The Clan (19 page)

Last night, a blitz operation carried out by the Ninja Looters resulted in the taking of Silver Citadel, a strategic point covering access to the mines of the same name. An anonymous source claims the success of the operation was the result of treachery by a senior guard officer who had apparently leaked the portal access codes to the attackers. Reportedly, the officer in question is a professional spy specializing in this kind of one-off operation. It had taken him over a year to prepare the mission. Having joined the clan after a period of express leveling, he excelled in his duties, enjoying a quick career growth which culminated in a lump sum of over a million gold for the valuable intelligence. Consequently, he deleted the character concerned.

Oh. I scratched my head. These guys played big. The Looters now had a half-a-million dollar castle. And the patient spy, a hundred grand for a year in the game. Now he'd go to the Maldives for a well-deserved month in the sun before registering a new character. So how were we supposed to protect ourselves against his type?

I remembered the
incident with the tobacco smoke turning into soap bubbles, giving away the nondescript individual who'd been trying to worm his way into the Vet's clan. Wonder if my invention had saved the Veterans that day from professional infiltration like the one above?

I had gleaned something, anyway. Now I had some idea of the prices people were prepared to offer for breaching a castle's defenses. In all honesty, I didn't feel like offering my services to any of the clans involved in current military actions. I had an idea, though. It looked as if most of the OMON forces were drawn to the besieged castles. What if I offered their victims the possibility to counterattack? I could remove any shield from any of the castles mentioned by the vendors. All they needed to do was assault it which would probably allow them to alter the situation and save their property, making a nice few bucks on the side. I could also make a similar offer to the ex-owners of the Silver Citadel. I had a funny feeling they wouldn't say no to the opportunity to bring it back under their control.

Very well. A quick search brought me the names of clan leaders of both Gold Net and Minediggers. I created an anonymous mail address and sent them my offer. They could forward their payment via official middlemen who, for a mere two percent, would make sure that all parties respected the fine print. All I had to do was remove the dome shield of a specific castle at a specified time. Price quoted: one million. That was it. Now I could sit back and watch the sharks and whales swarm into my net.

A double clink of gold informed me of the first bite. Sold: one dedication to Macaria and one raid offer. I was forty grand richer. Things were moving!

Clink, clink! Another bite!

Chapter Fourteen

I
spent the following three hours networking non-stop, sifting through the messages that were pouring into the anonymous box. While the bulk of the letters were from the doubting and the curious and didn't merit immediate attention, those from serious buyers I had to answer on the spot as I tried to come up with the logistics of the impending operation. It looked as if it was going to be something truly extraordinary. Already I had over a hundred fifty people on the dedication list and more kept coming every minute. When two messages were dropped almost simultaneously into my inbox—two leading clans wanting to know the details—I finally realized I was losing my grip on the situation.

I closed the virtual keyboard and, forgetting, tried to lean back, losing my balance on the wobbly stool. Damn their cabinet makers!

AI's soft voice resounded in my head.
Master, I've taken the liberty of saving 29 American dollars. May I offer you something to replace this sorry excuse for a chair with an ergonomic six-setting adjustable recliner bed?

What was it he'd blabbered about his emotions having been removed? His voice was rife with sleek sarcasm. I should have taught him a lesson of course, by refusing his offer and leaving myself to suffer in silence. But my heart was craving some comfort.

"Deal, you smooth operator. Where's your chair now?"

Name the desired color, please.

"Fucking purple!"

What kind of upholstery would you prefer?

"Whatever! Suede!" My annoyance started to affect my struggle with the stool's four uneven legs. Why would anyone make something like that?

The closest local analog would be the skin of a sand lizard. Unfortunately, it will increase the price of the desir-

"Chair—now!" I snapped. I didn't care anymore.

The air
parted, materializing this marvel of modern design and medieval technology. With a yelp, I plonked myself onto its suede cushions and groaned with delight.

"Well done! As a reward please accept your new name: Lurch! I hereby allow you to use one percent of all the units generated for your own needs, on the condition that your activity doesn't hurt me or the castle's functions. Use it as you see fit. You could get yourself a gold weathercock or some fancy railing, you get the idea.

AI paused. Finally he spoke, his voice shaking with emotion.
Thank you, Master. You've no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.

