I wasn’t sure if it was due to Ren-Faire Skillz influence, part of the Knight class in particular, a combination of that, or something else, but I was noticing a sort of… soft compulsion to act in accordance with my Knight class. Aka, I was incredibly, skin-crawlingly, uncomfortable with being sneaky about shit. I mean, I had never really liked it, even though I could do it easily enough, thank you insurance industry. Being sneaky and lying was basically apocalypse-101, I did not enjoy this new revelation of some sort of restriction.

Now though, instead of a creeping anxiety it was something like I was on the tail-end of a particularly itchy meth-binge while being swarmed by 3 differently-sized ant hordes. In this example, the ants were of different-sizes individually, not the hordes themselves. Those were all of a large size. Short story long, directness felt natural and way better than cosying up to the itch.

“Why did you do that?”

Morrigan looked at me from the side of his eyes, “Why did I?...”

I gave him a flat, hard look and he eventually bid me to follow. I was tense, but I was nearly always like that. He guided me through hallways after corridor, were there hundreds of rooms here? That didn’t make sense. Before I could digest the process we suddenly arrived at a fireplace that lit up with a snap of his fingers. There were two chairs around the hearth. Someone shut the door behind us, but unless I was willing to slam it back open and run out, I wasn’t going to find out who did that.

“Wine?”

I had placed my bottle down somewhere before, “Sure.” He waved me toward a wall of sealed wines and I chose one using my ghetto wine-enthusiast method. I sloshed it while holding it to the side, you watch the air pocket move and wanted it to move quickly and smoothly, but not too quick. Too quick meant it was going to be like sweet water and too slow meant that it would be heavy enough to knock me out shortly after pouring it. Hey, I knew some stuff.

I found a bottle opener and pulled it open with a loud pop that made him flinch.

“What?”

“The vino is alive, the more gently it is opened, the better it dies.”

I didn’t even know how to process that without rolling my eyes, so I didn’t, like I wasn’t processing Penitent bullshit. I approached the two glasses he had brought out and placed them on the short table between us and checked both for any foreign liquids, no thank you on the potential roofie front, then poured into mine glass and moved it in front of him then took his and wiped the inside with my shirt. Then, inspecting it, I poured myself a glass.

He rolled his eyes, “Really?”

I shrugged, that was the most justification I’d give. Did I really know these people? I wasn’t trusting shit, especially after the llama show. I mean, it’s my first fucking day here and that’s the opening entertainment? Fucked.

“So what’s going on here? I’m hoping you didn’t feed that woman to the damned-llama for fun.”

He shrugged this time, “Well, I won’t bother lying, she did annoy me and essentially everyone else here to fantastical levels, but no. That wasn’t the only reason.”

I took a sip and patiently waited, damn this was a good choice, he agreed a moment later when he sipped his own, “Excellent selection.” He also said something like Chateau-blah blah blah but I just ignored that. ‘Bubbles look good when moving’ was the extent of my selection criteria.

I waited, enjoying the soft warmth of the fire and the comfortable chair. I readjusted myself, deliberately digging my .38 holster into my hip to keep myself awake.

“I have… a Usurper.”

I waited, not quite sure about what he meant by that. He correctly read my silence.

“It’s a condition of my Class, my… Quest. Surely you’ve noticed the same with your Knight class.” I nodded but didn’t provide anything beyond that. “There are… obligations to carry in exchange for power-”

Not how I would have put it, but whatever.

“-Mine is the need to deal with someone here, someone who possesses the Usurper class. I need to do so in order to advance from ‘Young Master of the Winos’ to ‘Lord of the Winos and Vinos’.”

Regarding his own class, I wasn’t sure Vinos and Winos were actually supposed to rhyme but he made them do so. That wasn’t the issue, what was the problem was the steadily approaching situation I was having a shit time of not seeing.

This was a fucking murder mystery. I sighed as I recalled that at one point, I actually enjoyed playing Clue. Well, maybe this would provide the opportunity I wanted to take somewhat of a break from the whole Penitent System bullshit and Biblical apocalypse to solve a murder mystery, like some old-timey detective. Actually, as I moved through that chain of thought I was liking that idea more and more. Especially since they had a shield here. Fighting for my life on a daily basis for the last week or whatever had been exhausting.

“Colonel Mustard in the Study, with a pipe wrench.”

