An old, white-bearded man, wearing a white half-mask across the top of his face, had walked into the Hunting Lodge and was speaking jovially at the reception in local language. He wore a large, purple outfit studded with red and green gemstones, and with golden sleeves.

"One of the NPCs said that there was a masquerade nearby, several courtiers would be attending. Some will be hunting here by late evening, but the Lodge will be closed to the public by then so we'll miss it. Maybe this guy is making reservations in advance," Gastlem said.

"A masquerade? Yes, that's probably what he's dressed for," Crucis replied.

As the receptionists walked out of the lobby, in order to prepare some things for the courtier, Crucis saw the man's long shadow loom over him as the courtier unexpectedly approached him. Looking up from his seat, he saw that the courtier was named simply [The Mysterious Courtier] by the game, and was level 90.

"Greetings, young'uns. Are you writing poetry?" the courtier said in a puckish voice. "Ah, I used to write it often when I was younger, and writing the odd sonnet nowadays is still expected of me."

"Yes, I was helping the children," Crucis said. "What brings you here, the masquerade?"

"Yeah. I've always loved the weird and wonderful. I missed the zombies in Kruxol, but figured the aristocrats aren't a bad substitute. To be honest, I don't enjoy the thing, but some of my friends and allies are going so I'll humour them."

"Your tone isn't that courtier-like, monsieur," Gastlem smiled.

"Non, mon soeur! I am the very model of the modern aristocratic ideal. Look, if you want to challenge me, let's drop the cuffs and take it outside. I'll show you my superior kratos, heckler, more convincingly still than Henry V showed your countrymen at Agincourt."

Vladimir began to laugh quietly.

"I'm still not convinced. Who wrote this dialogue? I'd like to have a word with him," Gastlem said.

"As a critic goes, you are critical. Oh, doubled absurdity! Man by nature should be satisfied to only criticise as trifling diversion by evening, but now the critic never tires nor relents. He ties himself up in knots, his criticism is in and for itself critical!"

"I apologise for my companion's ill manners," Crucis said. "But there is no shame if you are not a typical courtier, they are a drearier lot."

"Yes, I did not object to his initial comments, but just to the gall of the lad. The frog of criticism leaps, and thinks that it has brought the dawn. Anyway, to return to the matter at hand, I'm not really a courtier now. I was born into an aristocratic family, but my father chased me out and disowned me. Still, I have some associates who gave me support and patronage, and I use my old belongings to pose as a courtier before the public. The people fear the aristocrats and monarchs, so they do not scrutinise me."

"I see. That is wise," Gastlem said, in a calmer tone.

"Merci. So, are you hunting? I'm planning to do so, but later on."

"Yes. But I think we can't enter this place now by evening, so I doubt we'll meet," Crucis said.

"That's a pity. But the best way to deal with it is to dig your claws into this place, to get in there and force them to kick you out. They probably will, but at least you'd force them to do it. Tell you what, there's a house West of Kaxil, it's closed by evening. But if you hide in a small hole that leads into the ground, really flatten yourself against the ground, then you're counted as outside the building and won't be removed unless they see you. I stayed in there for a while, I know why it's shut by evening. Do you know?"

"Why?" Vladimir asked.

"Ghosts. And not just the showy 'ghosts' you'll sometimes see in forests. Nah, these ghosts are serious ones, they have all kinds of weird psychological effects, they fill you with bloodthirst and envy. Great fun. I'm a materialistic sort, but one of the ghosts even brazenly clawed at me and did damage, I had to scramble out of a window when it attacked me. But it's something you do for the thrill, for the grit, I'm all about that."

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"That sounds quite interesting, thank you. What level are the ghosts?" Crucis asked.

"Oh, I saw some on level 60, some up to level 100, maybe there's even stronger upstairs. You probably won't run into the tough ones, if you're not a daredevil like me who saunters into the house's painting gallery. When the ghosts are about, the paintings watch you as well. I always thought that aristocratic mansions were ghoulish, but I was hoping for a more courteous reception!"

