You have unlocked an unmarked chest with a key card.

The chest didn’t hold one million. Studying the paltry contents, I could immediately tell it was less than that—a lot less.

“Two bags,” I muttered. Why in hells are there only two?

“What’s in the pouches?” Shael asked, peering over my shoulder.

“Stygian powder,” I murmured, staring despondently at the mostly empty chest.

“Nether dust?” Shael asked curiously. Leaning forward, he inspected the pouches with analyze.

“There’s two kilograms of the stuff in here!” he exclaimed a moment later. “That’s more dust than I’ve ever seen in one place before! Each pouch must be worth thousands!” He paused. “No, that can’t be right. Tens of thousands!”

“Almost correct. All told, the two bags are worth two hundred thousand gold.”

Shael blinked, taken aback by the astronomical amount. “Then why the long face?”

“It’s less than I was expecting,” I replied glumly.

His eyes widened incredulously. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Alrrright… but it’s still two hundred thousand gold! That’s a fortune by anyone’s reckoning, Michael. You’re rich!”

“Not rich enough,” I muttered.

Shael’s delight waned as he sensed the depths of my frustration. “There’s a note,” he pointed out helpfully. “Two of them actually. Perhaps one of them has an explanation?”

Peering into the steel box again, I saw that he was right. A thin slip of paper had been tucked beneath each bag. Reaching into the chest, I retrieved bags and parchment both.

You have acquired 2kg of stygian powder.

You have acquired an underworld promissory note for 200,000 gold.

You have acquired a penned missive.

Ignoring the stygian powder and promissory note for now, I opened the letter and began to read.

Jasiah (or whoever you really are),

I have bad news. No doubt, you’ve already counted the pouches in the chest and noticed their lack. I apologize for failing to live up to my end of the bargain, but unfortunately, I’ve run into a few problems.

The biggest one being Mammon.

Yes, the Power himself contacted me, and let me tell you, he was not happy (an understatement if there ever was one)!

His people informed him that I refused to sell them back their gear on day zero. As you can imagine, Mammon had some choice words for me and a few not-so-subtle threats. He didn’t threaten my person, but he did strongly suggest my days as a merchant were numbered. But don’t worry on my behalf, I don’t fear Mammon.

At the end of the day, he is only a minor Power, and his threats are just so much hot air. However, Mammon does have an iron grip over his people. And unfortunately, the Devil Riders are enough of a force in the Eastern Marches that they’ve managed to block the sale of your items. Worse yet, they’re also refusing to buy back their own Sworn locked items.

It’s a petty sort of revenge, seeing as they’re hurting only themselves by not reacquiring their gear, but in the short term their strategy is proving…. effective.

To cut a long story short, I’ve only managed to sell a third of your loot so far (the least valuable items), the proceeds of which are in this chest. Do not despair, though. The Riders will come around eventually. I’m hoping their current stalling is just a bargaining tactic to drive the prices down when they do concede to the inevitable and buy back their Sworn-locked items.

Beware, though, the final sum may be less than you expect.

I didn’t want you to think I betrayed you, hence the partial payment. Make sure to keep this drop point secure, and once I have the second half of your payment, I’ll put it in the selfsame chest. But if you feel the need to change the drop point, contact me through Dinara.

Regards, Nicola.

P.S I almost forgot. Tyelin handed over his promissory note without fuss. I admit that surprised me. Anyway, you will find it in the chest too. I know that doesn’t make up for the shortfall, but perhaps it will help tide you over until I can sell the rest of your stuff.

My brows furrowed unhappily, I read the note again.

But my impression the second time around was no different from the first: Nicola’s words appeared heartfelt. I could sense no trace of deception in them, and the problems he described were entirely too believable. In hindsight, I realized I should have foreseen something like this happening.

“What is it?” Shael prompted.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Further delays,” I replied obliquely. “Nicola needs more time to gather the rest of my money.”

“I see,” Shael remarked and left it at that, for which I was grateful.

“So, what does that mean for us?” he asked, shifting focus to the present.

I pursed my lips as I pondered the question.

On one hand, I was now two hundred thousand richer—four hundred, if you counted Tyelin’s note, but I was not sure I could depend on cashing it in anymore.

On the other hand, I was still short of the sum I required to procure the Aether Cloaking Device. By Safyre’s estimate, the artifact would set us back half a million.

The shield generator was a must-have item, though.

So, how to get it?

Tyelin’s money would make up a good deal of the shortfall, but collecting on it meant visiting Dinara. And for whatever reason the den chief was trying to capture or kill me—I wasn’t sure which yet. I also hadn’t failed to notice that Nicola’s note had not alluded to why that would be the case. Either the merchant was pretending innocence, or he was truly ignorant of whatever machinations the den chief was involved in.

“Michael?” Shael prompted.

I rose to my feet. “We have another stop to make in the plague quarter.”

“Where to this time?” Shael asked, appearing resigned to the fact of more delays.

“The Crooked Man,” I replied. “It’s time to pay Den Chief Dinara a visit.”

