Peter huffed his way across the city towards the Foedus Family compound—the seat of House Laws. He’d been surprised when they told him to come to their actual estate and not some sort of trading house or business. Working at the estate was much higher up the food chain than he’d expected, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Firsthand knowledge of the city’s decision makers was good—the closer you were to power, the fewer people there were who could blame you for their mistakes—but he hadn’t intended to become so entwined with one Family. Not that there was much he could do about it at this point. In for a penny, in for a pound.
He crossed the street, shielding his eyes from the sun’s reflection as it bounced off a puddle in the road. The rain had let up, which was good, but the damp also unleashed some of the less pleasant smells of a primitive city. Magic may have made things like indoor plumbing possible, but it didn’t make them affordable.
“Man, I have got to lose some weight,” Peter muttered, stopping to catch his breath and give his back a good stretch, grimacing in the process. His Hiking Skill was great for foot soreness, but it did absolutely nothing for the lumbar pain he’d earned from years of sitting at a desk all day.
It was his own fault. Even with all the desk jockeying required of modern farmers—taxes, subsidy applications, seasonal work permits, accounting, yields, and more—most farm operators spent far less time at a desk than Peter. They were on their feet investigating crops, meeting with seasonal staff, visiting neighbouring farms and the like, which provided at least some opportunity to get up and keep moving. But the truth was, running a farm wasn’t the main reason Peter spent an increasing amount of time stuck to his chair.
It was because the farm was losing money.
When Jack passed the farm into Peter’s hands, the margins were already razor-thin. The old man knew it, and to some extent, Peter suspected Jack had stepped down because he knew he lacked the skills to fix the problem. The old man was from a generation where elbow grease and bull-headedness could knock down most walls, but the world had changed. Now it was all about grey areas, regulations, and red tape. If you couldn’t navigate that, you were as good as done. Passing the farm operations over to Peter was his last-ditch attempt to keep that from happening.
If only such a miracle were possible.
Oh sure, maybe 10 or 15 years ago Peter could have pulled it off for a while. But that window had closed, and it was because of an obstacle no amount of paperwork could overcome: Water. Drought was now the norm in Southern California, lowering yields and increasing the risk of a fire wiping out their orchards. That raised insurance costs, again cutting into their margins. Peter had needed to find a new way to protect the family investments, and against all odds, he had. It required a natural aptitude he didn’t realize he possessed and came at the cost of his waistline, but it saved the family on Earth. And if he played his cards right, it would save them on Arenia too.
Peter took a moment to pull out his Tome and once again read the entry he’d discovered last night while trying to give Beth some space after her horrible experience. It had been surprising to find, but it also answered a lot of questions:
ADAPTIVE SKILL: APOPHENIA*
The ability to make connections and draw conclusions based on seemingly unconnected pieces of information.
Current Skill Level: 39 (Tier-III: Journeyman)
Tier-0 Consequence: Susceptible to belief in conspiracy theories.
Tier-I Consequence: Superstitious, 50% reduction in Tier-0 consequence.
Tier-II Consequence: Gambler’s fallacy (believing a random event is more likely to occur because it hasn’t occurred recently), compounding 50% reduction to lower Tier consequences.
Tier-III Bonus: Data parsing (able to see through the noise of large data sets and uncover meaningful connections), removal of Tier-0 consequence, compounding 50% reduction to lower Tier consequences.
Tier-IV Bonus: Unknown.
Tier-V Bonus: Unknown.
*This is an Intuitive/Creative Skill. While your Base Stats may affect this Skill in subtle ways, it is not directly linked to any of them.
*This is an Adaptive Skill. Adaptive Skills have adverse effects at low levels, only becoming visible in your Tome when effects become beneficial at Journeyman Tier. Most people have some number of hidden Adaptive Skills, only rarely ever reaching a level where they would become visible. Adaptive Skills do not grant XP. Adaptive Skills can move in either direction.
At some point yesterday, Peter had used that Skill and unlocked it in his Tome. Maybe when he deduced that Naomi was a scion of the powerful Del Storr Family. Or maybe not. The reason didn’t matter. What mattered was that now he knew why he was so good at looking at weather reports, shifting regulations, marketplace data and the like, then using that information to make predictions about how it would affect commodities prices. The family knew he did some speculation, but they didn’t realize that smart investing was what had kept the family afloat for the last ten years, not the farm. Built them a pretty good nest egg, too.
Now that was gone. But the Skill remained, and he would be working in a place with all the information necessary to take advantage of the market. Maybe the means he’d need to employ wouldn’t be entirely above water, but in a trade city like Palmyre there were bound to be opportunities.
Dismissing his Tome, Peter resumed his huffing walk towards the estates.
When Peter exited the Cirque du Chânce and entered the Garden District, he discovered it was even nicer than he’d expected. Larger, too. Fortunately, while Laws was one of the “younger” Families and therefore not on the waterfront proper, he didn’t have any trouble finding the estate. Not only was it huge, with lush green lawns and a mansion straight out of the English countryside, but the perimeter wall also featured prominent engravings of the weighted scale crest of House Laws at regular intervals.