"Is there anything similar in the hunting area?"

"There are some weird things in there even by daytime. By evening? Well, I've heard howls and screams, but I don't know where from. I'd hope to find out. Where are you hunting?"

"Area E."

"Ah. I saw the check-in list, there's currently another small party in that area, only two people. I think they're the sword-wielding Archer types. You could fight them off, but I'd recommend tying them up in case you need bait for some predators or a human shield. If you go way up North, the predators are too strong, but on the way there's a few valuable ones with expensive skin and claws. Attacking predators is currently encouraged, to make the area safer, so it's some of the best stuff you can get without poaching."

"That's a great idea. I'll tell the others. Do you come here to hunt with your friends?"

"Yes, actually. Some of them are a bit haughty, so you might not get along at the moment. One of them is a clown who fancies himself a greedy baron and looks like a cross between a witch-doctor and a goblin, it's frustrating sometimes. But we keep them around for now."

"Have you explored some of the other realms nearby?"

"I wouldn't say 'explored,' but I have stumbled into them on occasion. The region up North has grown very cold of late, it's difficult to do much up there. To the West, it's also chilly, but there are many graveyards and so the draugr onslaught was even more fierce than usual. Most of their towns are in bad shape. I hear there's a row of teleports that can take you to low-level towns across the world, it's somewhere in the cold hills leading from this region to the one North of it, but I haven't a clue where."

"Ah, that could well be useful."

"I think it's well-known information, but actually going that far North? Not really possible until high level, and it would still get too cold if they didn't prepare."

"We have one party member who is familiar with some of the villages in the Northern forests, he can ask them if they have any stories or information about the lands up North. I'm sure they will, most places here have people who give localised information."

"Yes, the village people know several things you won't find out in the town," the courtier smiled. "Such as that it's fun to stay at the - ahem. Yes, anyway, you should ask them. Possibly they'll also have some items with cold resistance. But tell him to be careful if he goes further North, there are several ghouls up there who will impersonate villagers or even create mirage villages to lure any travellers. My friends have lost some of their men on voyages around there. The ghouls tear out hearts and eat them. At least they aren't heartless, I suppose. Not many people know about it, since few people go in that direction."

There was a loud call from the reception, and the courtier turned around. He was being called to collect a small, purple card, which probably marked his reservation.

"Well, I'll be on my way, then. By the way, I had come here because I saw you guys writing poetry, right? Well, here's a translated copy of some sonnets I wrote a few years ago. It's not that much, but I hope you enjoy it."

He handed them a clear white cloth envelope, then went to the reception to collect some equipment and confirm his reservation. As Gastlem tried with difficulty to open the envelope, which was sealed with an awkward knot of string, the courtier quickly mounted his horse outside.

Finally, Gastlem opened the envelope, and pulled out a piece of paper from inside. On it, two poems were printed:

Who amongst my many detractors

has ever reproached me

with being called to play first lover

in a second-rate theatre? –

and yet it is true.

If the rascals had any wit,

they would have painted one side,

‘The conditions of production and commerce,’

and on the other side me,

lying at your feet,

and said, ‘Look to this picture, and to that!’

But they are stupid rascals,

and they will remain stupid

in saeculum saeculorum. What makes me human is not

Feuerbach’s idea of man,

nor the metabolism of Moleschott,

nor the proletariat,

but it is love.

I could even compose verses,

and imitate Ovid’s

book of lamentations:

for he was only exiled

from the emperor

Augustus; but I am

exiled from you,

and that is something

Ovid would not understand.

"Wait," Gastlem cried, as realisation dawned, "The Mysterious Courtier was Karl Marx!"

"Yes. Well, we should probably find him and ask him some questions, like what he thinks of Posadism," Crucis replied calmly.

"First, we ask him about his real identity!"

"Sure..."

"Yes, let's go!"

However, as Gastlem prepared to summon his Mount in pursuit, the courtier's horse disappeared into the distance.

Gastlem sighed. "Drat! The bugger got away!"