“Are the rumors true?” A towering elf woman stood at the counter, loudly interrogating Pascal. “At yesterday’s knitting and necromancy circle, my lady-friends would not stop talking about the Overture Café and the brand-new hero who’s been peddling lattes from behind this very counter! You’re very obviously not him, so where is he?”
“We kinda closed five minutes ago,” said Pascal with a half-laugh. “Please leave.”
“Why isn’t he on a quest? Is this some kind of new marketing technique? Does he pose for pictures?” With each question, the woman leaned further forward on the counter, until Pascal was pressed against the espresso machine. “I’ll have you know I’ve been the café’s number-one customer for years, and it’s my baby boy Fleet’s birthday, so you’ve got no excuses!”
“Mom, you really don’t need to do this,” grumbled a smaller elf, presumably Fleet. “I’d be perfectly happy with a new cloak or something! You’re the one who’s always making a big stink about heroes. Besides, didn’t you hear the café’s closed?”
“I’m begging you, sir,” said Fleet’s mother without skipping a beat. “No hero lets anyone see them in public without capitalizing on it! Do you have any idea how expensive it is to book a photo shoot in the Questlands? It’s almost a thousand coppers each! We can’t miss this opportunity!” She fumbled with the box of Memo-Runes in her satchel and tried to thrust one into Pascal’s hands.
“I’ll do it, ma’am,” Lyle sighed, slumping into the café, his eye bags darker than usual. “I’ve already been pulled aside four times today, what’s one more?” He studied Fleet’s mother, who was transfixed by the Hero Mark on his chest. “Hold on. I know you.”
“Of course you do—she’s a loyal customer!” Pascal said. “So loyal she won’t leave even when we’re closed.”
“No, she’s no customer at all,” Lyle sighed. “This is Wren Honeysuckle, the hero fanatic I’ve had to throw out three separate times after she harassed our other patrons for pictures and autographs. And she’s never even ordered anything.”
“Unbelievable,” said Fleet. “Mom. Why can’t you just be normal about things? Heroes are just people too, you know.” He approached Lyle and calmly shook his hand. “I’m sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused you, sir. For the record, I wanted something else as a birthday gift.” He tugged on Wren’s arm. “Come on, Mom.”
And with that, the long, long day was over.
Every so often, the Overture Café got fake patrons like the Honeysuckles, who only hung around the place to pester famous heroes passing through. And when those heroes—many of them frequent customers—grew tired of the drama, they stopped coming back. There was nothing worse for business. But then again, people like that existed everywhere in Greater Reminok. They were unavoidable, as Lyle had quickly seen the first time he stepped onto the streets wearing his Mark. Lyle was beginning to understand why most heroes preferred solitary, dangerous lives in the Questlands. Being a hero in the city was just so frustrating.
But Lyle could handle the locals and their constant hounding (at least, for now). The real trouble was the press.
“You’re late, boy,” huffed Mrs. Sugarman, hobbling down her office stairs. “And you look half on your way to being a corpse. Tell me your meetings with the Directorship weren’t that bad.” With each step down the stairs came the clunk of a wooden cane. Mrs. Sugarman had gotten it after her injury fighting the Poltergeist King. It was also covered in jagged spikes, so the store manager still didn’t look any less dangerous.
“It was no big deal,” Lyle lied. “I did invent almost thirty new ways to say, I don’t want this stupid dumb Mark. And the truth serums they force-fed me afterward were cherry-flavored. It’s the little things, right?”
“Directors,” Mrs. Sugarman scoffed. “Eight hours of dark-room interrogations just to figure out a truth you told them in the first two minutes.”
“But, best of all, this should officially mean the end of our legal troubles,” Lyle continued. “The Directorship had no choice but to declare this whole Title Duel fiasco an accident. I was more worried about how they’d react to the big battle—since we technically stole a quest that belonged to a customer. Eventually, the interviewer caught on that we were just trying to keep our jobs. So we’re basically out of the woods.”
“Well, thank Immortal for that,” Mrs. Sugarman sighed. “Only now I suppose you won’t be expanding our clientele into the Directorship’s dungeons.”
