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In the morning, Alice helps the adventurers pack food for the trip to Leetsburg, and sees them off. They depart in the early morning pre-dawn gloom and get as far as Tom the Prophet’s cabin without incident, traveling in silence save for the tweets, chirps, and rustles of the forest waking up. Several miles past Tom’s, they break for lunch.
After a bit more travel, Phr stops the group and says, “Hey - see that house? All the yellow tape around it?”
“Think it’s Vincent’s,” Vector asks. Phyr nods.
Pannych says, “Huh,” but keeps walking along the road.
“Don’t you wanna take a look inside,” Phyr asks.
“What for,” Pannych asks, still walking. Phyr and Vector jog to catch up.
“I dunno, see if there’s anything useful?”
“Like what?”
“Like - I don’t know! What if something jumps out at us?”
Vector says, “I think anything that immediately obvious would probably have been snagged in the investigation.”
“Oh, good point,” Phyr says.
After a few more miles of quiet walking, they round a bend and see Leetsburg in the distance. The forest has opened up, and to either side of the city are rolling hills that rise to form mountains, some dozens of miles in either direction.
“OK, now that is a city,” Phyr says. “Jesus, they got turrets on the wall and everything!”
“Walls, plural,” Vector corrects him. “There’s a higher inner wall overlooking the outer wall.”
Pannych closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and smiles, saying, “Mmm, I can smell the ocean on the breeze. Reminds me of growing up in LA.”
Vector says, “Wait, like California? I didn’t know you were from there.”
Phyr says, “She’s not, she was just born there.”
“Where else would I be from,” Pannych asks.
Phyr says, “Weren’t you like six when you left?”
“Yeah, between kindergarten and first grade.”
“Right,” he continues, “So you don’t even really remember it, do you?”
“I remember it really well, actually. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well,” Phyr waves his hand suggestively as they walk, “I mean, where you’re from is where you have the most formative memories. Like, where you spent the most time. It doesn’t count if you left when you were a little kid.”
“That is where I spent the most time. I moved every year after that. We finally settled down by you when I was twelve. I’ve only been there for five years. So where’s that leave me being ‘from,’ in your definition?”
Phyr hems and haws for a moment, then says, “Sorry, I forgot this is your seventeen-year-old self I’m talking to.” She shrugs. “Look, you put down roots, is what I’m saying. I guess you’re just kind of in the middle of that right now. I mean, you spent some time in and out of college, and you settled down a bit for grad school-”
“I go to grad school?!”
“Not ‘til you’re like 30, but yeah.”
“The fuck for?”
“Information Science. You wanted to be a librarian, and you got into the number-one library school in the country. I mean, it was your second try when they let you in, and you were a third-stringer - but you got into the best possible school for your field.”
“What did I have to do for that? Like, intern at a bunch of famous libraries?”
“No, they pretty much let you in on pluck and a song. You ran your admissions essay by me, it was powerful. And you’re doing the things you said you wanted to do. It just took you some time to find your way, that’s all.”
“Jesus.” Pannych’s eyes widen, and she contemplates this glimpse of her future. “I guess I always thought I was just gonna jump around from shit job to shit job and slowly drink myself to death.”
“You tried that,” Vector says. “But you got bored of it. Also, you lived with an actual alcoholic for a year - he was recovering well when you met him, but then he relapsed, and that was a big wake-up call for you.” Pannych stops in her tracks and clutches her head in both hands. Phyr and Vector stop with her.
“Hey, are you all right,” Phyr asks. Vector attempts to grab her, but Phyr stops him with a hand on his chest.
“I’m - fine. I’ll be fine.” She breathes deeply and raises her face to the afternoon sky. Opening her eyes, she says, “I just - hearing all that about my future, I think it set something off.”
“Noted,” Vector says. “No more future talk, then.”
“Yeah,” Phyr says. “What did it set off?”
“Not sure. Like a vision, maybe.”
“What did you see?”
“I was in a house. With some people. I was feeling good, we had just done something big together, I think. I was wearing really dirty clothes, and I stepped out of a side door onto a driveway. Then I cracked open a beer, took one sip, and just - I think I fainted.”
“OK,” Phyr says with a knowing nod. “That actually happened when you were 25. You called me and told me about it. But I think we should change the subject, because whatever this is, I don’t think it’s good.”
“Agreed,” Pannych says. She takes another couple of deep breaths, and resumes walking.
They pass the rest of the way to the Leetsburg gates in silence. The guards seem to know who they are, presumably from speaking stone chatter, and let them in with a nod and a terse greeting. Once they’re out of earshot, Vector says, “I get the sense we’re permitted, but not exactly welcome.”
“Yeah,” Pannych says. “Let’s find a ship that’s taking passengers and see what we gotta do to board.”
“How’s Holly’s Harbors sound,” Phyr asks, pointing to a sign with directions.
“Nice and obvious,” Pannych says with a nod. “Let’s hoof it.”
They walk in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the city winding down for the day. Occasionally, wagons pass by, carrying various proportions of people and goods.
“OK,” Phyr says, as one particularly crowded wagon rumbles past, “Don’t look now, but I could swear that whole bus-load of people were staring at us. Are we walking on the wrong side of the street or something?”
“No,” Vector says quietly. “It’s everyone. I thought it was just the vendors hawking their wares, at first - but no, everyone’s looking at us weird.”
Pannych says, “Hey, yeah - I mean, I’m used to catching stares, but every time I make eye contact, they avert their gaze. Like I just farted or something, and they’re upset about it, but don’t wanna acknowledge it.”
