The Princess’s first act presiding over the newly founded “Game Fellows” was to dismiss almost all of them from the room. A coalition of her most loyal agents who openly acknowledged their origins in gameworlds without having sudden, adverse reactions to the “g-word” was a boon, but she required order so she could think and plan. Only a small few remained, including my human—who, if I haven’t mentioned it lately, is truly top notch. Helmgarth, Addrion, the politician, and a few select others stayed nearby. Shiori dismissed the Irregulars to guard the door themself—the now permanently dark city would have plenty of matters for them to deal with.
They gathered in front of the table, where the stone flower bloomed before them—the miniature Screenwilds and its Genre Shard petals. Commander Zideo began collecting the extra red tokens from the model and cleaning up the Princess’s dramatic gesture from earlier. He reached for the pile of red tokens on the miniature Shard known as Platformia, dotted with red like a child with chicken pox, but stopped when he heard Addrion make a scoffing noise. “You can leave those,” she said without looking at him. “It’s basically accurate.”
Zideo straightened. “It’s got that many bosses?”
“No,” rumbled the mountainous politician, “minions mostly. But yes, it’s quite… active.”
“A target-rich environment,” said Addrion.
“Rad,” said Zideo in that way that told me that he did not feel the words he was saying. “So we go there last. Raise an army of game heroes, attack when we are strong enough.”
“We’re going there tonight,” Addrion informed him, although with a missing sun, it seemed to me that “tonight” could mean any amount of time. “You saw where the sun-pieces went. Plus, it’s where the boss council is the strongest.” She tapped the little model representing the fort. “Their first and only incursion into the Screenwilds so far. A forward operating base. They’re nearly ready for a full invasion.”
The Princess broke her silence. “I have sent other agents to Platformia. We lost contact, but if you can make contact with them, it will make success…” She shared a knowing look at Addrion. “Well, I like your chances much better.”
“So, just so I understand,” said Zideo, the volume of his voice rising, “we’re going to send like five of us to where their armies are strongest, and figure out how to get the sun back?”
The Princess did not deign to nod. The stoic reflection of her mirror sunglasses was all the affirmative she was willing to give him.
“And if we get it back, you can send me home?”
The Princess shrugged. “I am certain I can figure it out.”
A kind of silence ensued which made everyone fidget. Addrion did not like the way Zideo stared at the Princess, and I did not like the way Addrion stared at Zideo.
“So why me?” asked Zideo. “You’ve got a space warrior—”
“Exterminator,” Addrion corrected.
“—exterminator, a sorta kinda shapeshifter—”
Helmgarth’s hat was already off, so he raised it in salute.
“—some kind of wrestler mayor,”
“Ten time world champion,” said the politician, flexing, “and ten terms in office.”
“And me. I’m literally the only one with no special abilities.”
“We will see,” said the Princess, “if you are who Helmgarth believes you are.”
My human was quiet for a while as they discussed the particulars of the plan to infiltrate the fort from which we had so recently escaped. He looked at me, and watched me for some time. All dogs know the feeling of being watched by their owners: the butterflies stirred in my stomach, and my tail began to wag involuntarily as I waited to find out what he wanted me to do. If I could have read his mind, I would have obeyed his commands before he put voice to them. As it was, I was left to ponder the pleasant asymmetry of his handsome and crooked face, his pink and aqua hair, and his two different colored eyes. Humans, just so you know—you do not do this enough. You do not take time to simply pay attention to your dogs. What did he see when he looked at me, stranded as we were in a far-off world, perhaps another universe, whatever the difference may be? Did he see home? His loved ones?
He sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, and called me over with a gesture. He gave me some good rubs. Lisa is an earnest scratcher of ears, but nowhere on the level of my number one best human of all universes.
I gathered from the snippets of conversation that I paid attention to that this would be what was referred to as a “sneaking mission,” a term that caused Zideo’s eyebrows to react unevenly. Several disused Sorrow Trooper helmets (complete with their frowning tragedy masks) had been confiscated from the master merchant Kriegsgeswinnler, and we were to disguise ourselves as servants of the Empire of Sorrow. We were to gain access to the ballista atop the half-constructed main tower of Fort Weepus, although I could not imagine this succeeding, and had less of an idea how that was supposed to convey us to the Shard known as Platformia. Everyone must have thought it was such a solid and airtight plan that nobody talked about that particular detail openly.
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The wrestling mayor (whose name was DuChamp, although he often brazenly referred to himself as “Da Champ”) recounted his experience escaping the fort’s prison. He claimed that his wandering around the fort’s premises gave him a clear mental map, and that he could lead them to the ballista with ease. I did not see the trouble with finding it—it was the tall, unfinished tower smack dab in the center of the fort. I recalled a glimpse of the hulking overseer running back and forth at its highest platform, raging at the workers below.
Zideo chimed in and said that we might be better off with the cardboard box approach. This was not well received by the group.
We were dismissed, and Zideo and I followed Helmgarth in gathering supplies in the benighted city, under the reproachful eyes of all the nameless former princesses.
