In many ways, knowing that you are missing something is more valuable than even finding out what that something actually is.

Ignorance is bad, Bittercup knew, but ignorance of ignorance is fatal. How was it the King put it? As long as you know that you don’t know, you know…no, that wasn’t it. Not knowing is the only knowing that…

Ugh.

Bittercup lifted her drinking bowl to her lips, hiding the brief wrinkle in her agreeable mask behind a long sip. Here she was, nodding and smiling and trying to remember a fucking Glandem aphorism while two Players fumblingly detailed their Starting Zone storylines at her.

Gods she wished this was actual booze. Actual booze or better company. Bittercup was due at least one wish. She was cashing it in. Go. Go now, Wish. Go Go Go.

“-bandits had, like, this big, uh,” Glasses grimaced, fumbling for the right term. “One of those big crossbows? Big crossbow things?”

“Ballista,” Shaggy offered, sloshing a good amount of his third drink over his hand as he leaned forward. ‘Right? Ballista?”

“My gosh!” Bittercup gasped, “And they had it aimed at the mayor’s daughter?”

“Right? They were all like ‘If you don’t give us the town’s gold, we’re totally gonna ballista her!’”

“That is just awful.” Bittercup screwed her eyes shut, offering a small shake of her head. “So what did you do, Prosporo?”

“Well, I mean, we still had to gather a bunch of bees for this other townsperson and fix a clock or something so first we-”

Double Ugh. Bittercup was definitely going to figure this particular mystery out long before this damn wish got off its lazy, mystical ass and set about fixing all of her problems. Because the elf already knew one thing for absolute certainty: Glasses and Shaggy didn’t know shit about ass.

They were involved, clearly, or her Silk-Draped Skullduggery wouldn’t have singled them out. But the two Players were either catspaws, patsies, or at most had been sucked in by a bit of instant-stooging. Whatever their part had been, it was simply one small piece of a much larger puzzle.

Makes sense, Bittercup reasoned. Very few people have the skills or mentality necessary to project innocence when they know they’ve got something to hide, and gathering enough master spies to keep even a modestly-sized operation running was a recruitment nightmare. But anyone can keep a secret if they don’t even know it exists. Smart.

That sword could cut both ways, though. Assuming Bittercup followed all the threads and this scheme could be foiled, Glasses and Shaggy would have no idea they’d been the ones responsible for the first crack. The ones actually behind whatever was going on would have no reason to suspect anything was amiss until it all blew up in their faces.

“-looked up the answer. Riddles are so stupid; why does every Quest Hub always have a riddle quest, anyways?”

“Mm.” Bittercup ran a finger around the lip of her glass.”Back home, at least, it’s to appease Glasta, the Elven God of Riddles. But if there is more than one riddle, or it’s too complex, you run the risk of enraging Óripanta, the Elven God of Plain-Speaking.”

“Well I agree with Ory Panther because riddles suck.” Glasses finished off the rest of his glass, Bittercup ready with the pitcher to refill it once again. “So anyway, yeah! That’s how we became heroes of the town, and received summons to Magica City to-”

“What about the mayor’s daughter?”

“Eh?” Glasses hoisted his new drink. “Who?”

“The mayor’s daughter?” Bittercup repeated, pouring Shaggy another glass full as well. “She was being held at ballista-point?”

“Oh, right! Her! Huh.” Glasses took a thoughtful sip, then glanced towards his compatriot. “I guess we never found out, huh?”

“Guess not,” Shaggy shrugged. “Whatever.”

They didn’t finish the quest? Bittercup surreptitiously glanced at Glasses’ hand, re-confirming the Heroes’ Band around his ring finger. Every new Player gets that as the reward for finishing a Starting Zone. So how did–

–Right. Got it.

“You said you were summoned to Magica City?” The Players nodded, and Bittercup offered a sweet frown. “Well I almost hate to say it, but I think the last merchant ship headed that way leaves soon?”

“Really?” Shaggy opened a prompt with a flick of his finger. “Oh shit, she’s right.” He rose from his seat, choking down about half of his remaining drink. “We gotta go.”

“Aw” Bittercup stood as well, reaching out to lightly brush a hand across Shaggy’s shoulder. “Well I’d love to chat some more, if you’re ever back in this part of the world. Oh!” The elf lit up with an idea. “Why don’t you both send me Favored Villager requests?”

Glasses and Shaggy shared a grin before clacking away into newly-summoned prompt windows, sending their requests before stumbling towards the bar to pay their tab. Bittercup managed a wave in response as she shouted their goodbyes, but the two Players had already begun to fade from her mind. She had all she needed from them in the dual screens that popped up before her.