He shook his head, “We do have a Mister Black however, two as of this time. I fear more.”

I didn’t get what he was saying about that and instead of showing my ignorance to my own analogy, I thought a bit deeper about the situation in general, “Can’t you read everyone’s Class here?”

He gave me a flat look as I understood the problem, “but you can’t for this person.”

He nodded and took a deep drink from his own glass and refilled it.

“I was sure that she was it, but there was no notification after she had died-”

I knew who he was talking about, after all, I had just watched it, “Been murdered.” He raised an eyebrow at my near-accusation wording, “Part of my ‘Obligation’, I can’t… how do you say… speak bullshit.” Which, of course, was complete bullshit. Just because they kinda fed me and gave me a bunch of wine isn’t a good reason to tell some rando the truth. Just a little Penitent-bullshit, then I ignore it and do this murder-mystery right.

He grinned at that, “I believe it’s called, ‘mincing words’.”

I shrugged, “Like I said.”

We both barked out quick chuckles that quickly settled.

“So, is that why you welcomed me onto your vineyard?”

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

He nodded slowly, “Yes, you’re the only one I’m sure isn’t the Usurper. I can’t trust anyone else, the person most likely to eagerly help me could be the villain themself.”

I felt an itch, was that true? For all I could tell it was one villain against another, at best. This guy had coordinated, albeit very indirectly, to have a woman murdered on a hunch and because he didn’t like her. Well, technically the llama had done it… but still. It felt wrong. How had he made that happen though? Missing, there was a lot missing.

“How many have been murdered so far?”

“Only one… well, two as of this morning. Three if you could that vile llama’s work.”

“Can I just kill it already?”

“Normally? Yes. Ideally? Also yes. Realistically? No. You see, there would be quite the outrage to that. I’ve been protecting my dear subjects from many of the worst horrors and they would be quite upset by that-”

“They are aware of the general threat of the animals though, right?”

He nodded, “Of course, but the llama, not being openly hostile, has taken on somewhat of a mascot role for the winery. Perhaps at the end of your investigation.”

“Who said I was going to investigate?”

He stood up while I was in the middle of my statement and opened an oversized closet. He wheeled out a suit of armor. Wait. He wheeled out, A SUIT OF ARMOR. Holy sweet fuck I had to get my hands on that.

“That’s mine if I do, that’s what you’re trying to say, yeah?”

He smiled, “Yes, exactly that.”

“Is there a sword?”

“Unfortunately not, there’s only this,” he tapped his waist before drawing it, “a cheap replica.” He drew it and the sword was broken in half. I didn’t know if it was my Ren-Faire skill or what, but I could tell that it wasn’t necessarily a ‘cheap replica’, though the break made it far inferior to my own magic-sword, even before the magickening of it.

While in the zone of medieval appraisal, “The suit’s fake.”

“No… most of the suit is fake.”

He punched the chest-piece and it dented inward. Then he slapped the pauldrons with the flat of his broken blade and a pure ring sounded out. They were solid in sliding, overlapping sheets of metal, well forged with a design lightly carved into them. Over the top there was a bit of a domed metal shape, but not too big and clunky like a lot of medieval armor. Looking closer, they were clearly of a much higher quality than any other part of the armor. The shin-guards, greaves looked good too now that I was giving it a better look.

“Pauldrons are real…”

“Spaulders, technically. And yes.”

I wasn’t sure if he was right, but good enough.

I licked my lips, I wanted some real knightley shit, “are any other parts real?”

“The codpiece perhaps.”

He didn’t know. Also yikes on the codpiece, maybe I’d pass on that one even though I could tell that was real. I’m not wearing that just to avoid nutshots. I’d been avoiding nutshots my whole life, and have been quite successful at it, thankyouverymuch. What I would take is some shoulder protection though and the greaves too if I got a moment alone with the beautiful girls. I should probably mention to include those with it, but my loot goblin told me to just steal them. I didn’t analyze the advice too much before taking it.

Get to play lead detective to solve a murder mystery and get shoulder spaulders for my troubles? I mean, that’s as close to a win-win as you can get. Besides the off chance that I get murdered myself somewhere along the way. More than shin protection, there was a more immediate upgrade on my mind.

“I want the shield too.”

He rapped it, “It’s fake though.”