A henceforth awkward hour’s walking brings them to Holly’s Harbors. As they near the coast, the streets and buildings gradually transition from straight and regular to a more crowded and organic arrangement. Soon they can hear the crashing waves and feel a little salt spray in the air; they catch occasional glimpses of the water between buildings. The Sun is just starting to set behind them as they approach the wooden storefront, a warm candlelit glow spilling out from large windows around posters advertising various destinations: the thick woods of Járnviðr, the rainy highlands of Altilluvia, the rolling plains of Autumnspring, and the sunny shores of California.
A bell tinkles overhead as they walk in, the interior smelling faintly of paper, sand, wax, and a hint of smoke. Inside, a woman leans over a counter on her elbows, with skin the gray-green of the Northern sea and steely eyes. She has the round, earnest face of a dwarf, an orc’s robust frame, and an elf’s lithe musculature. Shoulder-length silver-blond hair is swept back on her right, and tousled on the left to hide a raggedly torn ear. A grin warms and brightens her face as the trio enters, and she says in a gravelly voice, “Welcome, adventurers! Thanks for pickin’ Holly’s Harbors for the next leg of your journey! I’m Holly. What can I do for ya?”
Vector enters first, Pannych and Phyr follow - but as they step out from behind the half-giant, Holly’s face pales, then darkens. She raises her hands in rebuff, and says, “Ho, sorry - no can do. We got a city-wide ‘no destined heroes’ order, an’ everyone knows about the meddlin’ demigods who’re runnin’ roughshod over the island.”
Phyr looks at her quizzically and says, “Excuse me?” Pannych and Vector both look at him with concern. He catches it, and shoots them a WTF? shrug.
Holly elaborates: “Look, nothin’ against ya - we’re all strugglin’ to make ends meet, but no right-minded cap’n’ll take you aboard - an’ you two in particular were mentioned extra special.”
Vector asks, “So nobody will sail us? Anywhere?”
Phyr grumbles, but Pannych places a hand on his shoulder and gestures outside, then says to Holly, “Thanks for letting us know. Sorry to trouble you!”
“Safe travels,” Holly says brightly as they exit.
Outside, the adventurers discuss their options. Vector says, “I say we pay Sir Briansworth a visit - put a face to a name, see what kinda pull we have.”
“I dunno,” Pannych says, “I think he hates us. Sir Stevington might be more amenable.”
“If we’re going back to Noob Town anyway,” Phyr says, “Then why don’t we just go ask Alice?”
“Good thought,” Pannych says. “Third option: Vincent had black market contacts, we could check his place to see if we can find them out.”
“Dicey,” Vector says with a frown. “If he even has a list of contacts, it was almost certainly nabbed.”
Pannych raises a finger and says, “Unless it was encoded, and hiding in plain sight.”
“Yeah, but smuggling ourselves would be expensive as Hell,” Phyr says, stroking his chin.
“Sure,” Pannych agrees, “But the other options are to deal with an asshole or walk back to Noob Town, and my feet hurt.”
Vector says, “I’ll be doing the talking with Sir Briansworth, you guys won’t really need-”
“But we’ll have to listen to it,” Phyr interrupts him. “Fuck that. Let’s see what we can find at Vincent’s.”
Vector makes a sour face and says, “I feel like you don’t really appreciate my negotiation skills.” The feeling that he is just along for the ride is intensifying.
“We appreciate you just fine,” Pannych says. “It’s Briansworth who we’re trying to avoid here. Every time that blowhard opens his stupid face-hole, I just wanna stab him.”
“Same,” Phyr says, “But more explodey. Let’s get going, we’re losing daylight.”
They reach Vincent’s house under cover of night, and see no sign of activity on the property. Phyr says, “Gee, if only somebody had thought to sack the place on the way to Leetsburg, we could’ve saved ourselves a walk.”
Pannych says, “We didn’t know what we were looking for, then. We would’ve been casting about in the dark.”
“I think this is casting about in the dark,” Phyr retorts.
“I was being metaphorical. Now we are literally in the dark, which will help us; but we’re not metaphorically in the dark, which would’ve hindered our search. Anyway. Shall we?”
Phyr takes out his trap detector and they cautiously approach the house.
“No traps yet,” Phyr says tentatively as they near the wrought iron perimeter fence. Closer now, the three-story Tudor looms over them, windows on the top floor staring down at them from below sharply peaked roof segments.
“Constabulary Line: Do Not Cross,” Vector reads as he idly thumbs the yellow tape across the tall barred gate.
“So,” Pannych says, staring up at the obstacle, “There’s one of those sealing stickers on the gate, but it’s got those pointy things up top. Climb over, or pick the lock?”
Phyr double-checks his trap detector, still reading nothing, and says, “Third option: Shape Metal!” He grasps a bar and pulls it effortlessly to one side, then pulls the adjacent bar the other way, making an opening through which even the half-giant can easily fit. “Just remind me to put that back how it was when we leave,” he says as he steps through.
The path to the house is wide and winding, the flora of the large front yard trimmed but allowed to grow more or less organically. “Cool topiary,” Pannych says as they pass through a circular area ringed by benches. The ornamental shrub at the center, cut to look like a bird taking flight, is ringed by a shallow pool with a geometric mosaic tiled beneath the clear water. As they pass the reflecting pool, a bend in the path conceals both the gate behind them and the house ahead from view momentarily. Soon, they come to a large, wide porch at the main entrance. They walk in silence, Phyr occasionally looking for traps.
“Another one of those sticker-seals,” Vector says as they near the door.
“Yeah, but this kind of architecture is easy to climb,” Pannych says. “Let’s look around for a balcony.”