The Favored Villager System was an annoyance more than anything else, just another way for Players to bother Citizens that had caught their attention. Bittercup had no particular interest in hearing from Glasses or Shaggy ever again; she’d simply leave the requests without response for a few weeks and then quietly decline them. But it was one of the few ways for a Citizen to get a truncated look at a Player’s Character Sheet, and therefore one of the only ways for Bittercup to quietly confirm her suspicions.

And sure enough, there it was: one seriously out of place hat. Like many Players, Glasses and Shaggy had opted to hide their Head slot gear. But a Character Sheet would still display everything a Player wore, hidden or not.

And now that she could see the offending headpiece, it wasn’t hard to tell why they had both opted to go for the hat-free look: all the rest of their equipment tied together nicely, clearly part of a single Starter Set. But the hat stuck out like an aesthetic sore thumb, its material, coloration, and design meant to complete some entirely different Set.

Head Gear was the final piece of Start Set equipment a new Player earned as they worked through a Starter Zone. And Glasses and Shaggy had completed a Starter Zone, or they wouldn’t have received a Heroes’ Band.

But it seemed clear to Bittercup that, for whatever reason, these two Players had started in one Zone, finished all of the quests up until the grand finale, then transferred to some entirely different Starter Zone and finished the final quest there.

Finally, her mother’s voice sniffed, If you were a proper elf with proper ears, it wouldn’t have taken you so–

Bittercup waved away her mother’s imaginary scolding, activating Silk-Draped Skullduggery to confirm that the skill’s aura no longer blazed around either of the two Players. This was the information vital to resolving Shinki Itten’s crisis. What did that tell her?

It told her that whatever was going on, someone had put a lot of thought into it. Starter Zone Completion was a single track; once you’ve completed one, you’ve technically completed them all. And the Starting Zone Experience was very accommodating to Players who wanted to join up with their friends. That meant the final quest Instance of an obscure Starting Zone was the perfect place to stage a meeting of New Players from anywhere in Magica without having to worry about anyone bumbling in uninvited.

All it would take is a single Friend Request, and you could pull new Players from anywhere in Magica to a single location. One much closer to Shinki Itten, for example.

Not Red Players, though. Their Friend System features automatically turned off, and the town guards would still attack them on sight. Hm. It seemed as if there was still more to this particular mystery.

Well, whatever. Bittercup had done her part.

Aya glanced up from the obscene pile of gold the two Players had paid their bill with as Bittercup joined her at the bar, the elf’s quickly scrawling out a note on a scrap of paper. “Aya, would you be a lamb and do me one more favor?”

“Of course!” the kobold enthused. “Anything you want!”

“After I’ve left, could you pass this note along to a town guard?” She slipped the message towards Aya. “I’d really appreciate it.”

The girl nodded, tucking the note into the pocket of her apron. Well then, that was that. Bittercup joined Aya in separating out her share of the loot, content that the matter had been resolved on her end. She’d helped out the city, made a solid chunk of change, and could now go back to living the arms’ length life she definitely wanted, regardless of what her ears insisted.

It was someone else’s problem now.

_______________________________________________________

The knock on her door later that night was the first sign that, perhaps, this was in fact still Bittercup’s problem. The second sign was when Bittercup gingerly opened said door, revealing the Captain of the Godsdamned Guard standing there, holding the note she had given Aya.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

Hilde performatively cleared her throat as she lifted the note, reading aloud before Bittercup could manage a greeting. “Inform all gate guards to be on the lookout for new Players with mismatched Starter Gear. Watch for this hat in particular,” The hobgoblin tapped her finger against the parchment. “And then there’s a very nice sketch of a very ugly hat. I didn’t know you could draw.”

“Well I–”

The woman cleared her throat again, picking up where she left off. “If spotted, keep under surveillance but do not alert. Watch for a hand off of any kind with Players who may already be in the city.” Hilde folded the note with a flick of her hand, tucking it down into the neck of her gorget. “So that’s it, then?”

“Um,” Bittercup started, suddenly furious at her own tied tongue. “Yeah. Basically.”

Hilde folded her arms across her breastplate. “Why the note? Why didn’t you just go tell a guard yourself? Or me? I sit right next to you in the Council meetings; you could have just told me then.”

Bittercup flushed. “I didn’t want to get involved.”

“Ha! No.” Hilde shook her head. “”If you didn’t want to get involved you wouldn’t have, you know. Gotten involved.”