I shook my head, “I want advance payment.” Despite my eagerness, I didn’t know what else was going on here. I wanted something now, even if it was just to not be as compliant as he’d like, “Shield or spaulders now, the other one on completion.” At that moment, I solidified the advice. I’d be given the other two at the end or I’d steal whatever I didn’t get. Well, I’d steal them anyway. My inner loot goblin wouldn’t suffer any other outcome. As of now, my desktop shield was becoming a huge hindrance.

He pulled the shield out of the knight's hands and handed it to me. I thought he’d choose the shield, and it was the one I needed more at the moment than any sort of shoulder protection. The school-desk shield was on its last legs, the wooden part of it having held up surprisingly well, but the straps were turning to absolute trash and were growing more loose each time I put it on. I had been debating on whether or not to even wear it when leaving the parlor earlier.

I held the shield up, I thought it was called a heater shield. For a replica? It didn’t look cheap. It had an emblem on the front, two birds facing away from each other and a deep still pond below, the herald included a sword that stabbed upward between the two birds. It was made of surprising quality and a thick metal covering over what was, presumably, wood. Banded by two leather straps, more than two technically, but they were distributed at two points on the shield. One at the forearm and the other, smaller, crossing set of straps would go around the palm of my hand.

It fit comfortably. I placed a hand on the hilt of my pistol and it was easy to grab; I pulled my hand quickly away from it when I realized that I wasn’t alone.

Now that I had the shield there was a last bit of Penitent housekeeping before being able to Dick Tracey this whole thing, “We should take an Oath, to make it official.”

“An oath?”

“Yes, an Oath. You are the master of this vineyard, correct?”

“That is correct.”

“Then charge me to find the Usurper, the one who is murdering your people. Besides you, of course.”

Jeremy didn’t look like he exactly knew what he was doing, but cleared his throat and gave it a shot, “I, Jeremy Morrigan, the Master of these Vineyards, do request that Sir Thoma-”

What most people appreciate when trying something new, is an interruption, “-Sir Doubting Thomas.”

His eyes widened fractionally in surprise, “-request that Sir Doubting Thomas doth find the Usurper and reveal them to me and I will personally grant you a set of Spaulders, finely wrought.”

I paused before I allowed the sense of hanging obligation to take over and guide my words.

“I, Sir Doubting Thomas, Wandering Ghetto Hedge Knight,” fuck you Gabby, “-do herefore promise to locate the Usurper for you in exchange for personally granting me the pair of legitimate spaulders thy hath offered for my service. My Word is my Bond.” Double-fuck you Gabby.

“My Word is my Bond?”

We both felt the Oath click into place, apparently ‘free will’ was a thing, at least until you chose to give a portion of it away. Hmmm, Oaths were interesting. I’d have to review them in more detail later after my mental health day. Fuck it, two days. Keep pushing me Gabby, see where that gets you. Still, it was easy enough to tell that it felt like a very bad idea to break an Oath.

“Doubting Thomas eh? That ‘Doubting Thomas’?”

“Yeah, that was me, it was a rough first day, what can I say?”

He laughed, genuinely this time, it was a rich, hearty thing, “You are essentially an apocalypse celebrity.”

I laughed in turn, more from embarrassment than anything else, “Of course, he put that on my Status Screen, so now I’m stuck with it.”

Jeremy raised his eyebrow, “He?”

“Gabby? Gabriel? The archprick?”

He laughed again, “Archprick Gabby yes, I like it.”

We stood there for a few moments, “Well…”

“Yes yes,” he rang a bell and someone I didn’t recognize came in, not that I was recognizing a lot of people here anyways, “Fetch Vivianne for me would you?” Vivianne came into the room soon after, “Vivi, would you be a dear and show Sir… Doubting Thomas to his room?”

“Pleasure to meet you, Master Morrigan.” I figured I’d be extra polite since we just made a deal. I thrust out my hand to shake. He didn’t pause long… but he did pause, before grabbing my hand in return and pumping it once before releasing.

Duke Dickhead. I was an American, I officially stopped giving a shit about royalty some 300 years before I was even swimming around in my dad’s sack. Gross. I should choose… less visual verbal illustrations/turns of phrase/analogies/examples/WHATEVER.

As we left, I saw the blonde, douchey chick enter Morrigan’s study as we left.