They find one around the back, with a wrought-iron railing around the perimeter. Pannych takes out her grapnel and throws it up, but fails several Ranged rolls in a row. Grumbling a series of curses, she stows it and dons her shuko, then climbs right up the wall. She then secures the grapnel by hand, and tosses the rope down to her companions.
They ascend to find Pannych clambering around on the roof. “Dammit, this one’s sealed up, too,” Phyr says as he and Vector inspect the points of entry. “Windows locked up tight, and it’s all wood construction on the outside - I can’t get us in.”
Pannych’s head appears over a peak of the roof, and she says, “Hey, I found a hatch up here. Gimme a minute.” Vector smokes a cigarette and Phyr checks his gear, then a window opens and Pannych leans out. “Easy-peasy!”
Vector uses the flashlight on his rifle to light their way, but half-covers it with one hand to minimize the light visible from outside. As they wander through the house, he asks, “Hey, if this guy didn’t die at home, then why are they investigating his house?”
Pannych says, “He was a smuggler - or connected to smugglers, at least. They’re probably trying to see if they can find any leads.” They walk methodically room by room to get the layout, and there’s no sign of traps to be found. Pannych says, “Well, it’s pretty obvious that the focus of the investigation is his office - nowhere else has any yellow tape. Let’s head back there and see what we can find.”
As Vector stows his rifle, Pannych draw the blinds and Phyr lights a few candles around the office - just enough to read by. As they search, Phyr says, “How come there’s nothing in the basement?”
Pannych stops looking through the desk and says, “They definitely looked, but they probably didn’t find anything. I mean, if Vincent was this big-time smuggler guy and everybody knew it, but nobody could pin it on him, then he’d probably know better than to do cliché things like secret basement passages.”
“Sure,” says Phyr, “But then why would he hide things in his office?”
“Hide in plain sight,” Vector says from a file closet. “Isn’t that the ninja way?” Pannych nods and hums an mm-hmm.
“But that’s what I’m saying,” Phyr presses. “Wouldn’t it be obvious to hide in plain sight? So wouldn’t that be the thing he should avoid doing?”
Pannych sighs and balances her forehead on her fingertips. “Yeah, but how many levels deep do you wanna go? You can always say, ‘Well, they’ll look in the best place for sure, so that makes it the worst place’ - but then the next best place becomes the best, and so most obvious, and thus actually worst. And at any point, you can say, ‘I see where this is going, therefore the very worst place becomes the best place, because it’s the last one!’ And round & round we go. When does it stop?”
“Dunno,” Phyr says, toeing at a box of files. “Maybe don’t do crimes?” Pannych rolls her eyes and gets back to work.
Vector asks, “Wouldn’t it be best to just have something that the authorities wouldn’t recognize, or would think is something else when they saw it?”
“Yes,” Pannych says, mildly frustrated, “That’s what ‘hiding in plain sight’ means. It doesn’t mean putting your Super Secret Smuggler Shit in the middle of the entry hall, that’s ‘Refuge in Audacity.’ ‘Hiding in plain sight’ means disguising stuff so it’ll be overlooked.”
Browsing the bookcase, Phyr says, “So a book on cryptography that has your secret code in it would be Refuge in Audacity?”
“Right,” Pannych says.
Vector rifles through the wastebasket and says, “And last year’s day planner in the trash would be hiding in plain sight?”
“Probably,” Pannych sighs.
Phyr drops a book on the desk, titled Cryptography: History and Methodology. Vector drops another book next to it, this one called 2000 Datebook.
“OK, promising start,” Pannych says, and she flips through the cryptography book. “Hmm - there’s writing in here, but it’s just the sample exercises. Let me see… OK, that one checks out… hmm… this one’s good…” She trails off and starts flipping back and forth more hurriedly. Vector starts looking through the old datebook, and Phyr goes back to poking around the office.
“Hey, isn’t there a current datebook anywhere,” Phyr asks.
“That would’ve definitely been taken, as well as any coded transaction log,” Vector says. Pannych nods silently.
“Hmph. I guess I just wish we found a cool secret passage,” Phyr mutters. He kicks the corner of a bookcase, looks at it hopefully for a second, then sighs and starts looking under things. Pannych grabs a pencil off the desk and a piece of paper out of the wastebasket, and starts writing things down. “You got something,” Phyr asks.
“Maybe. Just a hunch right now.”
“This is just a bunch of businesses where he made or received deliveries,” Vector says. “Some days it’s just one, others it’s half a dozen. Nothing spells anything out with first letters or anything, there’s nothing really out-of-place-looking. I think this might just be an old datebook.”
“But why would he just be throwing it out now, in June,” Phyr asks.
“Because he’s not,” Pannych says. “Vector, circle these dates, would you?” She reads off a list of a dozen dates as Vector flips through the planner. When she finishes, Vector says,
“Those seem to just be random dates - nothing really stands out about them.”
“OK, what about these dates?” She lists a dozen more.
“Hey,” Vector says, “Those all have one visit each, and it’s a different client each time. This could be something!”
“So you guys were both right,” Pannych says. “If I’m also right, then it’s a two-part key - on some of these exercises, there’s a number struck through. They’re in the middle of his work, but mathematically out of place, like not even plausibly an error from the work he was doing - but they could all be dates! And I also noticed that the pages with the strikethroughs never end in two digits higher than 31, so I thought they could also be dates. So one part of the key is probably used with the previous year’s planner, and the other part with the current year’s, and he just leapfrogs them back and forth. Probably. Maybe. Look, it’s something to go on, right?”
Phyr yawns and says, “Yeah, but tomorrow. I am tapped out.”