“Yeah, well, so what?” Bittercup glared at the hobgoblin, irritation and embarrassment sending lances of heat up her neck. “You think you know so much about me; why don’t you tell me why I send the fucking note?”

“Okay.” The guard turned and started off, pausing after a few steps to glance back over her shoulder. “Well? Are you coming?”

“What? Where are we going?”

“To dinner. So are you coming? Or do you want to hide in your room for another three months?”

The elf blinked, the heat in her neck pulsing again. And then she grumbled, falling in line beside Hilde. “I do want to hide in my room for another three months. But I’m also hungry, so fine. Whatever.”

The two walked in silence as they made their way through the early evening Shinki Itten streets, the sun beginning to set into a sea of apricot and plum as the people of the city wound down their day. The eternally suspicious part of Bittercup’s mind, hardened by a lifetime of abuses and betrayals, couldn’t help wondering if she was being led into some sort of trap. If they would round a corner to reveal a group of armed guards, or waiting Players, or even Glandem himself as impossible as that would be.

Instead, Hilde threw open the door to a boisterous bar, filled to the brim with a raucous crowd of off-duty dockworkers and Banken. The woman waved away the small cheer that broke out at her appearance with faux-irritability before lifting her hands in a pleading gesture to the pleasantly plump kobold that moved to greet her. “Chari, please say you saved one for me?”

“Of course I did!” The matronly woman swatted Hilde with her cleaning towel, already bustling her and Bittercup to the last open table in the packed house. “You know I’ll always look out for my favorite customer.”

“I love you, Chari. Marry me.” Hilde professed, draping herself down into the proffered chair like a king taking their throne. “You can commit any crimes you want.”

That earned the hobgoblin another smack from Chari’s towel before she turned to Bittercup, setting a bowl down on the table as she offered the elf a homey smile. “Can I bring you a drink, love?”

Hilde leaned forward, aiming a significantly more teasing smile Bittercup’s way. “Another bowl of pioiala, perhaps?”

Bittercup leveled a flat stare at the grinning guard captain. “I’ll have whatever she’s having.”

Chari aimed another swat Hilde’s way before bustling away, leaving Bittercup to sit as a lightly stewing island of anxiety amidst the spirited good cheer of the bar. What fresh hell was this going to be, then? Was Hilde going to insist she stop sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong? Or even worse, insist that she stick it in even more? Because the last thing she wanted was–

“So we’ve already found one.”

Bittercup blinked. “What?”

Hilde paused to pick up the bowl Chari had left, fishing out a slice of pickled radish for herself before offering it to the elf. “One of the Players you mentioned. Oh, try the cabbage; the cabbage is good.” She nodded in approval as Bittercup selected a beautiful pale-green leaf before continuing on. “We’re certain we missed a few, because so many Players hide their hats for whatever reason? But at least one didn’t. She brought a big package of goods into town. Sold it to someone for significantly more than it should have gone for.”

“I see.” Bittercup took a moment to carefully chew her pickled cabbage, marveling at the burst of rich flavors. Gods, if there was even a single good cook in Quercus she might have stayed loyal forever, even with everything else. “So what happened?”

Hilde shrugged. “Nothing yet. The buyer is still in the city, under constant Banken surveillance. Whenever they do what it is they are going to do, I’ll get a message. Until then, there’s nothing much to do.”

“Right. Well good.” The elf plucked another piece of cabbage from the bowl, a moment of silence falling over the table. Before long, though, Bittercup had to ask. “So…why all of this, then? Why come find me?” Hilde started to reply, but Bittercup barreled past her. “Because if you want me to become a spy for you or something, you’ve got no–”

“Whoa, whoa! No!’ Hilde waved her hands, attempting to placate the bristling elf. “That’s definitely not it! Look, Bittercup, I would never say that I know what you’ve been through? But the small hint I have of what happened to you seems like a nightmare. You don’t owe us going through more of that.”

Bittercup lowered herself back down into her seat, her hackles slowly doing so as well. “So what, then?”

Hilde chewed her lip for a moment, drumming her fingers across the table as she carefully considered her words. “...Okay. Is it possible that you’re…more worried about a specific person in town beginning to see your talents as a tool in their kit? Someone who might have the best intentions, but…well.” Hilde shrugged again. “Best intentions are great on a wide scale, but can be brutal at an individual level. Your old King probably had the best intentions too, right? At first?”

“I don’t…” Bittercup frowned, lowering the radish she’d just pulled from the bowl. That was it, wasn’t it? At some point, however many years ago, a girl probably just like her had put her trust in the hands of a Schemer, probably a lot like…someone. And that Schemer had proceeded to make a series of choices, every one of which was probably entirely reasonable and justified when viewed individually.

