did the AI make a rude noise or did he simply imagine it?
He examined Lyle. The dwarf’s beard and hair were a ginger-red and decorated with small braids and metal beads. He wore carefully assembled leather armor with a giant tree embossed on the chest plate. When he saw Justin’s scrutiny, Lyle jabbed a thumb at himself. “I’m one o’ the king’s finest—hic—operatives, I’ll have ye know.”
“Sure, sure.” Justin was enjoying the hell out of this. He leaned against the wall and folded his arms. “So, how’d you end up in here?”
“Bah.” Lyle waved a hand. “That bartender has it out for me. I told him I’d pay up.”
“You skipped out on your drink, too?”
“Didn’t pay for my ale?” Now the dwarf sounded outraged. “As if I would ever disrespect craftsmanship like that. That inkeep’s a bloody genius when it comes to brewing. Best ale in the damned plains. And I should know. Hic!”
Justin could bet the dwarf knew about every tavern in this region.
“No, I’d never skip out on my bar tab.” Lyle gave him a suspicious look as if he wondered if he might be one of that type of no-good bastard. “Innkeep’s only angry I broke a bench.” He waved a hand jovially. “I said to him, ‘I’ll pay, won’t I? I always pay.’”
“How’d you break a bench?” he asked. He was curious despite himself. The furniture in the tavern had looked incredibly sturdy.
“With another bench,” the dwarf said as if that explained everything.
“Sure.”
A guard appeared in the hallway and squinted at the two of them. “The adventurer’s awake now,” he called down the hallway and disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
“So, will they let me out?” Justin asked. He shook his hands and was rewarded by the clank of chains.
“Can’t rightly say,” the dwarf told him. “Normally, Mayor Hausen brings the innkeep and we settle it, and soon as I do, I get let out. Thi
s time, though, it’s been three days. Chafes my balls.”
Justin stared at him.
“So, who are you?” Lyle asked. He hadn’t missed a beat. “Haven’t seen you around here before.”
“I’m an adventurer,” he told him. “Actually, I’m surprised you haven’t heard of me. I’ve been saving villages from—bunnies—vicious animals for—an hour—the better part of a month now.”
“Is that so?” The dwarf leaned close. “Well, I reckon I know why they’re coming to get ye, then.”
“Why?”
“Yer the type who can get into the damned tower,” he announced.
“What tower?”
“You’ll see.” Lyle looked like he was enjoying this. “Do you like wizards, adventurer?”
Justin made a noncommittal noise.
“I’ll be more specific, then.” The dwarf leaned forward with a grin. “Do you like killing wizards, adventurer?”
“You’re sending me to kill a wizard,” he said blankly.
“Not me,” his cellmate pointed out but didn’t deign to explain any further. “Nope, definitely not me. Lucky for you, though. You’ll get out of here—and, if you don’t die, that’ll be that!”
“If I don’t die?” This game was so realistic sometimes that it was hard to remember he wouldn’t die if his character did. That, and honestly, the last time he’d died in-game, it hadn’t felt good. It almost felt like his heart was skipping beats.
“I’ll tell you what you should do,” Lyle said.
“Yes, please.” Justin shook his head at himself. He was acting like the normal, boring version of himself right now, not the adventurer who smooth-talked tavern wenches and walked out on bills.
Not that he was very good at that.
“You should tell the mayor to let me out,” his companion said.
He waited but apparently, that was the end of the statement. “Your…advice is to get the mayor to let you out? Then what?”
“What d’you mean, then what? Then I’ll be out, won’t I?” Lyle raised his eyebrows at him and sighed. “Oh, you’re one of those adventurers. Always wanting to be paid, aren’t ye? Well, you talk Mayor Hausen into letting me out and there’ll be something in it for ye. As long as the wizard doesn’t get ye.” He laughed as if this were an uproariously funny joke.