Pannych yawns after he does, and then Vector does, too. Vector says, “Yeah, it’s friggin’ late. I’ma find some place to crash.”
Pannych makes a face and says, “What? Don’t you think it’s a little macabre to sleep in a dead guy’s house?”
“It’s not like he died in the house,” Vector says. “He was murdered at the crossroads, and we’re just catching some Zs. What’s the big deal?”
“Phyr’s the guy who killed him!”
Phyr says, “Fine, then I’ll sleep on the couch!”
Vector double-takes and says, “You what now?”
“Vincent was the very first person we met, and Phyr killed him in cold blood because he got impatient with the dialogue!”
“You say that like it’s my fault,” Phyr says.
“It is your fault! Who else’s fault would it be?!”
“How about whoever made the dialogue so boring,” Phyr says, folding his arms.
“So you killed a man because you were bored,” Vector asks. “That seems a little psycho to me.”
“He was an NPC,” Phyr protests. “I didn’t think he had, like, a complex backstory, and a life, and feelings!”
“You really aren’t making a strong ‘not a psycho’ case here,” Vector says suspiciously.
“Well, I know better now,” he replies.
“Yes,” Pannych says, “And that’s what counts. But I still think we shouldn’t sleep in this house because of it.”
“OK,” Phyr says, “Let’s do a pro-con analysis here: we can sleep in the house of a man I killed in cold blood, which is admittedly dark-”
“Literally or metaphorically,” Pannych asks in a mocking tone.
“Shut up. The other option is to walk several miles, in the literal dark, to a town where everyone hates us, so that we can pay for a hotel-”
“Inn.”
“Shut up! Pay for an inn, whatever! Is it really worth all that trouble just to avoid-”
“Does the inn have breakfast,” Vector asks.
“Fuck your breakfast! I’m going to the couch! Good night!” Phyr turns and stalks out of the room.
In the dim glow of the early morning, Phyr wakes on the couch to the smell of cooking, and hears banging around in the kitchen. He wanders in to find Pannych frying up sausage and eggs.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” Pannych says with a yawn. He grunts and nods, then rummages in the refrigerator and cabinets before pouring himself some orange juice and sitting at the dining room table.
A few minutes later, Pannych brings him a plate of food. “Here, let’s eat and boogie.”
Phyr sniffs and says, “Your breath’s minty - did you use the dead guy’s toothbrush? Please tell me you didn’t use the dead guy’s toothbrush.”
“No, I used my finger. I did use his toothpaste, though.” Phyr shrugs and digs in. Pannych sets two more places, then sits at one and starts eating, herself.
A couple minutes later, Vector comes downstairs and joins them at the table. “Thanks for cooking,” he says.
“Ugh, did you use the dead guy’s toothbrush,” Phyr asks with a sniff.
“No, I keep one in my go-bag. Don’t you?”
“I don’t have one,” Phyr says.
“What? Why don’t you have a go-bag? How do you carry all your shit?”
Phyr shrugs and says, “I got holsters and pockets, what do I need a go-bag for?”
“How about a toothbrush,” Vector asks.
“OK, I’ll add it to my shopping list,” Phyr says after a moment’s pause.
After they finish eating, Pannych starts to clean up the kitchen. Phyr asks, “What’re you doing that for?”
“Uhh…” Pannych stops and stares off. “Oh! Because then it’ll be harder to tell anyone was here.”
“Oh, fair point,” Phyr says. After the cleanup, they return to the office and put things more or less back the way they found them, then run their outfits through the laundromagic in the basement while they shower upstairs, and leave the way they came.
“Don’t forget to put the bars back,” Vector says as they approach the gate.
“Yeah, thanks,” Phyr says. “I guess I should’ve known we’d leave this way.”
As they travel in silence along the dirt path leading back to the main road, they each gain 5 XP for their investigation. As they step onto the cobbles and turn toward Leetsburg, they see half a dozen guards and two well-dressed others heading their way, several hundred yards off - the guards see the adventurers as well, and hail them.
“What were you three doing at Davosea’s place,” one of the guards asks, stopping them when they come face to face.
“Nothing much,” Vector says off-handedly, “Just looking around. Didn’t get very far, though.”
“Looking for what,” one of the well-dressed companions asks. Her tone is neutral, but one eyebrow raises slightly.
“Nothing in particular,” Vector lies. His roll is good, but the constables look expectantly at him. “We saw the yellow tape, thought we’d stop and have a look. But there was that sticker on the gate, so we just played looky-loo. Got our eyeful and came back to the road. Why?”
“That area’s under investigation,” another guard says. The investigator who spoke earlier rolls her eyes, while the other investigator frowns at the guard.
“Oh, really,” Pannych asks sarcastically. “I thought it was just decorated real fuckin’ early for Halloween! God, what a moron I must be. Just, like, so stupid.” Phyr snickers, but Vector looks at Pannych with an expression bordering on horror. The guard she’s mocking bristles and puts a hand on his pistol.
“Whoah,” Vector says, “Let’s all calm down here, OK? I’m sorry for my friend, she’s - cranky in the morning.” Pannych gives him a sour look, but sighs and rolls her eyes before mumbling an apology.
“Why don’t you come with us,” the other investigator says.
“Hang on,” Vector says, “Are we being detained?”
“No, no,” he replies. “If it’s as you say, then we’ll see that nothing’s disturbed, and we’ll apologize for the unfounded suspicions.” Pannych fixes him with a look of cautious reappraisal, and he continues: “Give us a little good faith, we’ll return it.” She takes a deep breath, then looks to her friends and half-shrugs. They nod back, and the near-dozen of them walk back to Vincent’s gate. One guard breaks the seal, and enters with the male investigator to survey the premises - Pannych does nothing to disguise her contempt and impatience, but shows no worry. Phyr and Vector are calmer, and roll well to disguise their apprehension.
