They both felt a little perkier the next day, so they made up for yesterday’s lost time by going to shop for weapons. Will explained that Duke had been meant to conduct weapons training with her, partially so she could decide which one suited her best, but since he’d largely shirked that duty they would just have to pick one that appealed to her and see how it worked out.

Bee wasn’t entirely convinced.

“I like using my fists,” she said. “Is that bad?”

“Well, aside from the obvious loss of slashyness and stabbyness, it’ll give you a reach disadvantage,” Will said, going over a lineup of swords while the vendor watched him intently. “Then again, eventually you’re going to be fast enough and hit hard enough that it won’t really matter. And there’s something to be said about keeping your hands free for grappling, since that’s one of your strengths in combat. Of course, grappling will be less effective against non-human opponents that might be several times larger than you.”

“So… Good idea? Bad idea?”

“I think it’s okay to start out that way, and if you pick up something else along the way, all the better. You can carry your shortsword as a sidearm in case you need it. But if you’re going to be using your fists, let’s at least get you some brass knuckles or something. We should be able to find someone who sells them somewhere around here.”

After going over a few stalls, they found her a pair of steel ones with raised, blunted tips. They fit well in her hands, and she didn’t think she would mind using them.

“If you end up sticking with them, we’ll get you some enchanted ones later,” Will said. “For now, this’ll have to do.

Will had one other errand he wanted to get run before they left the city. It was at the library. He paid a fee so that Bee could enter for the day, and showed the dour-looking librarian a card with an intricate print on it to prove his own right to enter.

In all honesty, the place wasn’t that impressive. Maybe Will had just hyped it up too much. There were three floors, each one with a few hundred books in a dozen or so bookcases arrayed about the walls. The second and third floors had an open section in the middle, allowing you to look all the way up to the top from the bottom floor.

She’d expected there to be more to it.

Then again, she wasn’t exactly the target audience. While Will had the librarian help him look for material on inspiration, Bee went around the place, boots clicking on the gray stone floors, and let her hand run across cracked book spines. She pulled a few out to leaf through them, but the text was all gibberish to her. They had nice pictures, at least.

Some of them were clearly pornographic in nature.

Will returned with the librarian some fifteen minutes later, four heavy tomes between them. They placed them down at a Scribe’s station, a large desk with stationery and measuring tools.

They wouldn’t have time to have it all copied, so Will selected parts from each text that he wanted compiled together in loose writing, along with multiple illustrations that he instructed to be imprinted, whatever that meant. The librarian said it would take three days, but the estimate was reduced to that same afternoon when Will handed him a few extra bills.

Damn. Even the librarians here will fleece you.

They had only just gotten out into the street when they were stopped. It was Richard—Crooked Dick. The short man was puffing on his pipe, free hand on his hip. Even with the vigorous smoking, he still stank of fish.

“You kids having fun?” he asked. “Nice day off?”

“Fancy meeting you here,” Will replied flatly. “I didn’t think you strayed far from the docks most days. Didn’t know you were a patron of the arts, either.”

“Yeah, well, I’m full of fucking surprises, aren’t I?”

“Or maybe you came here to see me.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Right. So go ahead and tell me what you want.”

Richard chewed impatiently on his lip. “It’s funny, is all. Your shipment is late again, right? I’m thinking, okay, Cancer’s got a lot on his plate, whatever. But then I hear that you’re in the city loitering around with your woman instead of working. You realize that if you stop delivering, I’m in just as much shit as you are, right?”

“I understand that,” Will said, nodding. “You’ll get your shipment. It’s just going to be a bit late.”

“Okay? Is that going to be a regular occurrence with you now?”

“No.”

“Yeah? You sure?” All pretense of a pleasant demeanor had dropped away as Richard was steadily growing more red in the face. “‘Cause it seems like this broad here’s got you plenty fucking distracted. Got both eyes on her tits instead of the job.”

Bee glanced over at Will to gauge where this was going. Richard was Level 7, and he was an Artificer, which was not a Profession that was especially suited to combat. If it came to blows, they would likely be able to take him down without much trouble.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

But the tense look of restrained worry on Will’s face suggested that he didn’t want that to happen.

“Look, you’re right,” Will said, rubbing his nose scar with his thumb. “My focus has been… elsewhere, lately. That’s my bad, and I’m sorry. I’ve got a proposal for how to fix it.”

“A proposal?” Richard asked, brows knitted together. “What the fuck are you talking about, boy? You get back to work, and that’s that.”

“Actually, I’m looking to get out.”

The Artisan’s eyes went wide at that as he spluttered in disbelief. “You… Wh… Out?” He tapped out his pipe against the bottom of his boot and hooked it through his belt, then took Will by the arms and looked squarely into his eyes. “Will, my friend, listen to me. Quit talking crazy. This kind of nonsense is the shit that gets people killed, or worse. Do you think you’re untouchable because you make good product? Because if so, you are dead wrong.”

