image [https://i.imgur.com/DW5RHpw.jpg]

Fabulosa didn’t return when we expected her or the next day. Or the next. As projections for finishing the animal shelter asymptotically approached zero, it became pointless to keep building.

The situation forced me to reassess our prospects. I’d lucked out by killing the ward worm, and fear of the dead world boss kept other monsters at bay. Hawkhurst needed to grow and develop before anything found us here. To do that, someone had to travel to Fort Krek and validate cross-continent journeys. We couldn’t do that while protecting the dwarves from wandering beasts.

One morning, out of habit, I checked the player count in the competition. The game’s interface showed the player count had dropped to 49. It registered the first change since we’d killed Tardee at Our Lady of Balance weeks ago. I debated relaying the update to my partner. Hearing it from me would be easier than discovering it on her own. When I broke the dire news, Charitybelle absorbed it with a slow nod. She sent Chloe on daily scouting flights to the west, but no trace of our unpredictable ally appeared.

Eating from our inventories introduced a visible countdown of our stores. If everyone stopped working and foraged for berries and moss, we could get by indefinitely, but at what cost to our credibility? If Fabulosa never returned, we’d want food for a trek back to Basilborough. Allowing stores to dwindle to nothing fell outside everyone’s range of comfort.

Everyone worried that breaching the topic of our survival might light the fuse to the camp’s dissolution, so everyone sparingly spoke. People weren’t angry, but the camp felt like the final stages of a failed experiment.

Everyone waited for its leaders to admit we’d bitten off more than we could chew. People wanted to move on to a safer, more civilized location. Only gratitude from emancipation kept tongues in check.

No one joked or sang, nor did banter accompany our meals. Our simple barn, which should have taken only a few days, stretched longer than a week.

It seemed like a hole into we’d dug ourselves. Even bolstered by a red core, Ally had warned us about the difficulty of establishing settlements.

The cold winter drizzle reflected the work crew’s morale. Without complaint or comment, the dwarves worked through the inclement weather.

If the dwarves left and Hawkhurst’s population dipped below five citizens, would we lose our mandate for Aggression and waste our red core?

Morale

19 percent (panicked)

Factor Events

151 percent

Factor Security

46 percent

Factor Culture

55 percent

Factor Health

49 percent

Fabulosa had wanted to go east, and I questioned the wisdom of vetoing her proposal. If a savvy, well-equipped warrior of her caliber couldn’t traverse the journey, what chance would she have convincing merchants to send caravans laden with goods? Even if she made it to Basilborough safely, how could she persuade traders they could make a route to Fort Krek without doing so ourselves?

If we waited to trailblaze a route to Fort Krek, Fabulosa could have crossed the river in Yula’s canoe, which would soon be ready. At least in Fort Krek, she’d have proved the viability of cross-continental journeys.

I returned to the watchtower while the crew harvested wood for the barn. Guard duty in that solitary perch felt worse than working on the catalog. At least in Belden, I learned, increased my skills, and accomplished things for the library. But the treehouse rendered me useless, and only my worries accompanied me.

Others in the camp made progress. Yula worked on her canoe. Day by day, I watched her shape the wooden frame. She bent and stretched the boiled wood stakes until they fit into the correct form. She dried the assembled it over a fire to make it rigid, and rain didn’t slow her progress.

Yula poured boiling water over the gum tree bark until it grew floppy enough to stretch over the frame. In the evenings, after dinner, I helped her stitch together the pieces of bark.

The roots she pulled from the ground for sewing thread looked long, flexible, and strong. Sewing required painstaking work, but it gave me something productive to do. The stitching took several nights, and after we finished, we boiled and applied the tree gum to make the seams watertight. After sealing all the holes, we only needed to wait for the gum to dry before trying it out.

I looked forward to having something to do in the evenings, aside from listening to the irregular sounds of Ally and Maggie chipping away at the idol.

One morning, a gray bipedal blip interrupted my watchtower shift. Grays usually represented animals or neutral creatures. Two-legged dinosaurs usually meant danger, but it might be a sentient humanoid with no hostile intentions.

Charitybelle’s voice carried through the forest. “Patchy! Hurry—get down here!”

No red dots appeared on the map, though I climbed down and prepared myself to face whatever threat had panicked her.