“So what are you all doing on the road this early,” the female investigator asks affably.
“Forget it,” Pannych says. “You’re not gonna trip us up, because there’s nothing to trip us up on. Also, I’m not talking to you - and neither are my friends.” The investigator looks to Phyr and Vector, but they each give a shrug that says, You heard the lady.
“Hey, I’m just making conver-”
“No,” Pannych interrupts her, “You’re trying to find out if we’ll give up something incriminating with some oblique questions, and I have no patience for it, so we’re gonna wait until your buddies get back. You can save the interrogation for then, if they find anything, which they won’t.”
“You seem pretty confident of that. How come?”
“Because we didn’t do anything wrong. Now let’s wait for your pals in tense, awkward silence, like civilized people, OK?” The guards glower silently, and the investigator shrugs.
After a full three minutes of standing around, Pannych sits down cross-legged on the ground, and Vector takes out a cigarette. He proffers the pack to the guards; the investigator is the only one who partakes. After a few drags, she asks Vector, “Your friend seems pretty angry with us.”
Vector exhales and says, “Look, I’ll bum you a smoke, but I’m not talking to you without a lawyer.”
She shrugs and stares off for another drag, then turns back to him with a start and says, “Oh, where are my manners? I have you at a disadvantage - I’m Detective Michaels, my partner is Detective Cassidy. Your reputations precede you, Lady Pannych, Lord Phyr, Master Vector.”
”Pleasure,” Vector says dryly.
“Yeah,” Phyr says, nodding.
“Enchanted,” Pannych spits.
Michaels says to the two boys, “For someone who knows so much about interrogations, she’s sure mean about it.” Vector shrugs and takes a drag. Michaels looks to Phyr, and he gives a wide-eyed shrug of What do you want from me? “I just don’t get it, is all,” she continues. “I mean, we’ve been civil to you, and with all she knows of how we operate, I’d think she’d be a little more tolerant of procedure. Like, we haven’t cuffed you, we’re not grilling you, I just-”
“Fine,” Pannych says. “You wanna know what it is? Ever since the peace summit, everyone’s looking at us like we shit in your breakfast, when we just made life better for everyone on the island - including you guards! So excuse me if I’m a little pissed off at the fact that everyone’s biting the hand that just served ‘em a juicy porterhouse.”
Michaels mulls this over for a couple drags, then says, “Fair. I mean, for what it’s worth, I’m on your side here. And I’m not just saying that - I think this new Universal Basic Income is gonna be a bang-up thing. It’s practically a raise for me, it’ll reduce crime and thus my workload, and the city will have no excuse for cutting our pay to compensate. When I heard the news, I was happy as a pig in shit! Took the wife out for a nice dinner and everything! So, I’m sorry to hear how you’ve been treated, but fuck the haters - don’t look at me like that, Jones, I know you like roughing up the lowlifes.” Jones looks off, but keeps the sneer on his face. “Anyway, I guess I’ll shut up now. I just wanted to set the record straight on that account.”
True to her word, she finishes her cigarette in silence, and grinds it out on the path with the toe of her boot. She stares at her fingernails with disinterest, then gives the adventurers another once-over. With a shrug, she pulls out a speaking stone and says, “Got anything, Cass?”
“Looks good,” Cassidy’s voice says from the stone. “No signs of forced entry outside or any activity inside. We’re heading back.”
“All right, you can go,” Michaels says, stowing the speaking stone and putting her hands in her pockets. “Sorry to trouble you. And hey - thanks for cooperating. I mean that.” She extends a hand, and Pannych eyes her for a moment, then takes a deep breath and shakes it unenthusiastically.
Back on the road, Vector says, “What the fuck, Pan? You couldn’t just chill?”
“I meant what I said. Every word. The guards are all being shitty to us, and we didn’t do anything wrong.” She gives the guys a meaningful look, but when they open their mouths, she puts a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture. “Hey, Phyr - can I see that tablet real quick?”
“Uh, sure?” He hands her the tablet of identification as they continue walking.
“No, the other one,” Pannych says with a wink. Phyr looks at her like she’s stupid for a second, then pulls out his trap detector, which reads TRAP DETECTED in big, red letters. “Thanks,” she says, putting a finger to her lips again, then cupping one hand around her ear and pointing back toward the guards. “I’m gonna have a little snack, you guys hungry?” Another wink.
“Nah,” Phyr says.
Vector says, “Eh, I could eat.” He unzips his bag and starts absently rummaging around in it, while Pannych removes the glove that shook Michaels’ hand and thoroughly inspects it. She soon pulls off something about the size of a pea, and holds it up to Phyr’s eyes. He scrutinizes it for a second, then his Technical Intuition kicks in and he nods vigorously, eyes wide. She turns to drop it behind them, but it doesn’t go - she flicks it a couple times, with no better luck. Finally, she stops walking, and wipes it off on a stone like a booger. Free of the damn thing at last, they resume walking.
After some distance, Vector asks, “Bug?”
Phyr says, “Yeah, it’s called a ‘bug-burr,’ it’s a magically sticky listening device. Michaels must’ve stuck it on Pannych when they shook hands.”
“How’d you know it was there,” Vector asks her.
“When cops have to let me go, they’re never happy about it, let alone nice. And she was pretty slick, so I just figured she was up to something.”
