CHAPTER 12 — BOUNTY
“Quite a place you got here.”
They stood before a building in a high-end part of town. Flint knew that was the case, because Busby’s Fun House was nestled between the Banking House of Auxvasse and the governor’s mansion.
“We selected the choicest of locations for the establishment,” Busby said as they swung through the iron gate into a small courtyard. A series of exotic-looking plants flapped at them on the walkway. Planted in the ground were agreeable-looking torches flaming high into the night. There were people stood about the outside porch area at tables near the garden, some in fine clothing, others in armor and similar battle dress. His targeter scanned a few of them, and to his surprise, revealed them as Players.
“There’s Players here,” Flint muttered.
“Gambling is popular in Auxvasse.”
“What?”
“I said that gambling is a popular—”
“Never mind.”
They trekked up the stairway into an entrance lined with red felt. A large black oak desk guarded the entryway. Behind it, a red-haired woman with narrow spectacles smiled warmly at him. Then she saw Busby and her expression changed. Something he could’ve sworn was close to contempt.
“Hello Rowena,” Busby greeted. “I have a friend with me this evening.”
The woman fixed her gaze on Flint and ignored Busby. “Are you here to play Windlass? The buy-in is 450 gold.”
Flint patted his empty pockets. “Forgot my wallet at the hotel.”
The woman called Rowena didn’t laugh. “This is a very expensive establishment.”
“Good thing the owner here,” and Flint patted Busby on the back, “Owes me all the free shit my heart desires.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed as she looked down at Busby. “You have the owner’s son, at any rate.”
Busby gave a nervous chuckle. “Yes, but I am her favorite. Don’t forget.”
Rowena’s eyes narrowed. “Follow me, then.”
They followed her into a large, high-ceilinged room with a patterned red carpet brightly lit by multi-colored lanterns. Card and dice tables were evenly spaced throughout the room, with Players and NPCs moving and sitting amongst the various games. Fashionably-dressed dealers threw out cards and chatted with patrons while servers delivered Ale mugs and scented smokesticks. Pleasant music filtered in from an adjacent dining room where a band played for a group of fancy diners and heavily-armored Players.
As they passed through the room, Flint caught the glance of several patrons. Players scanning him, no doubt. One group whispered to each other as Flint passed their high-top table, swiveling around on their stools and watching intently as he walked by.
“Am I criminally under-dressed for this place?” Flint asked.
“We don’t have a dress code,” Busby informed him.
Rowena cast a side glance at Flint. “Fortunately, for some.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
She led them up a flight of stairs out of the gaming hall, past a server carrying a steaming tray of food that smelled like heaven. At the top of the stairs, two guards in matching leather armor pushed open a set of double doors, revealing a dimly lit dining room with a single long table. At the table were several finely-dressed women of older-than-middle-age. At the head of the table was a hunched-over gray-haired dwarf woman. She was so old she looked like a reanimated corpse. She and the others turned to their new guests.
“And here you are,” Rowena said, before promptly making an exit.
Flint glanced at Busby, who appeared a bit nervous for some reason.
“Ah… good evening ladies,” he said. “Forgive the interruption, but I wanted to introduce—“
“Deftly?”
It was a scratchy, shrill voice belonging to the ancient woman at the head of the table. She was squinting at them with rheumy eyes enlarged by thick spectacles. “Is that you, Deftly?”
Busby tensed. “Yes, Mother. It’s me. As I was saying—”
“This one of your Mend School friends?” she said, almost screaming. The two women on either side of her visibly winced.
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Busby glanced sideways at him and then moved toward the head of the table. “No, Mother. This is Master Walker. One of my patients, actually.”
Flint frowned. He wasn’t one of Busby’s patients. Or at least never would be. Ever again. But the old man seemed very timid and nervous, and almost a little too eager in the sideways glance he was giving.
“Uh, yes,” Flint said. “Busby here saved my life the other night. He’s a skilled physician.”
“Did he now?” the old woman screamed. “Well, that’s my Deftly. Always willing to lend a hand!”
An awkward pause then while Flint studied the other occupants. His targeter passed over the women, confirming they were all NPCs. Some of the old women stared at him intently, and for the second time that evening, he felt profoundly under-dressed.
“Is he the entertainment tonight?” one of the women said.
“He is not,” Busby said. “We’re simply here to have a drink. And to that end, Mother, may I take Master Walker to the private bar?”
“Don’t take him away so quickly, Deftly,” another woman said. A buxom old fox in a light pink dress adorned with diamonds and a giant, unsightly mole on her cheek. “Come sit by me, stranger. Tell me your adventures, and I’ll tell you mine.”
Flint chuckled nervously. The other ladies cackled, obviously enjoying his discomfort.
“Oh leave him be,” a voice said from behind them. They turned to see a dwarf woman in a modest dress enter carrying two goblets of sparkling liquid. The woman walked over, gave Busby a kiss on the cheek and deposited one of the glasses in front of the mother.