Finding it, however, was not the same as being able to get in.
There were two gates at the front. One was the carriage gate that connected to the road. The other was a small door beside it for foot traffic. Two guards were standing at the small door, one on either side.
Peter walked up to the guards. “Hi. I’m here for my first day of work at the estate. Mind telling me where to go?”
“Piss off,” the guard on the right said, not even turning his head.
After that resounding success, Peter switched to the guard on the left. “Sorry, just to be clear, I do work here now, and I’d rather not be late.”
“Piss off,” the guard on the left echoed.
Peter scowled. “Sure. Gotcha. Now, if one were to piss off in the direction of the servant’s entrance, which way might that be?”
Neither guard responded, and Peter could feel the heat building in his face.
A man sidled up next to him. “Hell of a place, yeah?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Peter turned to discover a fellow wearing a stiff leather vest over regular clothes, a longsword in a sheath at his hip. He had a handsome, Latino look to him, and was in his late-20s, tall and powerfully built, but lean. If someone told Peter the guy was the starting centre-back for Brazil’s World Cup team, he’d believe them. There was something else about him, too, teetering on the edge of the uncanny valley, but Peter couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it was just the man’s accent, which was quite different from the other residents of Palmyre.
“You mean the Laws Estate?” Peter asked. “Yeah, I don’t have much experience with places like this.”
“Not many of us do,” the man said with a smile. “And if we did, we wouldn’t be looking at it from this side of the fence, would we?”
Peter chuckled. “Believe it or not, I’m supposed to meet someone in there, but I don’t have the first idea how to get in. Tweedledee and Tweedledum here aren’t being particularly helpful.”
The guard on the right scowled, while the other stifled a laugh over his compatriot’s annoyance.
“Is that so?” the stranger asked. “Social meeting or business?”
“Business,” Peter said. “I just started working for them.”
“Ah, then you’re looking for the servant’s entrance. When is your meeting?”
“Nine bells,” Peter said.
The man nodded. “You have time, but only if you head straight there. Come, I will show you.” He gave Peter a wave, gesturing for him to follow.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Peter said. But he didn’t look at the man when he responded. Instead, he stared at the guards, measuring their reaction to his words.
They stood there like carved granite.
Peter turned and followed the man. “I’m Peter.”
“And I am Ian,” the man said, leading him along the wall. “Are you new to Palmyre?”
“Why do you ask?” Peter asked.
“I simply observed that you have a new job with the highest-ranked Family in the city, and at their estate, no less. You’ve likely come from somewhere to have begun so high in their organization.”
“Everybody comes from somewhere,” Peter noted, keeping his eyes about him. Ian didn’t push further, simply taking him around the corner of the estate and towards some outbuildings that were surrounded by a separate, smaller wall than the one ringing the central estate. Unlike the main estate, their gate was open and unguarded.
“Ah! We’re in luck,” Ian said jovially. “It will be faster to cut through the servants’ quarters. Come!”
Peter didn’t follow. Instead, he headed for the street that went around the buildings. It still ran parallel to the wall and would be slower, but it was more visible.
“Aren’t you worried you’ll be late?” Ian asked, looking at Peter in confusion.
“If I’m late, I’m late,” Peter said. “No reason to bother the folks who live there.”
“They won’t mind, I am sure of it.”
“Nah. I’ll be inside all day; might as well enjoy the weather.”
Ian looked up at the darkly clouded sky and mild drizzle, but shrugged and followed Peter along the street. A couple more times the man suggested shortcuts, but Peter always came up with a reason not to take that route, opting instead to stay within view of the city guards. Half the time they weren’t even good reasons. It was abundantly clear to both of them what Peter was doing, so he didn’t bother hiding it when he got a lacklustre Tome notification:
Improv Skill Increased to Level 13 (Tier-I)
I mean…yeah, you’re coming up with stuff on the fly, but seriously? “That dog looks mangy?” “I’m too big to jump over that puddle?” Put a little work into it, at least.
Tier-I Bonus: Effective increase of +1 to Charisma when using this Skill.
NEW GENERAL SKILL LEARNED!*
Lying to Others – Skill Level 28 (Tier-II)
What are you, a politician?
Tier-I Bonus: Effective increase of +1 to Charisma when using this Skill.
Tier-II Bonus: Cumulative increase of +5 to Charisma when using this Skill.
6,150 XP Earned (cumulative)
RENOWN LEVEL UP!
Level 15 Achieved
XP: 51,600
XP to next Renown: 7,600
Unfortunately, Peter wasn’t surprised by his high level in the Lying to Others Skill. You couldn’t hide the collapse of a family business from your loved ones without telling a fib or two along the way. Still, it was disturbing to see it inscribed as a part of his identity within the pages of his Tome.
By the time Ian got them to the servant’s entrance of the Foedus Family estate, their conversation had died out entirely. It was only when they were around 10 metres from the gatehouse that Peter’s companion cheered up considerably.
“Peter! I must say, that is not at all what I was expecting,” Ian said brightly.