“The Hell do you mean, ‘when’ - you spend a lot of time in trouble with cops as a kid?”
“Not in trouble, no. But I sure saw a lot of ‘em as a kid, yeah. And I’ve evaded ‘em since I was twelve.”
“What?” Vector is incredulous. He shakes off the surprise and says, “What were you doing at twelve, that had you hiding from cops?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it, OK? Let’s just go.”
Back in Leetsburg, the guards regard the adventurers with uncertain courtesy, a grudging balance between their initial friendliness and recent unease. Vector takes out the list, and they wander around looking for local businesses. The first one they find is Fools Rush Inn, an upscale-looking tavern and gambling house. Vector pockets the list, and they head in. He says, “Let me do the talking, eh,” as he holds the door open for the others.
Inside, the light is dim and the air is smoky. Past a few slot machines, there’s a food counter, with tables for eating and various games arrayed spaciously under hanging lamps lighting each of them with a warm, golden glow. Even now, just past ten in the morning, there are a couple dozen patrons scattered about the place, with sharply-dressed staff flitting among them like butterflies with drink trays. Vector leads the trio to the bar at the rear, walking purposefully.
A dwarf bartender eyes them suspiciously as they approach, hands spread on the polished oak. “Mornin’, heroes,” he says gruffly from beneath a mop of tousled brown curls. “The Hell ya want?”
“Vincent sent us,” Vector says, glancing at the golden “Dennis” glinting from the green nametag on his white starched shirt.
“Vincent’s dead.”
“We know that, Dennis. Everyone does. But before he died, he told us to come here if we ever needed reliable transportation. Not sure why, though - certainly wasn’t the friendly service.”
Dennis narrows his eyes, and looks them up and down. Vector passes a Performance roll to project confident derision, and the others don’t even need to roll to look impatient and bored. The barkeep coughs into his hand, and his demeanor softens. “Pardon me, I thought you were those other destined heroes. Should’ve recognized ya. Lemme get the boss for ya.” He retrieves a speaking stone and says, “Boss?”
The speaking stone rumbles, “Yes?”
“The demigods are here for a travel arrangement.”
A beat passes, and the laconic rumble says, “Send them back.” Dennis jerks a thumb toward a door flanked by two burly men, and Vector gives the barkeep a polite nod as they walk off. One of the burlies holds up a hand as they approach, but a moment later a thin elf woman emerges in an elegant backless knee-length dress and stiletto heels, all black. She sizes up the adventurers and beckons them with a finger.
They follow her wordlessly down a well-lit hallway lined with swinging doors, through two security checkpoints, to a heavy oak door standing ten feet high and slightly ajar. She comes to a stop just past it, then turns and extends her hand toward the soft light from within, saying only, “Mister Blackhoof will see you now.” She curtseys as they enter, and pulls the door shut behind them.
Inside, the office is all polished mahogany and deep green paint with gold trim. Half a dozen busts, oil paintings, and glittering gems are displayed tastefully around the large room. The marble floor was once elegant, but now dim and scuffed except for a few stretches along the baseboards. The most significant wear leads in a path from the door, across the room, and behind a large desk - behind which sits an even larger troll, one of perhaps twenty they’ve seen in their travels. Big, blue eyes watch the adventurers from beneath massive ivory horns and a glossy black mane. His massive chest rises and falls only once, and slowly, as they cross the floor to approach the desk.
“Please, be seated,” Blackhoof says slowly and evenly, unfolding his hands to gesture at the chairs arrayed before them. As he does so, the keratinous plates over his knuckles shift and clack with the movement of his hands, then he folds them together atop his desk once more. “So. I know Vincent didn’t send you. Yet here you are, in a place you should not be, saying things you should not know. Explain.”
Vector looks left at Phyr, then right at Pannych. Each of them raises their eyebrows and gives a slight shrug. He clears his throat and says, “We have our methods. I think we should focus on what we need, and what we can offer for it.”
Blackhoof lazily raises an eyebrow and measures his words, then says, “Two demigods grace my humble establishment, but the mortal speaks. Curiouser and curiouser. But I asked you to explain, not to pivot.” The eyebrow lowers, his curiosity evidently spent.
Vector rolls a 1 on Savvy to reevaluate the situation, and says, “Well, shit - I’m all out of ideas. You guys?”
Phyr snaps his head to face Vector and says, “Dude!” Then he turns back to Blackhoof and says, “Look, we’re just trying to get to Salinas, but we have a travel ban, OK?”
Blackhoof narrows his eyes at Phyr and says, “Strike two,” maintaining his measured pace. He turns to Pannych and says, “I don’t suppose the ninja will be more forthcoming? Tell you what - you deal straight with me, and I promise to deal straight with you.”
Pannych swallows hard and says plainly, “We broke into Vincent’s house and cracked his cipher.”
Intrigue replaces impatience, washing over the troll’s face like the flow of a tide. He says, “Impressive. Not only that, but the constabulary questioned you, yet found no evidence of your intrusion.” He takes a deep breath as he reappraises the adventurers before him. “Very well: a promise is a promise. You want to get to Salinas, and I am able to get you there. Normally, I would charge ten thousand dollars per head. But this income scheme of yours will enrich me considerably, and I know the value of cutting a good deal for rising stars such as yourselves. So I’ll give you a discount: twenty grand for the three of you, and you’ll travel in stealth and relative comfort. Is that acceptable to you?”
The adventurers look at each other, then Pannych says, “Pause. Guys, I only have like forty bucks.”
“Me, too,” Phyr says.
“I have about three or four grand,” Vector says, “Five at the very most, though. No way I can cover that.”