“Very funny.” Lyle rolled his eyes.
“However, as you might remember, I do have a different proposal for you.”
“That’s right.” Lyle’s heart skipped a beat. He’d almost forgotten—the real reason he had been summoned after closing time. “What kind of proposal?”
“The Overture Café is branching out,” said Mrs. Sugarman. “For centuries, Reminok’s most prosperous shops and businesses have been sending their most talented vendors outside the city limits. Of course, I’m talking about the Wandering Merchants, who live and work alongside heroes in the Questlands. Soon enough, I want to send somebody from this café to join their ranks. Somebody I can depend on to represent us and our top-of-the-line products. Someone like—” Mrs. Sugarman fixed her good eye intensely on Lyle— “you, boy.”
“Me?” Lyle echoed. The thought both excited him and made him violently nervous. “You’re promoting me to the Questlands?”
“Eventually. And tomorrow is the first step. I’ve lined you up for a full day of shadowing in the Questlands, so you can observe and learn from one of the best Wandering Merchants around: Constance Conciencia.” With difficulty, Mrs. Sugarman leaned on her cane. “Frankly, I envy you. Not long ago I would have set you on the management path and taken that position in the Questlands myself. I’ve so dearly missed the journeying.”
“Wait, managerial duty was an option?” said Lyle. “Is it sad that I would have preferred that?”
“Over an epic journey into the unknown?” Mrs. Sugarman snickered. “A little, yes.” She unrolled a parchment scroll to reveal a map of the immediate Questlands, with several roads highlighted in shining gold ink. “As this is your first journey outside Greater Reminok, it’s imperative you use caution, especially with that homing beacon on your chest. You must follow one of these paths until you meet Constance, and then you must stay within her caravan’s protective field at all times.”
“Wait, what’s with this map?” Lyle asked. “Why are there, like, twenty different paths out of the city? Which one is Constance actually going to meet me on?”
“I’ve been told any of those paths will do just fine,” Mrs. Sugarman said. “So I imagine Constance will end up finding you somehow?”
“But that doesn’t make any—”
“I’m aware.” Finally, Mrs. Sugarman pulled out a familiar-looking sword from her belt and placed it in Lyle’s hands. “And here, just in case there’s any danger on your journey. I know you’ve used it before.
“I tried to cut a liquid with it,” Lyle said, tracing the golden glyphs on the side of the blade. “I’m amazed you trust me with this.”
Really, Lyle was amazed she trusted him remotely to handle himself in the Questlands. But he knew there was no backing out. Lyle Larsen was going on a heroic adventure, whether he liked it or not.
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It was just after dawn. Lyle waited at Greater Reminok’s gargantuan western gate, nibbling on a Life-Root Scone and gazing out at the skyline. All of the grand spires and superhighways looked so small now. Lyle’s whole day-to-day life rested back there, along with his comfort zone. From out here, it all seemed to fit between his outstretched arms.
Not anymore. A pack of emergency snacks was strapped on his shoulders, and the blade hung from his belt loop. He pulled out Sugarman’s map; four separate paths diverged from the western gate. This Constance person could be waiting on any of them, or she could be on the opposite end of the Questlands. Why the guessing games? Lyle thought. With a shrug, he approached the gate.
“Lyle the Mighty, is it?” said the gate guard, reading off of his screen. An unpleasant prickle climbed up Lyle’s spine. “Enjoy your time in the Questlands! Stay safe out there.”
“Oh, brilliant,” Lyle muttered to himself. “I have a title now.”
The guard waved him on, and as soon as he passed through the towering white arch, the concrete beneath his feet turned to grass. He had arrived.
The Questlands were more stunning than Lyle could have imagined. Rolling fields and colorful berry groves stretched as far as the horizons. Overgrown stone ruins were nestled among the nature, hinting at subterranean dungeons that might wind on for miles. The wind even smelled sweet, like fresh flowers. The city might as well have been another dimension, and Lyle couldn’t help his jaw dropping at the unfamiliar splendor.
But he had a mission: meet the Wandering Merchant, and then go back to his very familiar life. Nothing more.