Before Peter could respond, Appollon appeared from within the gatehouse and strolled in their direction. He seemed curious, looking Peter up and down as he approached. When he reached them, he turned to Ian.
“Why is he merely sweaty? You aren’t slipping, are you?”
“I am not,” Ian said, winking at Peter. “One look at him and I came to the same conclusions you did, but Peter has good instincts. Wide turns around corners, avoiding paths where he could be ambushed, keeping his eyes moving…My only regret is that I wasn’t given an opportunity to assess his fighting skill.”
“I assure you, it’s garbage,” Peter said.
Appollon looked at him curiously. “You don’t seem surprised.”
Peter shook his head. “I’ve seen enough of this city to know not to trust anyone, especially not anyone I’ve just met.”
“A fine sentiment for anyone looking to avoid Palmyre’s criminal element, to be certain, but I believe he was referring to your lack of surprise over his involvement,” Ian said.
“Yeah, I kind of expected that, actually,” Peter said. “I paid attention to the guards’ response when I said I would follow you. When they didn’t show any concern or humour in their reactions, I suspected this might be a test.”
“Concern or humour?” Appollon asked.
“Sure. Humour would have meant they thought it was funny that I fell for such an obvious ploy, particularly after the gibe I sent their way. Concern could indicate either genuine good nature or a worry about the consequences for them if I turned out to be an actual employee of House Laws. But they did neither. Instead, they went totally still and expressionless.”
“What if the guards were conspirators of mine and didn’t want to give it away?” Ian asked.
Peter shook his head. “Doubtful. If that were the case, they probably would have said something to nudge me towards following you.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve also recently become aware of just how bad an idea it is to engage in criminal acts while wearing the Family crest.”
“Interesting…” Ian said. “I see some flaws in your logic, but it proved successful. And what is life without a few taken chances, am I right?”
“Yes, well all the same,” Appollon said grouchily. He looked at Peter. “I am sure that by now you’ve deduced that Ian is to be your combat trainer. This was a bit of a test he dreamed up—one you passed with flying colours.” He scowled at Ian. “Or a test that was poorly designed.”
Ian laughed. “I will revisit my methodology the next time you decide to hire a clerk who wants martial training.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you bother with all this?” Peter asked. “I’m an accountant. Combat training is just something I threw in because I wanted to learn how to defend myself and I figured the Family would have trainers.”
Appollon gave him a devious grin. “Unfortunately, our weapons trainers don’t understand the concept of martial arts as a hobby. They are the best, and we know this because they get the best out of those they train. Personally, I was hoping Ian would go easy on you given that you are not yet wholly committed to House Laws”—he gave the man a pointed look—“but Ian is not an easy person to reign in.”
“No need to dial it back on my account,” Peter said. “I can handle hard work. Whatever Ian thinks is best, that’s what I’ll do.”
A huge smile creased the combat trainer’s face, prompting a shake of the head from Appollon. He looked at Peter and sighed. “You are going to regret saying that.”
“No, no!” Ian said. “He will be filled with joy when he stands on the battlefield and knows that I, Ian Lamhfada, am the reason he stands on his feet, though his foes lie in the ground!”
Appollon rolled his eyes. “Peter, follow me and we will begin your day.”
The man headed towards the gatehouse and Peter went to follow him, only for Ian to clasp his shoulder before he could take a step. To any observer it would look like a friendly goodbye, but that lie was revealed by the content of the man’s words.
“I do not know you, Peter, but I think in time we will become friends,” Ian said in a low voice. “In light of that future friendship, I give you a warning: A game is afoot, and you are it. I am not an employee of House Laws, and I am very expensive. For them to have retained me means they have plans for you. Find out what those plans are while the choice is still yours.”
Peter paused, not sure how to proceed. Stuck for ideas, he simply put his hand out. “Thanks for the advice. I look forward to training with you.”
Ian looked at Peter’s outstretched hand, the corner of his mouth curling up. “I have heard of shaking hands, but it is not the custom in Palmyre. Around here, we bend spines.”
“Sounds painful.”
Ian laughed, his serious manner evaporating. “Not that kind of spine. Like this.” He flattened his hands and held them out with the palms upwards, pressing them together at the edge. Then he folded the palms together like he was closing a book, simultaneously giving Peter a slight bow. It was the same gesture Darius had done with Angela, and looked similar to what Appollon had done when Peter agreed to work for House Laws, but with a less formal air to it.
“Like this?” Peter asked, mimicking the motion.
“Exactly,” Ian said, slapping him on the back. “Now hurry. Appollon will have a fit if he is made to wait.”
“Peter!” Appollon shouted. He was almost at the gatehouse and not looking happy.
“Too late,” Ian said with a grin.
“Damn it,” Peter said, huffing his way over to Appollon. Calling back over his shoulder, he shouted, “I look forward to seeing you again, Ian!”
“As do I!” the man shouted to Peter’s retreating form. “Though I fear this will be the last time you ever say that!”
When Peter got to Appollon, he looked back in confusion. “What do you suppose that meant?”
Appollon responded with a grin that was more teeth than smile. “Now, why would I go and ruin the surprise?”