Massively Multiplayer (19 page)

“We’ve had a bunch,” Druin told her. “Mostly over territory. The country that wins gets to plant new cities, which spawn new adventurers...er, citizens” he corrected quickly under Captain Thunder’s critical gaze.

“Aye, lass, that we do. But we’re at peace now...officially, that is. Antiqua’s our nearest ally, but they’re nigh an ocean away. That’s why we’ve built us a navy, though most of it’s mothballed now. But open hostilities on that scale are unusual, anyway. Bad for business, and the city councils what run our little corner of the world don’t take kindly to that. You’ll find that generally the violence ‘round these parts tends towards the up close and personal.”

“Speaking of which,” Druin reminded him, “what corpses were you and MadHarp talking about, back on the pier? This isn’t the first time Gil’s sent someone to this island, is it?”

“Oh, it’s the first time for this one,” the Captain corrected. “I done this kind of work with Master de Wraithmorte before, on account of he pays well, and I know these waters, and we have some mutual acquaintances. There’s always old ruins, caves full of nasty things and suchlike in these islands, and Gil makes his money selling guidance to and through such hazards. You can guess that his usual method consists o’ a bit o’ trial and error, and that makes for a lot of carcasses.” Druin smiled weakly.

“But,” Thunder continued, pointing out a foreboding hulk of gray-green growing rapidly before the ship, “yonder island ain’t on any map I knows of, and it’s well off the shipping lanes hereabouts. We run into it about three weeks ago and went to Gil to see if he was interested. Seems he was, ‘cause he hired you, mate.”

“It’s not exactly that straightforward,” Druin reported glumly. Briefly, he told the Captain how he’d been corralled into the job. “It’s not even that I’d object too much to this kind of scouting – it’s that I got pushed into it by MadHarp’s threats and Gil’s guilt trip over the Swamp expedition.”

Captain Thunder ran a hand through his beard. “Sounds like a bit o’ bad business, alright. Gil’s ambitious, but he’s honest enough, for a landsman. Sounds like he’s a bit raw at you, though, mate. And of course MadHarp I wouldn’t trust far enough to tie a knot without sticking a knife in me back. Somebody oughta’ tie that one to an anchor. Tightly. I see now why they might have shanghaied you into this. When a body goes down out here, well...you suspect maybe they’re hoping you won’t be back to trouble ‘em?”

Druin’s wince told him everything. “Ay lad, that’s the shape of it then. Tell me, though, you got good enough reasons not to go on with it?”

“Well there’s Malcolm and Jenna...”

“Oh no you don’t, I’m sticking with you,” Jenna protested. “I’m still committed – and I mean by a professional – to this insanity for three more weeks. Do you know what happened when I arrived for my session yesterday? There was a fight in the street, outside the Inn. Knives! Explosions! Bodies everywhere! This is supposed to be calming my nerves, and so far it feels like a damned roller coaster. No way, the only time I’ve felt safe was when you stuck it to those branch-goons in the woods. Oh, and the healing thing. That was pretty cool. Besides, I’m not leaving that Malcolm character if I can help it. I’ve never seen a full-fledged case of computer-induced schizo before, and his looks brutal.”

“Where is Malcolm, anyway?”

“He hasn’t logged in...uh, woken up yet. Still in his cabin.” Jenna smiled weakly at the hulking Captain, apparently eager for his approval of her impromptu attempt at remaining in-character.

“Ma’am,” the Captain said, flashing his fearsome grin, “you are a quick study. That’s high praise, in the sailin’ trade. Have you perhaps considered taking a nice boat ride? A pleasure cruise? Guaranteed relaxin.’”

Jenna rolled her eyes, grimacing with embarrassment. “Oh puh-leaze. Maybe on the trip home, sailor.” The way she said it, though, made Druin wonder just how long, and how intimately, she and the Captain had been talking before he stumbled on deck.

“Done!” the Captain said. “I’ll take you on to yon’ island, as per my usual deal with Gil, but I’ll wait for your return and haul ye’ back to the mainland. MadHarp can go whistle.”

“Why? Don’t you normally wait for Gil’s scouts to return,” Druin asked.

“Why, lad,” Thunder replied, grinning like a shark, “think o’ the kind o’ work we’re talking about here. Explorin’ unfamiliar ruins? Pokin’ about in forbidden temples? Caves filled with the ghosts o’ pirates, and Sea Trolls, and who knows what all else? Normally there ain’t enough left o’ them to bring home.”

