“Did you see the way the guards at the gate looked at us when we gave them our names?” Reeve said. She steered her mount around a vegetable cart stopped along the side of the narrow, brick-paved street and looked back to make sure her father’s pony was following. “It wasn’t unfriendly or…well, I don’t know what it was. And how about those kits? In all those months we were in here, I don’t remember seeing gear of that quality on randoms like town guards. And it wasn’t in mint condition—they’ve seen some legit action.” She blew air through her unruly teeth. “Ohmagod, I hope this isn’t another Martyr Difficulty world.”
“I don’t know about that, but they seemed very friendly as we rode up.”
Reeve reined her mount to a stop, the brick-lined street ahead temporarily blocked by two mothers and their daughter emerging from a butcher’s shop at either end of a long pole from which hung a side of pork. “I don’t think they were smiling because they’re just that friendly, Dad,” Reeve said. Walter came to a stop next to her and Reeve looked him over. His pony had managed to walk through a substantial amount of mud before Reeve had caught up with it and freed him from the stirrup, and his head sported a halo of mud and flattened hair. “You look like the back of your head melted. That’s probably the most entertaining thing they’ll see this entire shift.”
Walter felt the back of his head and turned a look of such disappointment toward Reeve that she coughed to cover a laugh he might find hurtful. “I can’t meet Her Highness looking like this!” He said.
“Her Grace, apparently. Nobody’s said ‘Highness.’ And even if she doesn’t appreciate your appearance, we should be able to find out what we need before she throws us in the dungeon or whatever.”
Walter faltered in his attempt to untangle his hair. “Dungeon?”
“No, I’m not saying that’s what’s going to happen. But even if it did, we can always log out. Watch.” Reeve’s eyes changed focus as she called up her UI, and then she disappeared.
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Walter stared for a moment at the empty saddle next to him. His eyes widened and he looked around the street, in which he knew no one and around which, he was suddenly all too aware, stretched an incomprehensibly massive game world in which he also knew no one. He was alone. Or at least, he thought, the only non-non-player character, if he was remembering the parlance of the game correctly.
Walter’s skin prickled and he could tell a cold sweat would quickly follow. “You’re OK, Walter,” he said quietly as the bustling town life flowed around him in the street. “You’ve gotten much better at this game. You’ll be just fine until Reeve pops back in.” Walter’s eyes widened further. “If she comes back in.”
“Who are you talking to?” Reeve said from next to Walter.
“Ah!” Walter turned so quickly that he nearly lost his always-tenuous grip on his saddle. “Oh,” his voice reached octaves high for even a halfling, “good! Nothing, yes, just fine here, nobody. Hello!”
“See, we can log out fine,” Reeve said, ignoring her father’s inexplicable behavior. “I just want to know where we are before we do.”
“Yup! Good. Me too, but you. Faaaaaaaaantastic!”
After appraising her father for a moment, Reeve squeezed the horse’s sides with her knees, and they continued following the directions the guards had given them. The close-set homes and occasional tavern they’d found just inside the main gate were replaced by shops and inns as they neared the center of the town. Twilight was at hand, and lanterns and torches were being lit throughout a still-busy market square as Reeve navigated their way around its edge to arrive at the two-story stone town hall.
“Guess this is it,” she said, swinging down from her saddle and flicking the reins over a hitching post. “We spent time in its cellar once, in another world. I think.”
“A Queen lives here?” Walter said, looking at the large but otherwise unexceptional building.
“Nobody said anything about a queen. Probably just a local ruler, or mayor. And maybe she has a big ego, so likes people to say ‘Her Grace.’ Whatever. Hitch you little pony and let’s get this sorted.” Not wanting to watch her father’s handling of his dismount, Reeve walked up the six worn stone steps to the building’s iron-hinged oaken doors and pulled the right door open by the massive brass ring that hung near its midline. She stepped in and, after the nightfall she was leaving behind, squinted as her eyes adjusted to what felt like the brilliant illumination of the wide, torch-lit hall within.