Charitybelle reached the tower’s base at the same time as me, though she had to catch her breath to speak. Her run from the roundhouse, three miles away, had me dreading the news. She pointed west. “Patch! Guess what! Fabulosa is coming. I saw her—I mean, through Chloe’s eyes. She’s coming back and has nine people following her!”

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I exhaled two weeks of tension and leaned on my knees.

If I felt this good, I couldn’t imagine my girlfriend’s relief. We hugged and relished in the thought that we’d weathered the storm. Fabulosa’s return promised increases in comfort, nutrition, and security. It seemed too good to be true.

We left the forest and announced to the work crew that the settlement would soon receive supplies and, possibly, new citizens. The dwarves broke into cheers and hugs.

Charitybelle’s settlement would survive.

Everyone broke into conversation and song, something I’d missed over these past few days, making it necessary to shout to be heard. Fabulosa’s return eased my fear of public speaking, and I expected pitching a party to be an easy sell. “What do you guys say? Let’s take the day off and break open the ale?”

Everyone cheered and walked south—no one wanted to be last in the ale line.

Charitybelle and I embraced before veering west to meet our wayward friend.

Our work efficiency had dropped to 36 percent. I lowered my voice. “It isn’t as if a day off will cost us anything. After three days of chopping, we barely have enough wood for a barn.”

“Is this the last of our ale?”

I nodded. “Enough for one final bash. When will Fab get here?”

“It looks like she’ll be here before noon. Rocky is already cooking gargasaurus. He’s doing his best to resuscitate the leftovers. At least it’ll be new to the travelers.”

At first, dinosaur meat provided a welcome change in our diet—it tasted like chicken. But eating the same thing twice a day wore us down, and it wasn’t yet time to harvest our first batch of spinach.

“I also told Rocky to use the remaining stores of flour and rice. Fab will probably bring more.”

I prepared my best poker face. “I’m dampening my expectations. Bad news travels fast, and if leadership has taught me anything, it’ll come straight to us.”

“Oh, you’re such a sourpuss. Look! You can see her on the radar now.”

I spotted no red dots, only a green bipedal blip edging toward Hawkhurst with more bipedal gray blips in front of it.

Fabulosa grinned when we saw each other. She looked like she had an abundance of good news but appeared too exhausted to give it. She didn’t run to meet us, and the people with her walked tiredly.

Charitybelle and I relieved their burdens and escorted them to the roundhouse.

Fabulosa admired the new lumber mill. “Y’all have some new buildings, I see.” Though her eyelids looked heavy, she seemed happy and had gained two levels. “Any ruckus with the vargs?”

I couldn’t tell if her concern came from worrying about camp or if we’d fought them without her.

“You missed nothing. Yula and I killed a dinosaur that dropped a level 17 magic shield and a yellow core.” My news provoked a quick smile and a nod.

Since it wasn’t raining, we pulled the tables and benches outside and offered the weary travelers seating, ale, and food.

One newcomer looked like a merchant, and his nameplate gave me his name—Glenn Grene. He sniffed the plate of food that Rocky offered. He tasted the meat with so much caution I found it rather insulting. I reminded myself these visitors counted as guests—out of their element and surrounded by people who hadn’t earned their trust. We needed to be patient.

Fabulosa elbowed my side and whispered. “Brace yourself for that one—I had half a mind to do him in myself. He’s gonna drive us nuts.”

After we hugged, Fabulosa gestured toward a tall, dark, handsome chap. “I brought y’all some new blood. These are the Sternways—Fletcher Sternway is our new man-at-arms, his wife Iris is our new captain, and his dad, Lloyd, a retired sailor.”

Their nameplates gave their status—Fletcher leveled to 12, while his wife, Iris Sternway, reached 14.

Lloyd Sternway, Fletcher’s grizzled father, saluted us. He reached level 8—relatively high for a noncombatant.

We exchanged pleasantries before they sat down. Expressions of relief lit their faces as they lowered themselves onto the benches. I remember being numb after making the trip from Basilborough and made a mental note not to expect a significant conversation from these folks until they rested.

The newcomers included four somewhat derelict individuals.

Fabulosa continued introductions. “This here is Mrs. Berling. She’s a rag picker.”