“Can we quest for the money,” Phyr asks.
Pannych says, “Not that much - not this quick. We need a new plan.”
Vector says, “Can we do that outside? I think we need to get out of here.”
“Agreed,” Pannych says.
Phyr tries to nod, but can’t because of Pause, so he says, “Yeah.”
Pause wears off.
“I’m sorry we’ve wasted your time,” Vector says after turning back to face the troll, “But we don’t have that much money.”
“How much do you have,” Blackhoof asks, only mildly perturbed.
“About five grand between us,” Vector says.
“Hmm. A waste of time, indeed. I was prepared to haggle - but not that much. Nevertheless, time spent making a contact and gaining information is never wasted. Now please, be on your way. Indigo will see you out.” At his words, she reenters the office and escorts the adventurers out to the main floor. They share a chilly stare with Dennis as they leave Fools Rush Inn.
Outside, Vector looks up at the late morning sun and says, “Back to Sir Briansworth, then?”
“But he suuuuuuuucks,” says Phyr. “Like, so bad.”
“He’s also the closest option,” Pannych says. Phyr sours, and Pannych continues: “Look, if Vector doesn’t make headway with him in five minutes, then we can head back to Noob Town, OK?”
“Two minutes,” says Phyr.
“Or, instead of putting an arbitrary time-limit on my conversational skills,” Vector says, “Why don’t you wait outside and talk about video games or something?”
Phyr blinks a few times and says, “Yeah, I guess we could do that.”
At the Leetsburg City Hall, Pannych and Phyr sit on a bench outside to watch the day go by, while Vector goes in to talk to Sir Briansworth. For several minutes, Pannych enjoys being off her feet, while Phyr thinks about farts, probably.
“It’s good to see you,” Phyr says after a few minutes of listening to the coast and commotion.
“What are you talking about? We see each other like every day.”
“What year is it, again?”
“It’s 2001, school just got oh, right.”
“Yeah. See, it’s 2018 outside, and things are… wait… no, forget I said anything. It’s just good to see you.” Pannych looks at him quizzically. “I mean, I was gonna talk about recent things, but then I remembered something soon on your timeline, and really? It’s kind of a shit-show from here on. Except for the black president, he’s cool.”
“We elect a black president? Sweet!”
“Two terms, even.”
“No shit? So not everything’s bad.”
“No, everything is bad. Nazis make a comeback.”
“OK, I could buy a black president, but now I know you’re pulling my leg.”
“Scout’s honor,” Phyr says, raising a hand sign.
“Uh, thing one? You were never in scouts. And thing two? That hand sign means ‘Live long and prosper’.”
“Whatever, I’m not messing with you. Nazis make a comeback and it’s fuckin’ scary.”
Pannych seems to accept this, and drops the incredulous look. Staring off into the distance, she says, “All right, fine. At least I’ll get to kill some Nazis, then.”
Phyr almost facepalms, but manages to restrain himself and let that one go. “Anyway,” he continues, “I think today is officially the most I’ve seen of you since, well, high school.”
“Do we… not hang out?”
“We do,” Phyr says with a shrug, “We’re just busy. When we manage to get the same weekend free, one of us comes to the other - but that’s only like once a year, twice at most.”
“What do we do?”
“Drink, play video games, go out to eat. Best friend things.”
Pannych gives a wry smile and says, “Well, it’s good to know something good stays the same.” They then sit in silence as the Sun passes its zenith and begins its slow fall back to the horizon.
Vector returns soon after, and immediately says, “OK, messing with me in the shower is one thing - but while I’m taking a shit? Not cool.”
Pannych stares dumbfounded for a second, then shakes it off and says, “What?”
“Don’t play dumb, just knock it off.”
“She was out here with me the whole time,” Phyr says. “And I sure as Hell wouldn’t let her mess with someone while they’re shitting.”
“Just stop, Phyr.”
“I’m serious,” Phyr insists. “Scout’s honor!”
“That’s ‘Live long and prosper,’ you dick. Now cut it out, both of you.”
“Back up a tic,” Pannych says. “What makes you so sure it was me?”
“Every shower I’ve taken, someone has whispered my name, almost like right in my ear. And it’s a girly-sounding whisper. And you’re a ninja. Put two & two together.”
“And two,” Phyr says. Vector glares at him. “That was three things! You need three twos.”
“Not helping,” says Pannych. “And now I’m starting to get worried, because we’ve been snuck up on, too - and if someone’s stalking us-”
“No, whoever this is knows my name.”
“Everyone on the damn island’s heard of us,” Pannych exclaims.
“My real name.”
“We said those in the cave, and I think a couple-”
“I mean she called me Benjamin.”
Pannych and Phyr look at each other with sudden concern. She says, “OK, now I’m really worried, but I’m not sure we can do anything about it for now, except keep our eyes out.”
The boys hem, haw, and harrumph their way to the same conclusion. Vector then says, “Well, things with Briansworth worked out. He tried stonewalling me at first, but I reminded him that he’ll be better off with us out of his hair. He’s pulling some strings, and gave me a contact in the Merchant Marines, so I guess that’s our next stop.”
The adventurers wind their way through near-empty lamp lit streets to the Office of the Coast Guard.
“I don’t think they’re open,” Pannych says as they approach the building.
“We’re meeting her at the building, not in the building,” Vector says.
Pannych says, “Oh,” and then starts at the sound of footsteps from around the corner. An enormous shadow beckons from the mouth of an alley at the edge of the lamplight.