Druin the Reaver, nightshade, stalker, thief and highwayman, watched mournfully as the longboat pulled back towards the reassuring bulk of the August Rose, which lay at anchor in the deep lagoon. The bulky figure of Captain Tom Thunder was unmistakable at the boat’s bow, facing back across the water. “Don’t ye’ worry, me hearties!” he bellowed. “She don’t look so intimidatin’ by day. We’ll be waitin’ for yer’ signal.”

“Signal, good sirrah?” asked Malcolm, who had logged in just in time to be included in the landing party.

“Signal,” agreed Druin, picking through the pile of supplies at their feet. “When – or more likely if – we get enough information to satisfy Gil, we’ll fire off a little flare. It’s usually used for distracting monsters. In Jenna’s backpack.”

In addition to the tube of flare crystals, they had been offered rope, grapnels, torches, lanterns, marking supplies, new lockpicks, and a variety of weapons by the ship’s crew. Druin already carried everything which he thought might be useful in a venture like this, so he waited while Malcolm and Jenna filled their packs. “Don’t ever forget light sources,” he cautioned them. “The nastier a job, the more likely it is to be in the dark.”

Finally, the two signaled their readiness. Their progress would be swift, at least, since there was only one trail through the jumble of lichen-crusted rocks. Malcolm hefted his sword as Druin led the way.

At first, only scrubby beach-grass and lichen peeped out of crevices in the rocky soil. Further inland, however, there was evidence of some fresh water source, twisted pines and brush which filled a wide gulch which apparently split the island in two. The path led straight into it.

“Looks like we’re going in,” Druin announced. He followed the trail downwards, paralleling the streambed. Malcolm followed close behind, whistling happily as he hacked at branches.

Pushing through a final tangle of tall grass, they found the water’s source. “Oh,” Jenna said flatly. “You have got to be kidding me.”

The gully terminated in a nearly vertical sheet of dull gray basalt, stretching some forty feet from the top to the bottom of the little gorge. Projecting from the cliff-face was a stylized skull, twenty or more feet high, including two gaping eye-holes, a rough nasal cavity, and gaping upper jaw, which hung over the entrance to a low cave. The thin stream of water which they had been following issued from the left eye-socket, twisting down the rock face and pooling before the cave.

“That is so tasteless. Who designed this place, some fourth-grader?” Jenna, who had been anticipating something outré and unpleasant for her first real adventure was clearly disappointed. “I mean a cave shaped like a skull? Cripes. This is like a bad Ray Harryhausen feature. Where’s King Kong when you need him?”

Druin, who had no idea who Ray Harryhausen was, and only vague notions of King Kong, scowled at her. “What were you expecting, anyway?”

“I don’t know, something logical,” Jenna retorted. “A fisherman’s shack, an abandoned smuggler’s den, one of those bunches of pirates or enemy navy or something you’ve been talking about. This? This is childish. It practically screams ‘don’t come in here, it’s an evil trap!’ I mean come on, if someone buried any treasure here, who would take the time to carve out a bloody skull on the cliff, practically advertising where he hid it?!?”

“Look, it’s not meant to be realistic,” Druin protested. “It’s the way the programmers indicate a quest location, but you can’t think of it like that or you’ll get killed. It’s
fantasy
. There are, you know, the way things are in stories.” He clutched at a word barely remembered from introductory literature: “Genre! That’s the thing, it’s the genre. If it didn’t look like a fantasy setting, you might as well go hiking.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jenna muttered.

“Just go with it, okay? If it were hidden like a real treasure would be, nobody would ever find anything! If it helps, imagine that, uh, evil forces twisted the stone into that shape.”

“Indeed, my lady, I like not the look of this fell place,” Malcolm intoned solemnly, brandishing his sword. “Best we be on our guard.”

“Yes, like that,” Druin nodded emphatically, grateful for Malcolm’s commitment for once. “It’s important. If you start discounting it because it looks goofy, if you start thinking logically instead of thinking like the game, Captain Tom isn’t going to have to pick us up because our bodies will just end up floating out to the boat.”

Jenna conceded the point with a wave of her hand, but she still grumbled about it. “How challenging is evil if everyone can tell who the good guys are just by looking for obvious signs?”

“Is that a challenge you really want?” Druin countered. “What point is there in being good if it’s too hard to tell where evil is hiding?”