And then, one day, all of those choices had become the Repast. Bittercup would be a fool to think it was impossible for it to happen again. “Something like that. Maybe.”

“Right.” Hide let out an anxious huff, offering Bittercup a sympathetic look. “Well I just wanted to make sure you knew that the Banken are going to totally honor your request for anonymity. As far as anyone else will know, the wall guards pieced together this clue. And that deal will stand for anything else you ever might want to bring to us. Okay?”

“Right. Okay.” Bittercup let the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding loose, tension fading out of her shoulders. Then, she crooked an eyebrow towards Hilde. “Though I have to say, I’m a little surprised you felt this way.”

“What do you mean?” Hilde asked around a mouthful of radish.

“You’re one of his closest friends, aren’t you?” The elf leaned forward, taking the opportunity to return the hobgoblin’s previous teasing tone. “There are rumors, you know, that the two of you are actually–”

“Oh Goddess, no.” The guard captain choked down the pickle with a grimace. “Him? Not even a bit; he’s like my little brother. He is extremely not my type.”

“Oh really? Then what is your–” Bittercup trailed off, another thought twinkling up from the part of her mind that hadn’t been hardened by abuses and betrayals. “Why didn’t you just tell me all of this back at my room? Why did we have to come here?”

For the first time Bittercup could ever recall seeing, a light flush of peach rippled across Hilde’s cheeks. “Why not? People have dinner. That’s not a big deal.”

Whatever retort Bittercup might have come up with crumbled as she became aware of the fact that she had left her room, for the first time ever, without her hooded cloak. She was sitting here, in public, having dinner, with her newly changed ears completely uncovered. Even contemplating this sort of situation a mere month ago would have sent the old her into an anxiety spiral.

But…maybe not anymore? She was changing whether she liked it or not. But maybe deciding to like it had actually been an option this whole time.

Any lingering doubts she might have had were obliterated when Chari reappeared, dropping a steaming platter onto the table filled to near overflowing with an enormous roast bird. It was easily the size of a grown pig and roasted to a glossy, gorgeous brown sheen, giving off the sort of smells that definitively proved that at least one God out there must truly love them.

“What the fuck is that,” Bittercup demanded, nearly drowning on her own drool.

“This is a sort of chimera the Wild Children found to the North. See?” Hilde indicated the three necks still protruding from its glorious body with the knife Chari offered her. “It’s a turkey, chicken, and a duck all at once.”

“Okay. Wow. Fuck.” The elf swallowed slowly. “I’ve completely forgotten whatever we were just talking about. But whatever it was, I agree with you entirely.”

Hilde grinned widely, her cheeks still glowing peach as she began to carve into the bird. “The thing to do,” she began, slicing away a massive strip of beautiful crackling, “Is to eat the skin first.”

That, Bittercup conceded, was the sexiest thing anyone had ever said to her. She accepted the morsel with shaking hands, the crispy skin just barely shy of scalding as she sank her teeth into a tidal wave of savory delight, sweet earthy spices and unctuous fat and the flavor that could only come from the flesh of an affront to bird-kind everywhere swirling together to create the single greatest bite of Bittercup’s life.

It had taken the better part of a day, but this was it. Her wish had come true.

Before Hilde could carve another piece, a prompt flashed open above the table. “Oh! They must have found something?”

Bittercup was still deep in the embrace of pure bliss. “Eh?”

“The Banken who were following the contact, they sent me a scry. The target must have done something they wanted me to see.”

‘Seeing’ wasn’t super high on Bittercup’s priority list right now; any sense that wasn’t taste or smell was essentially turned off. But she’d try her best. “Well? What was it?”

“Here,” Hilde offered, scooting her chair around to Bittercup’s side of the table. “Let’s watch it together.”

Bittercup nodded, licking the lingering flavor from his fingers as Hilde punched something into the screen. The elf did her best to pay attention, to not be distracted by the roast chimera that teased her from the table. Or, increasingly, the realization that her leg was touching Hilde’s.

But then she finally managed to focus on what was paying out before her eyes, and it wasn’t hard to give the scene her undivided attention any longer.

At length, Hilde spoke up. “...I’m still going to keep your anonymity, Bittercup. But I have to take this to the Council right now.”

Bittercup silently nodded, both the bird and the beginnings of what was shaping up to be an entirely pleasant evening entirely forgotten.

Wishes are real, her mother’s voice smirked, and you wasted yours on a bird and a goblin. Good work, Lothnaena.

You said it, Mom. Good work, Lothnaena.