✵ ✵ ✵

Before heading to the tavern, we stopped by the Triumvirate citadel to purchase Shael some gear. We were on a time schedule—ideally, I wanted to deal with the den chief before Sintar and his gang revived and warned him—but it was not a severe one, and we could afford a short detour to re-equip the minstrel.

“You’ve been here before?” I asked Shael as we drew closer to the knights’ main stronghold in the plague quarter.

“A few times,” he admitted, having to shout to make himself heard. The square around the citadel was always crowded and hundreds of players were dashing to and fro. “Are we going to enter the keep itself?”

I shook my head. “It’s better we avoid unnecessary scrutiny,” I replied, recalling the all-too-perceptive constable and the knights standing guard over the entrance to the inner citadel.

“Agreed,” Shael said. “We should find something suitable amongst the merchants in the bailey.”

Nodding wordlessly, I fell silent as we joined the long line of players waiting to enter the citadel.

✵ ✵ ✵

You have sold 30 x miscellaneous caches of items for 3,100 gold.

You have lost: 2,000 gold, 5 silvers, and 3 coppers. Total money carried: 3,223 gold.

Our visit to the citadel courtyard passed without incident.

I sold all the gear I’d looted from Sintar’s gang—except for the tier five daggers, of course—and while the merchants’ rates were less desirable than I wanted, I still managed to make a profit after outfitting Shael.

Killing players was certainly profitable.

“We’re done?” I asked, glancing sideways at the bard.

Shael tore his eyes away from his new flute. He hadn’t been able to keep his fingers away from the thing since he’d purchased it. The instrument had cost a thousand gold on its own, fully half the money I’d given the half-elf but judging by the bard’s smile and firm step since, I judged the flute well worth the price.

“We are,” he said emphatically. “And thank you again. I doubt I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

I waved aside his protest. “You will,” I replied. “If not in gold then in deeds.” I paused. “Don’t forget where we’re going and what we’re about to do.”

Shael straightened. “Of course. This time around you’ll find me a more useful companion, I promise.”

I smiled. “I’m counting on it.”

✵ ✵ ✵

The Crooked Man was on the west side of the plague quarter. I’d visited the area before—both the entrance to the scorching dunes and haunted catacombs were in the same vicinity—yet that did not mean the tavern was easy to find.

Unusually, for the type of establishment it purported to be, there were no signposts leading the way nor bright lights. Nor any rowdy music to follow.

The Crooked Man was clearly an establishment that chose not to announce itself to the world, but then again, given the nature of some of its patrons, that was only to be expected. In fact, according to Hugo, there were two sides to the Crooked Man. The public facing tavern—a true den of iniquity that catered to every vice known to both players and non-players—and the private club beneath—the beating heart of the underworld’s Nexus branch.

There were two entrances, too.

The tavern’s front doors, usable by anyone, and the thieves-only backdoor. But finding the second, even with Hugo’s explicit instructions to guide me, proved troublesome.

And in the end, it was only the pair of thugs idling outside the rusted steel door at the end of a darkened alley—where neither they nor it had any purpose in being—that gave away the second entrance. Invisible, and crouched in the shadows as an added precaution, I studied the pair thoughtfully from the mouth of said alley.

The target is Ince, a level 160 half-orc brawler.

The target is Hagfyr, a level 171 dwarven scoundrel.

Both dwarf and orc had wrapped themselves in shadow, but their stealth was insufficient to hide them from my keen sight. Nor did the alley’s darkness do anything to conceal the door itself.

This must be it, I thought. The back entrance to the Nexus underworld.

I could see nothing of the Crooked Man’s interior from the outside but that was of little consequence. Courtesy of Hugo, I had a detailed description of its internal layout. Unfortunately, I also couldn’t pick out the mindglows of any of the tavern’s undoubtedly many patrons either. Both the building’s lower and upper floors were obviously shielded. And given that this was a thieves’ hideout, I knew to expect traps aplenty.

I sighed. Breaking in through the backdoor was going to be too risky.

That left only one other option. Retreating from the alley, I crept back to where I’d left Shael waiting.

✵ ✵ ✵

“I’ve found it,” I said without preamble as I emerged from the shadows in front of the bard.

Shael did not startle, obviously getting used to my abrupt comings and goings. “Where?” he asked, straightening from his slouched posture.

“Five blocks away and tucked away deep inside an alley,” I replied.

The bard frowned. “Can we use it?”

I shook my head. “We can’t. Like I suspected, breaking in is not an option. We’re going to have to go with plan B. You’ll enter through the front, and I’ll bluff my way through the back.”

Shael grimaced. “Then you’re still determined to go ahead with your madcap plan?”

“I need that money,” I said stiffly. “And I need to know why Dinara is so eager to find me.”

Shael raised his hands palms up. “I’m not arguing. I’ll do my part. It’s you that I’m worried about. You’re going to be alone down there, and if you get into trouble, there’s not much I can do from upstairs.”

I sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just keep watch for my signal. When you hear it, don’t hesitate or improvise. Do your bit and get out.”

Shael nodded. “Then we’re a go?”

“We are,” I said, drawing psi. “Let’s do this.”