“I know all that,” Will assured him, breaking free of his grip with a step back. “Look, we both know my talents are not being properly utilized making STD cures and fucking cigarettes. I’ve got an alternative.”

“What’s that?”

“Let someone else take over my gig. I know this guy, Pablo Unreliable, he’s pretty decent. I can send over some materials on how to copy what I do, even let him apprentice with me for a bit if you think it’s necessary.”

“Will…”

“Let me finish. I know Lord Brimstone doesn’t have anyone making high-end potions for him. He could use a guy. That way I get a chance to apply myself making product that might actually let me level up, and he gets… well, anything his rotten little heart desires.”

“And what do I get? Shafted?”

“Not at all. Let’s say I make a specialty item for the lord and he ends up not wanting it, or just make something on the side. I then take it to you, and you sell it on.”

“That sounds like a pretty shaky business model.”

“Not when you get to keep your regular distribution as well. This is just sugar on top. Richard, I made an elixir a few days ago. My second one. That’s the kind of thing I can offer.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed with a shrewd glint at that. “Kid, that’s a different story. Do you still have it?”

Will nodded.

“What kind?”

“Elixir of fellowship.”

His look soured a bit at that. “Oh. Great. Could’ve led with that instead of getting my hope up, ass.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be more eventually. Now, go tell Brimstone what we talked about. If he’s interested, great. If not, I’ll find another way to make us both happy.”

Richard threw up his hands. “Woah, hey, slow down. I never said I was on board with this. This guy you’re talking about—I don’t want to work with someone literally named Unreliable.”

Will gave him a long, dull look. “It’s just a name, Richard.”

“So you vouch for the guy?”

“I mean, we’ll need to talk to him first. But yeah, he’s solid.”

“You’re making my life so difficult,” Richard mumbled into his hands. He gave a long sigh that turned into a groan, dragging his palms down over his face. “All right, okay. I’ll ask Brimstone what he thinks. But whatever happens from here, it’s on you.”

Will nodded. “I accept that. Thank you, Richard.”

“Fuck you.”

The man wandered off without another word, rubbing at the back of his head with both hands like he was actively suppressing some kind of outburst. Bee and Will both watched him go until he merged with the crowd and disappeared from view.

“That went well,” Bee observed. “Are we in trouble?”

“Probably,” Will muttered. “Hopefully I’ll be able to talk my way out of it. If I could sort out this thing with Brimstone, it would be a much better gig for me—at least in terms of leveling.”

Bee nodded. “Then you did the right thing.”

They loitered around for a while before it was time to pick up Will’s copied text, a thick stack of papers bound together with twine and wrapped in a bundle of treated leather.

They were just getting their things together and preparing to leave the Rosy Drake when the innkeep came and said that there was a man waiting for Will downstairs.

“Richard sure didn’t waste any time,” Will said to himself.

They went down there and found a muscled man with a sword on his hip waiting for them in the common room. He was a Laborer, missing any AP crystals. Brute.

“The lord will see you,” the man said in a bored voice, fixing Will with a dead-eyed stare. “Come with me.” He ignored Bee entirely.

“Very well,” Will said, and dropped his bag on the floor. “Bee, stay here. Look after our things. I’ll be back soon.”

“Wait,” Bee said, but Will was already letting the man lead him through the doors. She was left standing alone in the common room as the innkeep swept the floor around her.

*****

Bee waited for several hours. It was hard to keep her cool with nothing to do but sit, no task to pour her stress into.

Will didn’t return until late in the evening, when it was already black outside. Only two other guests were up and about—everyone else had gone to bed—and the fire burned low in the fireplace, leaving the place mostly in darkness. He came through the door into the common room with a hand over his face, the other one clenching and unclenching. His face was twisted in a mask of pain.

“What happened?” Bee asked, jumping to her feet and rushing over to him. “Are you all right?”

She moved the hand from his face and flinched at what lay beneath.

His left eye had been burned out, leaving a blackened pit where it should have been. A red handprint of singed, blistering skin covered one half of his face, cutting into his hairline.

“Oh my god. Did he do that to you?”

“Yeah. Guess he didn’t like me getting ideas on my own.”

She got him into the chair. As soon as she started worrying about what to do with the wound, he began instructing her on it. He had her fetch his bag, then ask the innkeep for a clean, wet cloth, and lastly get him a bottle of something strong. She got him whiskey, which he immediately drank several mouthfuls of.

Will started cleaning himself up, hissing every time he touched the cloth to his ruined eye socket.

“What can I do?” Bee asked, hovering by his side. “Should I kill someone? Just tell me a name and I’ll do it.”

“No. That would not be helpful right now.” He put down the cloth, which was stained red and black, and fetched a jar of ointment from his pack that he started gingerly dabbing on himself. “Besides, I got what I wanted.”

“You did?”

“The lord gave us a job. We’re going into the Bushland, Bee. The interior.”