“Ah,” Busby said, beaming. “Master Walker, allow me to introduce my wife, the beauteous Professor of Botany, Myrtle Maribelle Mathers Busby.”
Flint clumsily took her outstretched hand, and not knowing what to do, planted a kiss ontop of it. The awkward act sent giggles through the room.
“I prefer Mary,” she said. “But it’s a pleasure to meet you. Deftly has so few friends.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Flint said.
“How much do you charge for a night?” Busby’s mother screeched at him. She took a sip from the goblet, spilling part of it down the side of her withered face. “I’m a very rich woman, you know. Very experienced in the ways of the flesh.”
Flint’s stomach roiled. He felt a tug on his arm as Busby tried pulling him away.
“On second thought, Mother, we’ll go to the main hall. A pleasure seeing you ladies again,” he said, and to his wife: “My love, I will meet you at the Pass.”
The Professor smiled. “A pleasure meeting you, Master Walker.”
“At least dance for us,” one of the women said as they left.
“He isn’t the entertainment,” another said.
“Oh, he looks like he could be quite entertaining.”
Flint needed to escape these aggressive old broads as quickly as possible. But they were forgetting something important. He pulled his arm away from Busby.
“Where’s that guy who runs the caravans to Siolan?” he said.
Busby blinked. “Oh, right. Master Karpathia.” He turned back to his wife, saying: “My dear, you wouldn’t happen to know where Carmine Karpathia is this evening?”
“Out of town,” one of the women said. “In Siolan. Won’t be back until next month.”
Flint felt his heart sink.
“Too bad,” Busby said.
“You can stay with me till she gets back,” the same woman said. “Unlike her, I don’t have a husband.”
##
Back downstairs, Flint drank from a mug of Ale at the bar. The second he swallowed, his HUD flashed:
QUEST COMPLETE: TAVERNS OF AUXVASSE
He had earned 500 XP plus the fine black jacket and pants. He opened his inventory and examined the stats:
Fine Evening Wear
Armor: 5
Bonus: Grants the wearer +8 to Charisma when worn after sundown.
“Nice,” he muttered.
“It’s the best ale in the Reach,” Busby murmured without enthusiasm. He seemed dejected for some reason.
It was actually bland and tasteless, but saying so didn’t seem polite. “Sure. Listen, do you know any other ways to get to Siolan? Besides the caravan?”
Busby stirred his drink. “There are many roads through the forest, but alas, they are not particularly safe or well-traveled.”
Flint sighed. Of course not. He opened the map in his HUD and studied his location for the thousandth time that day. Since Busby couldn’t get him on the caravan, he saw no real reason to keep hanging around the dwarf. He decided to exit after the drink. “So your mother owns this place, huh?”
“She does, at least until she dies. If she ever dies…”
Flint tracked the road leading from Auxvasse through the forest and all the way to Imperial Hold. Siolan was on the other side, a good two dozen miles south of it. He figured with the Imperator looking to murder him, it might be a bad idea to walk through the capital city. That was if he could even make it that far without being robbed or killed by something else.
“I imagine she will outlive me,” Busby droned on. “She outlived my father, her siblings, and my own brothers and sisters. Why not me as well?”
Flint sighed and closed the HUD. The old dwarf was swirling the ice around in his tumbler, staring at the contents like they could give him an answer to his troubles. But Flint had his own troubles. Namely, getting to Siolan without being eaten or robbed by forest creatures. He couldn’t care less about Busby or his lecherous old mom. “You could kill her.”
Busby slumped even further. “No. The authorities would immediately suspect me.”
Flint raised a brow. It was a joke, but the dwarf wasn’t treating it like one.
A Player in a sporty-looking gambeson strolled by carrying a tray of bright chips. The targeter identified him as Ser Karl, a level 34 alchemist. He was flanked by a guy with a bow, also a player, and both looked mighty pleased with themselves. Probably had just won the chips.
When Ser Karl caught Flint’s eye, the wide grin on his face vanished. The Player stopped suddenly, causing the man behind him to collide into his back, sending the chips falling to the floor.
Flint frowned as the Player bent over to collect the spilled chips, all the while keeping his eyes glued on Flint. He whispered something to one of his companions and then the other one started staring.
“Do I really look that bad?” Flint wondered aloud.
“You look like a patient just released from the Surgery.”
Now several other people were staring at him. Enough to make him uncomfortable.
He thought of the new clothing in his inventory and pushed back the stool. “I’m going to change. Where’s the bathroom?”
##
“That’s him,” Ser Karl hissed at his friend. “I’m telling you, it’s him.”
They watched as the one called Walker stood and left the room, heading for the bathroom.
“They’re offering 50,000 gold for that bum?” Nelly said. “Looks like a fucking beggar.”
Ser Karl jammed the last chip into the tray. He needed to cash out ASAP. “Whatever. The quest says to find and kill a level 14 Charger with the Playername Walker. That dude is a level 14 Charger named Walker.”
Nelly’s face scrunched up. “Why’s he so special?”
“How the fuck should I know?” Karl snapped. “Just follow the cunt to the bathroom and stab his ass.”