As he made his way to one of the marked dirt paths, Lyle found himself humming the smooth jazz soundtrack from the café. He spotted an apple tree and thought of June’s homemade turnovers. When he got home, he would have to unwind with one of those delightful little treats, plus a Happy Place Latte for good measure.
An adorable little badger-like beast had been following Lyle for almost half a mile now. It would scamper between his legs and curiously circle around him every so often—almost like it wanted something. Lyle vaguely recognized the creature. It was a Brutal Gorging Badger, though most city folk just called it a BGB. Lyle set his emergency snack bag down, turned to face the badger, and smiled. The little thing didn't look all that brutal. In fact, with those pleading eyes, and the way it was sniffing Lyle's bag of goodies, it only looked hungry.
"Oh, I get it now," Lyle murmured. "You have my sympathy, little buddy. Here, I'll give you..." He rummaged in his bag for a moment. He had an assortment of finger sandwiches (no way he was parting with those), a bag of brand-name trail mix (not nearly as nutritious as advertised, but it was Lyle's guilty pleasure), and a bright red bruteberry muffin wrapped in parchment paper. Bruteberries were supposed to be some kind of superfood, but Lyle wasn't the biggest fan.
"This muffin's all yours," said Lyle, unwrapping the muffin and placing it on the ground. "Enjoy." The beast started to attack the muffin with ravenous vigor, and Lyle picked up his bag and continued on.
But something was bugging him, and only a few paces away from where he'd fed the badger, he stopped to think. The Overture Café had a very important rule about products made with bruteberries, and Lyle should not have been forgetting it.
"Wait, that's right," he said to himself. "How could I forget? Never, under any circumstances, feed bruteberries or bruteberry products to a BGB, for it will power up and gain an unquenchable bloodlust—wait, what?!” Lyle turned around so fast he almost fell down. With shaking hands he drew Mrs. Sugarman’s sword. Rounding the corner was something neither little nor adorable. The Brutal Gorging Badger now looked like it deserved the name, with blood-red fangs, swelling muscles, and berry stains on its muzzle. It spotted Lyle’s Hero Mark and roared.
“I'm such an idiot,” Lyle sighed, and took off in the opposite direction.
The gigantic badger was sure to be strong, but luckily, it wasn’t fast. Lyle was surprised by how easily he could stay ahead of the creature…at least, until he ran out of stamina and began to slow down. The badger began to gain on him, so instead Lyle turned and faced it with his sword.
A massive four-wheeled bastion suddenly rumbled around the corner. It was some kind of moving house with colorful, eclectic architecture and walls that rattled with each turn of the wheels. A faint blue veil seemed to float around it. “Hey, you!” hollered a voice from the top of the strange vehicle. “If you like having all four limbs, I’d highly recommend coming this way!”
A Merchant’s caravan, Lyle realized. That’s the protective field!
“Say no more!” said Lyle, and dived beneath the veil.
The giant badger tried to follow Lyle head-on through the blue barrier, only to charge straight into a nasty electric shock. With an angry growl, it turned tail and dashed back into the woods. Lyle loosened his grip on his sword, glanced at the map, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. The highlighted path had come to an end, meaning this caravan must belong to—
“Constance Conciencia, by the way,” called the same voice from atop the caravan. “You can also call me Connie. Or Lefty. You the guy I’ve been waiting for? Lyle Larsen?” Lyle looked up to see a woman sitting on the roof. “Who are we kidding?” she continued, hopping onto a flagpole on the side of the caravan. “Of course you’re him. The way you were holding your sword all wrong…and you don’t have a single piece of armor…yup, you’re an ordinary city dude through and through.”
Connie reached the base of the flag and landed in front of Lyle. She was a short, dark-skinned human sporting a very familiar look of exhaustion—Lyle knew she’d been in customer service for a while. Her hair, in a very tight bun, peeked out from beneath an indigo cap bearing the symbol of a potion flask.
