image [https://i.imgur.com/k48icPK.jpg]

I couldn’t deny Ida’s aptitude for being a lieutenant governor. One vellum bore a short list of expected caravan arrivals. She tracked guests from their use of the ferry. Monitoring only the bottleneck minimized the effort needed to record traffic. The system could easily expand as our nascent trade route took root.

Another vellum depicted the marketplace stalls bound to a rotation of local merchants. Ida populated half the booths with popular vendors and cycled the other half with less successful sellers. Worked over formulas and waiting lists filled its margins, showing her effort to give everyone a chance to hawk their wares. The most popular booths included food, clothing accessories, woodshop products, and cooking instruments.

A pile of mail from caravans included questions from merchants abroad about the trade route. Next to the queries, Greenie and Ida had inked in answers covering topics like distances, risks, escort expenses, and facilities.

“Have we answered all this mail?”

Ida shook her head. “You acted peculiar about the arena. We thought you wanted to go over the other correspondence.”

I appreciated her accommodating my desire to snub enemy players, but I had bigger fish to fry. NPCs didn’t seem to differentiate between the natives of Miros and contestants in the Great RPG Contest, and I didn’t want to adjudicate over every piece of correspondence.

Seeing no player messages, I opened my contest interface to check the number of players. The player count stood at 25. LabRat31’s failed attempt to take out Fabulosa counted as the game’s last casualty.

“Questions about logistics and trade route issues aren’t important—at least, not now. You guys can handle them. The only mail I want to see deals with security issues and inquiries about the battle college, libraries, or magic shops. Also, anything from people with strange names.”

Ida’s brow furrowed at the assortment of topics. They seemed to have no logical connection. After a questioning stare, she shook her head and returned to work.

“We’re going to need an officers’ meeting.”

Ida looked up from her desk at me, then returned her attention to her task. The gesture became obvious—she wasn’t a gofer anymore, and the work on my desk proved it.

“I’ll get everyone together, I guess. Are you available before dinner?”

Suppressing a smile, Ida nodded. “Works for me, boss.”

I grunted and got up. I needed a bath anyway.

On my way out, I gave Greenie’s desk a once-over. His drafting table bore a blueprint of a castle whose structures included a temple, storehouses, and another small woodshop. Sketches on top of the blueprint conveyed building layouts radiating around a ferry slip along the water’s edge. Giving castle inhabitants access to Otter Lake made sense. The castle seemed siege-proof between Hawkhurst’s nearly indestructible rock and water access.

Outside the manor, I scanned the barbican’s scaffolding. Beaker perched atop a crane, which lowered timber to the ground. Of course, he picked the one crane in operation for his roost. The crane worked fine with its new hood ornament, and the griffon kept his balance on the beam, enjoying the attention.

“Hey, you, big turkey. Don’t pester our workers!”

Ally leaned over the barbican’s rooftop. “He’s no bother. We’re nigh done for the day.”

“Oh, hey, Ally!” I waved to her.

The forewoman waved back with one hand and shielded her eyes with the other. “Did you give the gobs what-for?”

“Um, not quite, but I learned a lot. Do you have time for a meeting today?”

She looked around the worksite. “Before chow?”

I shrugged. “I’m afraid so. I want to update the officers before I speak to the town.”

She tiredly nodded with her hands on her hips. “How do you like our beautiful blue tower? We’ll be done in a couple of days. A hundred workers can pull off a lot in a few weeks, and the siege hammer works pure magic in the quarry.”

“It looks sturdy.”

Ally slapped the edge of the barbican with her foot. “Stout as an anvil, it is. More than a match for orc catty-pults, I’d wager.”

I nodded with enthusiasm. Praise from a dwarf made for quite an endorsement. “I can’t wait for a tour. Do you know Greenie’s whereabouts? He’s not in the manor.”

Ally’s high vantage made it easy for her to scan Hawkhurst Rock and the town. “He’s been scarce these past few days. Likely holed up in the woodshop, fiddling with his gadgets.”

I waved and went north to the bathhouse. It would be empty before the work crew finished for the day, and I wanted to avoid the pre-dinner crowds.

As Ally predicted, Greenie occupied the woodshop. The crew busied themselves with fortifying two great doors and portcullises with iron fittings.

Angus gave me a wink. “Heya, Guv. I didn’t know ye came back. We’ll clear this lot out today if you’re looking for space.” He gestured to racks and shelves filling half the woodshop. “If ye think this crowded, ye should have seen us making the stairs. T’was nay enough room to scratch yer arse.”

I laughed. “No, I’m good. I’m just looking for Greenie.”

“Ah! The other guv! He’s yon the doors.”

I thanked Angus and peered around the barbican doors, spotting the diminutive green governor.

Greenie had taken over one corner of the woodshop. The goblin created a makeshift drafting table, but designs of cogs covered the vellums and parchments instead of buildings.

The goblin looked dazed as he bent over his work—fitting metal pieces over lengths of wood.