I wasn’t familiar with the term, but Mrs. Berling resembled a babushka. She looked weary but only took a place on a bench after repeated invitations. She flapped her hand at Fabulosa. “Aw, go on. Your friend found me begging. When I told her I could out-walk her any day of the week and twice on Marketday, she kindly invited me.”

The three women shared a smile.

Charitybelle’s eyes lit up when Fabulosa mentioned Grayton. The capital stood upstream from Basilborough and wasn’t part of Fabulosa’s original itinerary. “You went all the way to Grayton?”

Fabulosa gave a guilty shrug and held up a finger as if to stave off discussing her trip for later.

Three others dressed in rags—Olive, Fortune, and Hugo. They seemed to know one another and clustered together. Charitybelle did her best to draw them out but received only nervous smiles and deferential nods. With time, they’d open up. Their humble dress and manner reminded me of my life in Atlantic City, and I immediately liked them.

Fabulosa continued. “They are—they were—indentured servants. I purchased their debt. They had kin in someplace called the Arlington Debt House, and I told them we would help their friends and family out of hock someday. It might-could be the beginning of a quest.”

Hearing about their circumstance unsettled me. Why did Crimson have to instill misery in a game world? It seemed so unnecessary.

Waiting patiently to the side stood a well-dressed young man. His clothes suited the indoors but bore no ostentatious designs popular with aristocrats. I guessed him a clerk of some sort.

Fabulosa gestured to him. “And this here is Oscar. Oscar is a….” She faltered at his introduction.

Oscar gave a weary but cheery smile. “…a speculative opportunist, shall we say?”

“He’s a prospector.” Fabulosa grinned and waved her hand. “C-Belle and Greenie will love him. And Glenn here represents a wainwright guild. Oscar and Glenn came here to talk business.”

At the mention of his name, Glenn extended his hand to me, perturbed at having the last introduction.

“Allow me to introduce myself.” He emphasized the last word as if Fabulosa hadn’t just done so. “My name is Glenn Grene of The Grayton United Wainwright Guild. Our wagon network serves the greater highways of the western continent. And when I say ‘greater,’ I do so because I’ve seen firsthand what passes for roads in the east.”

Behind his back, Fabulosa rolled her eyes and pointed to her mouth in a gagging gesture, making me laugh. Glenn punched my shoulder as if I enjoyed his poke at the Eastern highways. He looked comfortable with men-of-the-world conversations, so I did my best to go with it.

He reached for and shook my hand. “My good sir, I feel as if we already share common ground, and I look forward to charting a business with you.” It annoyed me he hadn’t bothered to ask which of us wore the crown. His chauvinism hadn’t given Charitybelle a chance to introduce herself.

My girlfriend pursed her lips and clenched her jaw, giving him a hard stare.

Behind him, Fabulosa waited for our reaction, arms crossed.

I couldn’t resist the temptation of watching his expression falter when I introduced him to our settlement’s chief fiduciary officer. “Glenn, I couldn’t be in more agreement, but I’m not the numbers guy. I’m more of a Big-Ideas Man.” I splayed out my fingers in the parody of importance

Fabulosa shook her head and smiled.

It took an effort to maintain a straight face. “Let me introduce you to Hawkhurst’s chancellor, Greenie.”

Formal as ever, Greenie bowed without a word.

Glenn’s smile wavered. “But he is a….”

“Hawkhurst’s Chief Minister of Cross-Continental Economic Development.” I made up Greenie’s title on the spot, and the goblin’s raised chin showed he wasn’t altogether unsatisfied with the result.

A grimace froze on Glenn’s face as he wrestled between the fear of losing a deal and the indignity of bargaining with a goblin.

Greenie nodded. “You’ll find our capital-to-labor ratio very attractive. We look forward to opening our markets. I’m curious about your thoughts on switching our settlement into a command economy this early. The governor and I intend to mitigate our exposure to….”

Waving my finger, I back away. “It sounds like you two will have much to discuss, and I can see Glenn is eager to get down to brass tacks. I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.”

Glenn’s mouth dropped, but he said nothing.

Fabulosa covered her face and shook with laughter as I peeled away from Glenn and the goblin. She whispered under her breath. “Did you catch Glenn’s expression when you said ‘gentlemen?’ Greenie will chew his ear off. Thank you for that, Patch. It made traveling with him worthwhile.”