“Your cap—you’re with ApotheCare,” Lyle noticed. “Damn. That’s a pretty big deal.” ApotheCare was renowned for having the best Wandering Merchant team in the entire industry. It still wasn’t café management, Lyle thought, but today might be a great opportunity after all. “Wow,” he thought aloud. “I can’t believe I get to shadow one of the ApotheCare merchants.”
“Honey, let’s get one thing straight,” Connie chuckled. “I’m not one of the ApotheCare merchants, I’m all of them.”
“Wait, it’s all you? Singlehandedly representing the whole company out here?” said Lyle, and remembered the strange map and all the branching paths. “I sure got lucky, then, taking the one right road into the Questlands.”
“Ha! So bold, Lyle,” said Connie with a smirk. “I’d say you’re right, though. Of the whole Wandering team at ApotheCare, I’m probably the most fun.”
Lyle made a face. “Didn’t you just say you’re the only one on the team?”
“I am!” Connie vaulted back onto the caravan and blew a resounding horn. “Alright, we’re on the move! Come along.” Lyle swiftly climbed on next to Connie. “Oh, and speaking of my coworkers—“
“I’m so confused right now.”
“Sadly I will have to transfer you somewhere along my route today,” Connie said. “I’m scheduled to pass through a campsite full of pacifist Green-Marks, and I’m just now seeing that you’ve got a Red Mark on you. It’s tough, but you’re technically not allowed inside those borders.”
“Oh, that’s not fair,” Lyle groaned. “I accidentally hit a café patron with a pastry. That shouldn’t count. Also, what is your deal? Do you have any coworkers or not?”
“Nope, not a one,” said Connie, as if that clarified anything.
“Then who did you want me to meet?” Lyle said slowly. “Seriously, who the hell am I shadowing today?”
“I can drop you off near Short Queen’s caravan in ten,” Connie replied casually. “She’s a lot like me, only less fun. She’ll be a great person to shadow.”
“Short Queen,” Lyle echoed in disbelief. “You know what, fine. As long as she’s another Wandering Merchant with ApotheCare.”
“Of course she is.”
“So you do have coworkers.”
“Of course not.”
Lyle was starting to get a headache, and he had a feeling none of the caravan’s wares could soothe it. He leaned back and sighed. “I’m starting to think this won’t be the professional skill-building experience I was hoping for.”
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At the bottom of a ditch lay an overturned caravan, unmarked except for a torn banner bearing ApotheCare’s potion insignia. Around it, the blue protective field was flickering in and out. Something was very wrong. Another mobile ApotheCare shop had beaten Lyle and Connie to the scene, and a young woman in an indigo cap was kneeling at the top of the ditch, studying the wreckage.
“Oh no,” Connie whispered, and covered her mouth.
“What in Immortal’s name happened here?” muttered Lyle. “Down there, is that your—” he really didn’t want to say it— “your Short Queen?”
“No, that’s Doctor C,” Connie said faintly. She closed her eyes tight for a moment, seemingly in intense focus. “I’m not picking up Short Queen’s signal. But she can’t be dead; we would’ve felt it.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve lost me,” said Lyle. He squinted at the woman by the ditch—Doctor C, presumably. When she turned around, Lyle did a double take—this Doctor C person looked just like Connie.
“Lefty, you’re here,” said Doctor C. “And with a hero who looks fit for battle. Thank heavens—we just might need one.”
“Short Queen is missing,” Connie guessed. “I couldn’t recall her. I imagine you couldn’t either?”
Doctor C shook her head gravely.
Lyle climbed down the side of the caravan and gazed between Connie and Doctor C. “You know, Connie, you could’ve just told me you had a twin.”
“What?” Connie blinked. “Oh, we’re not twins.”
“Come, Lefty,” said Doctor C. “Let’s compare notes.” She approached Connie closely from behind, took a big stride inward—and fell straight through. Connie’s figure ignited in a flash of blue light, and suddenly only one twin was standing before Lyle.
Lyle stared, agape and wide-eyed. “What the—who are you? What are you?!”
“I told you already,” said the woman and shrugged. “I’m Constance Conciencia. Not just one ApotheCare merchant, but all of them. And right now we all need your help.”