He greeted me, and I filled him in on my assassination attempt. His only question involved the relic. “You said Rezan has the light magic relic?”

I nodded.

“And my brother’s health wasn’t over 600?”

I squinted in confusion at the question. “No, why would it?”

“How much did his Rejuvenates heal?”

“Each tick gave 50 health, so 5,000 total. Why?”

“That puts Rezan’s light magic rank between 15 and 20. Heavenly Favor normally gives a stat bonus plus 1 for every fifth rank in light magic. He should have 40 extra in every stat—including stamina.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I didn’t recall seeing Heavenly Favor’s icon on Rezan’s nameplate. “That would give him an extra 400 health, but he only a few hundred health. Do goblins not have Heavenly Favor?”

Greenie shook his head. “No. Rezan has had it since adolescence. It means the demon won’t let him cast it.”

“Why? Wouldn’t the demon want his host to live?”

“Casting it raises Rezan’s willpower by 40, fortifying him against the demon’s influence.”

Greenie’s idea raised a chicken and egg scenario. A player might resist the demon if Heavenly Favor was active before donning the relic. Relic bearers only needed to keep it refreshed while wearing it and remove it before bed, opening a loophole for the cursed item. But if the buff expired or became dispelled, the demon would never let them cast it again.

It meant I could wear the relic.

Greenie nodded as my expression brightened. I almost thanked him, but his tired expression stilled my tongue. By promoting the goblin to the governor, I inadvertently gave away his whereabouts to his brother, who could influence regional leaders through their dreams. As one who didn’t dream, I resisted its influence and could only guess at its effects. Judging by Greenie’s haggard expression, it had only a few days to wear him down.

“Are you having dreams?”

The goblin nodded.

“So, you can hear your brother in your head?”

“It’s the other voice that troubles me. It started the day after you left.” Greenie referred to the demon. Lloyd returned the governorship immediately after my return, yet Greenie hadn’t. Perhaps the sleeplessness or the demon’s influence made him forget.

I picked up a piece of parchment that outlined a 24-toothed cog. “What’s all this, Governor Greenie?”

Greenie took the hint. An update from the settlement interface notified me he had promoted me to governor. His shoulders relaxed as if I’d lifted a burden. I’d put him in a tough spot. He couldn’t give the load to anyone else, so I supposed he minimized the effect by occupying his mind.

“Was it bad?”

The goblin nodded. “I caught myself issuing orders that weren’t in the town’s interest—delaying the barbican and rerouting patrols. Rezan finds me in dreams, but staying awake has been difficult.”

“I’m sorry I put you through that. I didn’t know Rezan found the relic.”

“How could you have?”

Greenie’s rhetorical question ended the matter on a pregnant pause. Putting Greenie in charge of the town represented the third and perhaps the worst blunder of my trip north. Giving him settlement leadership put him in touch with Rezan, and now he knew Greenie’s general whereabouts. It would almost assuredly bring the goblins to Hawkhurst.

I gestured to his project and changed the subject. “What are you working on?”

“I’m stress-testing lathes.”

Greenie pointed to the cogs in his blueprint. Greenie’s ballista looked like a giant crossbow with a heavy cranking mechanism. It seemed a single person could wind the device using a long-handled crank. A housing unit enclosed the gears and metal coil to protect them from damage.

Greenie explained the components. “That is a stencil for the ballista’s firing mechanism. Rory is making a mold, and Fin will cast it when ready. I’m afraid our copper reserves are low with all the scullery we’ve made lately—but an iron gear will be stronger in any case.”

I admired the exotic tools lying about the woodshop. “The ballistas will go on top of the barbican?”

Greenie nodded. “I hope to mount them after we finish the barbican. I’m still iterating on materials. The hardwoods out here aren’t as dry as Malibar varieties, and I’m still adjusting its design and testing materials.”

“How far can it shoot?”

“Depending on the wood, I would hazard a guess up to 500 yards.”

“How much damage can it cause?”

“I expect a few hundred non-structural damage.”

I tried not to look disappointed. Perhaps between the two, we might be able to take out Rezan. “Can I interrupt your work for a quick meeting before dinner? My trip ended without success.”

“I understand. Commander Yula expressed concern over the smoke. Not every endeavor bears fruit. This ironwood can attest to it.” He patted the length of lumber.

I ignored his hint about the smoke, resolving to explain what happened at Iremont at the officers’ meeting. “Is ironwood strong enough for a ballista?”

“Quite the contrary. It’s too rigid. The kiln has taken too much moisture from this piece, so I must try another.”

I grunted. “It looks like you’ve been busy in here.”

Greenie picked up a wood clamp. “I’m afraid the blacksmiths have indulged a number of special requests.”

“It’s good to be the Guv, eh?”

“I’m afraid Ida proves to be a better lieutenant than I. Tinkering, drafting, and engineering are my calling. I hope you’ll keep her as your second. She’s adept in management and has no problem chasing down citizens during daylight hours.”

“She is at that. You don’t mind being our chamberlain—and resident engineer?”