Our first order of business was to acquire the disguises from impound at the city jail, where we found Torrence heaping shame on the imprisoned merchant. Although Kriegsgeswinnler was behind bars, he did not so much beg for his release as try to bargain for a profitable trade, shouting “Thirty! Fifteen! C’mon, you’re gonna bleed me dry over here!” from his cell as we departed with the masks. The fatigues and robes we had to improvise, and Helmgarth visited various shops for makeshift coverings that would fit a dog and a hulking, wrestler-sized mayor.
We obtained the use of a wagon, owned by a man whose pallid demeanor betrayed both his recognition of Helmgarth and his displeasure at his arrival. His face was tattooed and his hair and beard hung in braids.
“How’s it hanging, Ham?” he said to Helmgarth from behind a shop counter, then self-corrected. “Rather, greetings, Helmgarth Hulsson.” The two did not look very similar, yet something was shared in their appearances. Their clothing was not the same—Helmgarth’s formal blacks and silvers contrasted with the other’s worn and worn tunic—but their visages were cast from the same color palette. They could have been distant cousins, perhaps, but it was more than that. The shapes that made up their bodies and the mannerisms they to which they were prone, the pause between speaking and action… it was all strangely similar. I felt certain that the two must have hailed from the same place. The same world, that is, before the great shattering of all the digital realms. Helmgarth called him “Gjamb,” with some familiarity, and delivered the Princess’s order that he captain the wagon that would deliver us back to Fort Weepus. His face fell at this news, but he looked around the shop where other fantastical personages congregated (a couple of the knee-high people I was later told were a “CRPG party,” a couple of flat-folk from the 2D gameworlds, and other leather-and-chainmail types) and did not hesitate long before agreeing.
Gjamb went into the back of the shop and produced an armful of vials of liquid more red than wine and brighter than blood, and would not accept payment. Helmgarth put them all way into his pack.
“You never know,” he said.
He deputized an irritating little blue orb, who flitted about the shop exhorting visitors to “Listen! Hey!” but had little else to say, placing her in charge of his storefront until his return. In truth, he seemed relieved to be rid of her. Gjamb assembled his wagon and team of two horses in front of the shop, shouting “Hyah!” He promised to meet us at the tower, and disappeared into the dark city streets.
After more supply-gathering visits to various shops, during which Zideo and myself tagged along like dogs (two dogs, I suppose, rather than one dog and one human), our departure from Ludopolis was inauspicious. I did not believe that a day had passed yet since the theft of the sun, but I was beginning to feel the evening fatigue set in. This was the most unsettling thing about this new cataclysm—being robbed of the tempo of day and night. The sensation that something was supposed to be happening was never far. I know that Zideo and Helmgarth felt this restlessness as well, the constant expectation that went constantly unfulfilled. It was the same feeling that I got when I insisted on being let out to pee at late or early hours, when Lisa would stand there and wait impatiently while I sniffed to find the exact right position, the perfect latitude and longitude, to urinate.
We few Game Fellows (for having endured their tedious gathering, I counted myself very officially part of their ranks) set out in Gjamb’s wagon, toward Fort Weepus and the looming Shard beyond its horizon, Platformia. The Princess did not make another appearance, but when Addrion turned back to look toward the tower, I thought I could make out a dim figure there standing among the parapets, a faint glow of starlight-hued cloth and denim.
Past the outlying farms we rode, where the large-eyed farmers strove against their final harvest. I could only imagine the stunted, half-grown vegetables and tubers it would yield. And then what would the city of Ludopolis subsist on?
Across the frontier Gjamb’s wagon rattled, his horses’ iron clapping against what passed for a road as long as we had it. Zideo did not attempt his horse-summoning trick again, for we knew that Fort Weepus would be looking for a number of horseback interlocutors. I was fine with this, as I had already ridden horseback more than any dog should ever have to do, and the thought of doing so while under fire from the great ballista of the fort and the energy weapons of the Ohmpressors appealed to me even less.
Copses shrieked and trilled with, I presumed, their strange chimeric beasts. Once or twice I saw the steely flash of light among their bowers and roots, silent and surreptitious as unlooked-for shooting stars.
I remembered the weird “hyoop hyoop” bird who had been claimed by what I believed was the same light.
“What’s…” began Zideo, remembering the book. “Can you, Helmgarth, tell me what the deal is,” he said, looking around to make sure his syntax had not summoned the Compendium, “with the flashing lights and the weird animals?”
Helmgarth gestured a circle with his crystal-topped cane. “Great question, old chap,” he said.
“Oh, I am over this new you,” said Addrion.
He continued undeterred. “The Screenwilds is a special place among the all the g-word worlds. Or it was.”
When he did not continue, Zideo prodded. “Well?” he asked. “How?”
“You may have noticed this is not a specific g-word,” said the dandy.
“Yeah? And?”
Helmgarth smiled, and the others glanced at one another. Even Gjamb looked back at us over his shoulder.
“Well,” said Helmgarth, “all those g-words have to come from somewhere, right?” He left Zideo with that thought. My human scratched at his chin, and his eyes wandered through various thoughts without focusing on anything nearby. The Game Fellows watched him in silence to see what he would say.
And what he said, after long reflection, was: “Huh?”