“That’ll be her,” Vector says with a nod. They follow him to the shadow, who leads them deep into the alley. Away from the lamplight, their eyes adjust to the darkness, revealing a nine-and-a-half foot tall giant with chestnut-brown hair, skin and eyes to match, wearing a green frock coat with gold buttons and epaulets.
“Evening,” she says in a rumbling whisper. “I’m Captain Charise Starling, of Her Exalted Majesty’s Ship Birthright. Sir Briansworth tells me I’m haulin’ you to Salinas.”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Vector says.
“He also said you’re a reckless and undisciplined lot, and I’ll need to keep a close eye on you.”
“That… is not entirely unwarranted,” Phyr concedes.
“Well,” the captain says, “I don’t have the resources or the inclination to babysit a bunch of cock-sure landlubbers, so you’ll travel in the brig.”
“I think that may be a bit of an overreaction,” Vector says cautiously.
“You’re entitled to your opinion, and I’m entitled to ignore it. The silver lining here is that you’ll not be given any work in your cells. The way I see it, you’re not paying your own way, and that makes you cargo - so you’ll be treated as cargo, more or less. You’ll have your three square meals a day, and if you don’t make trouble, then I’ll not keelhaul ya. That strike you as fair?” Pannych and Vector roll their eyes, and Phyr grumbles, but they all nod their assent. “Very well, then,” Starling continues. “Keep up the cooperative attitude, and we’ll get along just fine. Now come with me, we’ve preparations to make before we bunk down.”
She leads the trio on a short walk to a run-down cabin at the nicer end of the “shack” spectrum, unlocks the crudely-fortified door, and leads them inside. Pannych remarks on the interior, “Nicer digs than I thought from outside.”
“Kinda the point,” Starling says. “I don’t spend much time here, and don’t want it getting the wrong kind of attention while I’m at sea.” Pannych gives an approving nod, and the captain continues: “First order of business is your appearance. You stick out like sore thumbs.” She rummages around in a large trunk and produces three dingy outfits in approximately the right sizes. “Change into these.”
“Ugh, these stink,” Phyr says.
“You’re prisoners aboard the Birthright. At least, nominally. You’ll not come out of this smelling like roses.” The adventurers share a resigned shrug and change into the worn rags. Starling gathers up their belongings and stows them in a steel footlocker, then hands the bright steel key to Vector. “That’ll be in the brig with you the whole time, and you’ve got the key. Take care not to lose it, yeah? You can arm-wrestle or whatever for who gets to hold it. Next order of business is your names. You’ll need pseudonyms on the voyage so’s not to-”
“Got it covered,” Phyr says. “I’m Dale, she’s Deirdre, and he’s Sye. Easy enough?”
“Dale, Deirdre, and Sye. Easy enough,” Starling agrees. “Now let’s get you in irons.” More rummaging, and she produces three pair of shackles. She locks them around the adventurers’ wrists, and hands the dull iron key to Vector, as well. Finally, she threads a long thin chain through a large center ring in each of their bonds, linking them all together. “Again, just for show, but we have to put on a good one. The realer it is, the fewer questions, and any failure on your part to play along is just gonna bite you in the ass.”
Vector and Pannych nod, but Phyr says, “Jesus, are we gonna have to eat salt pork and hardtack, too?”
“Indeed you will,” says the captain. “But don’t worry, it’s only for two weeks, and you’ll get plenty of water, with vitamins to boot. No scurvy for you kiddos.” She gives them a wink and a crooked grin. “All right, we’ve got you sorted. Now let’s get you to the Birthright.”
“Wait, are we sleeping on the ship tonight,” Vector asks.
“Aye. Best to get your sea legs overnight, so you don’t lose your lunch when we raise anchor tomorrow. Now follow me, and don’t say a word.” She hoists the footlocker with their gear over one shoulder, then takes the chain and leads them outside before locking up her home.
The four walk in silence along the dockside streets until they come to a gangplank extending from the deck of a galleon. Two merchant marines stand watch on the dock, and they stand at attention as Captain Starling approaches. “At ease, boyos,” she rumbles quietly once within earshot. “Last minute prisoner transport. Only to Salinas, not too far out of our way, then we’ll be rid of these wretched rapscallions.” She leads the three in irons up the gangplank, and then down into the brig. Once they’re alone again, Starling doesn’t bother trying to sneak them the cell key, she just gives it to Vector. “Now take heart: this’ll be a boring leg of your journey, but we’ll arrive safe and sound in Salinas in two weeks. Keep your heads down, and we’ll have no problems.” The adventurers nod silently as they enter their cells. “Final order of business: you stay down here until I come and get you. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to leave your cells once I leave this room. Any whiff of irregularity, and my men’ll know there’s mischief afoot - and the fewer questions, the better. Is that clear?”
“As crystal,” Vector says as the others nod their assent.
“Very well, then. Looks like we’ll be out of each other’s hair before we know it. Get some good sleep, you’re not likely to find it once we’re on the open sea.” And with that, she leaves. Once they’re alone, the three of them each get 10 experience points for securing passage off the island.
The brig has no windows, but is dimly lit by a pair of magical lamps flanking the entryway. Each cell has a pile of straw, only slightly moldy; a bare bench, chained to the wall; and a foul-smelling bucket that each of them strives not to think about.
Minutes pass in silence.
“Let’s talk to Sir Briansworth, you said,” Phyr says in a mock whine. “I’ll do all the talking, you said. He’s glad to have us off the island, you said.”
“I am willing to admit that we could probably be traveling in greater comfort,” Vector concedes, a tinge of defeat creeping into his voice.
“It was still the closest option,” Pannych says, “And it’s hard to beat the price of free.”
They get as comfortable as they can and try to get some rest.
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