“Quite a few dwarves could fill my shoes, but I serve at the pleasure of the governor.” He bowed unnecessarily, making me uncomfortable.

We turned to walk to the barracks to collect Yula for the meeting. The goblin nodded and listened as I described my failed assassination. I didn’t want it to be widespread news—since my legitimacy as governor came from my battle prowess. Gossip of a goblin king defeating me in single combat would not bode well for the town’s morale.

Greenie’s silence about his brother troubled me, but he didn’t appear sad or worried about the town’s safety. Perhaps my humanity led him to presume I sympathized with the goblin wars. It wasn’t an unreasonable guess. I came from the western cities, after all.

It seemed more likely that Hawkhurst’s chamberlain didn’t want to interfere with attempts on his brother’s life. The Book of Dungeons might construe strategic advice against his brother as harmful.

Loud laughter rang from the barracks yard. The town guards slung stones at coins in the shooting range. Despite their inebriated state, the shots never left the yard. Their accuracy astonished me.

Yula presided over the slingshot drinking contest. She stood with arms crossed and lobbed insults at the losers. “Beyza shoots like dragonfly—all over ze place.”

Beyza, a level 6 guard, bowed over, laughing. “I can’t even feel the pebbles anymore. Someone drink for me.” She stumbled toward a bowl of rocks, trying and failing to load her sling with another shot.

They drank something more potent than wine or ale, but I thought it best not to ask. The subordinates’ merriment had not tempered the orc’s grim expression, but her attendance implied a tacit approval.

When Greenie and I showed up, the laughter dried up, making me sorry to spoil their fun.

Yula turned to us and raised her voice loud enough to sober the guards. “Glorious Smoke-Bringer Apache returns to power.”

I felt like saluting her, but the formality felt wrong in such a casual scene. “Yula, it’s good to see you again. You don’t compete?” I gestured to the sling.

“Leetle stones only scare animals. Yula uses bow.”

Corporal Turan lifted her mug. “We save our bullets for action.”

Of all the martial arts, I’d practiced with slings the least. Belden taught us enough about slingshots to avoid injuring or embarrassing ourselves, and my accuracy with ranged weapons has improved since then. I could probably hold my own, but I preferred arrows. I turned to the soldiers. “Have you guys competed using bows?”

Despite my station, the group guffawed as if I’d said something funny. I searched their expressions, hoping for an explanation. Out of pity, Corporal Turan relented. “There’s no competing with the commander with arrows. She’s better than any of us.”

I grunted at the corporal’s observation, but she wasn’t wrong. No one could compete with Yula using a bow. “I hate to break up the festivities, but I need to borrow the commander for an officers’ meeting.”

“You explain great smoke, yes?”

I nodded.

Yula turned to Rachel and made a fist. “Tell Captain Iris that Governor Apache seizes power. Demands obedience at meeting.”

The old Apache would have objected to Yula’s harsh interpretation, but my recent setback made a tighter grip on the reins necessary. I added to Rachel’s instructions before she fetched the Sternways. “Tell her we’ll meet in the manor before dinner.”

Iris, Yula, Ally, Ida, Greenie, and I gathered outside the barbican before the meeting. Running the guild house by the tree line consumed most of Iris’s time, and she hadn’t been south in a while.

An unusual number of smiles greeted me. Ally turned to Iris when I approached. “And here’s our guv, now. Our dear Iris totes happy tidings.”

Iris blushed, something I’d never believed possible. “Fletcher and I are expecting.”

Ally hugged her sides. “Forren be praised! And it’s no surprise the new pa has already flitted off to the next town.”

Iris playfully slapped Ally for her teasing. “Oh, he hasn’t at all. He’s meeting merchants in my stead. I promised merchants to escort them personally to Grayton, but Fletch doesn’t want me to leave Forren’s influence. I agreed to stay behind this time, so he, Sami, and Val are going in my stead. I told him it would be good for the baby if I ate at our favorite inn in Grayton, so he promised to bring leftovers.”

After extending my congratulations, I checked to see if Iris showed. Forren’s buff cast doubts on how long the pregnancy would last.

Ally gestured to the barbican. “Speaking of new additions, we installed the drawbridge yesterday, and the doors come next. There’s naught to a gatehouse without a gate, eh? I’ll give ye the grand tour after we wrap.”

The proximity of the barbican to the manor gave us a daily view of their progress, so the grand reveal impressed everyone but Iris. After we finished admiring Ally’s work, I ushered everyone into the manor.

Beaker wanted to come inside the manor with us, but with six people, the last thing we needed was a wing-beating, squawking distraction. “I’m sorry, buddy. You need to wait outside.”

Beaker promptly turned and launched himself over the cliff, disappearing somewhere over the lake. I closed the door and reseated myself, only to find my pet settled on a windowsill overlooking the table.

I sent mental commands. “You be a good griffon and be quiet while we talk. We need to discuss town matters.”

The griffon, showing no sign of understanding, seemed content to sit out of harm’s way.