That shut her up, if only long enough for them to make a slow approach to the cave mouth. Nearer, it was clear that the back of the cave – the ‘throat’ of the skull – sloped deeply into the earth.

“Looks like nobody’s home,” Jenna offered. “Is that enough for Gil, or do we get to go inside?”

“Neither,” Druin replied. Under the puzzled gaze of his companions, he hefted a large rock from the stream bed and tossed it into the skull’s gaping mouth.

With a mighty clang, a row of rusty iron spikes drove from the roof of the cave into the bedrock, just on the other side of the pool. Anyone who had traveled into the back of the cave would have been effectively trapped by the gate, and forced deeper into the island to find a new way out. Anyone unfortunate enough to have been standing under the spikes themselves would have been skewered.

“Zounds!” Malcolm cried, waving his sword and peering around desperately for an ambush.

“Holy...how did you know about that?” Jenna squeaked.

“Classic,” Druin informed them smugly. “The obvious opening was also an obvious place to put a trap. I’ll bet there’s worse further down that path, too. Instead, look at the left eye-socket. See how the stream comes out of it? That means there’s a clear channel inside, from somewhere. That’s our entrance. Let’s see if we can climb these banks.”

“Why go inside at all?”

“Because I’ve already gotten one of Gil’s clients killed this trip. Damned if I’m going to be responsible for another one.”

There was no more argument from the other two, and Druin enjoyed what he knew would be a brief respite from Jenna’s complaint and Malcolm’s absurdity. There was no way he was going to tell them how his thief’s sight had outlined the trapped ceiling in a clear, red glow some distance from the cave mouth. Let them wonder a little bit, and maybe they’d all enjoy themselves a little more. More immersion in the world of the game meant a greater chance they’d notice something which might save their lives.

It took only a moment for them to clamber up the stony bank adjacent to the massive stone skull, and Druin wasn’t at all surprised to find that a convenient ledge provided access to the left eye socket. Stepping carefully over the thin stream of water, and ducking his head to avoid the low roof, he made his way inside, motioning Jenna and Malcolm after him. Silently, he lit a lantern from their stockpile and held it up to illuminate the small cavern.

Unlike the cave in the mouth below, this cavern seemed to extend straight backwards, into the bedrock of the island. A narrow passageway, hewn from the natural stone but clearly artificially widened, extended into the darkness, bisected by the stream.

“Malcolm, you’re in front. Same drill as in the forest. I’ll stick anything that goes for Malcolm, and Jenna shoots it in the back with the crossbow.” Malcolm nodded, his theatrical heroics subordinate to the group’s safety for once.

They managed to prove the rule of ambushes once again by encountering nothing for some while, as they pushed deeper into the passage. Eventually, they caught sight of a muted glow from up ahead, and Druin doused the light. Briefly, he slipped ahead of the group, then returned to motion the others forward once he was sure the coast was clear.

They had entered a small, perfectly circular chamber. The glow came from a shaft of sunlight which pierced a crack in the stone overhead and came to rest on a bubbling spring, the source of the stream which they had been following. Around the spring, a large compass rose had been scratched into the stone of the floor, indicating, if it was correct, that they had come from the South. At each point of the compass, another passage led away into the darkness, making four identical tunnels in all.

“Druin, look,” Jenna said softly, pointing at the stone above the passage they had just exitted. “Writing.”

The same hand which had inscribed the compass rose on the floor had also engraved a message over each exit from the chamber. Over the passage from which they had emerged, Druin read:

“To come so far, must thou be wise,

But hast thou nerve, wit, stealth, or eyes?”

“Riddles,” Druin smirked. “Always with the riddles.” Over the Western passage, to their immediate left, he read:

“King or Peasant, Lord or Slave,

All are equal, be they brave.”

And to the North:

“Magus, healer, wizard, seer,

Dare unleash thy magics here.”

And finally, to the West:

“Walk in silence, hide the light,

This way for the Kings of Night.”

Silently, they each carefully considered the graven messages. Malcolm’s lips moved as he read. “I don’t get it,” he finally announced.

I’m not surprised, Druin thought, but said nothing. Instead, he turned to Jenna, offering her the chance to answer. “What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me? I’m a reporter, not the editor of the crossword puzzles. Let me guess, you have this figured out already, don’t you hotshot? What is this, some kind of geek hazing ritual?”