"You're welcome, Lurch. How about a bit of celebration? Some lemon tea, how about that? No chance of any cookies, I suppose? What's the situation on the kitchen front?"

AI's voice was filled with drama and regret. "The kitchen unit is status orange making it impossible to prepare dishes of over 80 difficulty. But that's not the problem. We're completely devoid of kitchen staff. Unfortunately, I don't have access to the kitchen interface. I would recommend hiring eleven sentient beings as castle staff in order to secure a bare minimum of habitability."

Bummer. More expenses. Still, he had a point. He might be a bit greedy but a castle needed some staff. I fiddled with the settings, and after five minutes the room filled with voices. First thing I hired three human chambermaids with cute faces and random-generated characters. It was more fun that way. I didn't quite get why a pretty face cost five hundred a month while the same character with the same functions but looking like an old hag was two hundred. I just hoped Taali didn't find out that I'd had choice, or she'd demand I replace all supermodel types with helpful old ladies.

Next I created a corpulent cook with +500 Culinary skill. She cost me more than all the chambermaid chicks put together, but once I'd studied the list of her skills, I gulped in expectation and pressed
Confirm
double quick. The portly lady's bloodline counted at least five different races endowing her with all the secrets of the numerous Elven, Dwarven, and human cuisines as well as some special meat recipes à la Orc. She also had direct access to the ingredients auction and her own bank balance which was the first thing I filled when I'd created her. Now that I had the food department out of the way, I told her to get some tea ready and went back to my work.

The incoming messages had been flashing at me for ages. I opened my inbox and hiccupped with astonishment. The auto broker balance had already exceeded three million, the number of those willing to surrender themselves into Macaria's gentle hands had reached two hundred eighty. But what made my day was the letter from the Vets where General Frag personally was asking the anonymous priest about the terms of having a seven hundred-strong clan dedicated. The General put it plainly that seven million was a bit thick and that two million
would do the job nicely plus the dubious addition of their gratitude. The Vets didn't change, did they? They were still not averse to trading their friendship and pressurizing everyone with their authority. Two more similar letters from other clan leaders were still awaiting my answer.

That wasn't all. There was also a flagged letter from the auction admins informing me they had temporarily blocked the assets in my account until I fulfilled all commitments to my customers. They had assigned me a personal manager as
a controller who'd just sent me another letter, introducing himself and asking about the time and place of the upcoming ritual. I clutched at my head, groaning. I needed more staff! I wasn't made of steel. Having one head had also proved pretty inadequate. But I had to make do with whatever I had at hand.

I concentrated, trying to remember my bind point. It had to be the Vet's portal hall. I sent a message to my mini-clan (Cryl and Lena, that was the extent of it) telling them to meet me in my apartment. Then I wrote to Frag asking him for an urgent meeting of paramount importance to the Vets, ideally in the East Castle. Two minutes later, the General replied saying he was expecting me in his office and that I had better be quick as
'
it's like Israel and the end times here; the arrival of the Fallen One has changed the lay of the land and the clan is delirious with excitement'.

Clear enough. I looked around, checking if everything was under control, and wistfully canceled the tea break. I was about to teleport when something in my newly-acquired environment caught my eye. I gave the room another scanning glance. The unhappy cook, purse-lipped, was placing her pretty china teapots and cookie plates back onto their tray; one of the chambermaids fussed about arching her back and darting her vibrant eyes as she polished the newly-materialized table with a pristine white cloth brushing away the non-existent crumbs. Crumbs. Fragments. That was it! Yes! I needed to hire a hundred cleaners to sweep the entire space inside the inner wall, collect all the scrap mithril and pile it into neat little piles.

In my mind's eye, I reached for the charm on my neck, activating the castle control menu. I scanned through the unfolding submenus until I got to recruiting. Non-combat staff, cleaning services. Chimneysweeps, plumbers, various moppers and sweepers. The latter were exactly what we needed, including their foreman. His wages were three times those of his workers but he allowed me to delegate the task of running his brush brotherhood. In total, they cost mere peanuts even though they admittedly took up a lot of staff positions.

A troop
of little goblins filled the room, armed with brooms, dustpans, buckets and some totally arcane cleaning tools. Immediately I realized quite a few of the mistakes I'd made. Firstly, I didn't really need to hire this cartload of chimpanzees for a month. I should have paid ten percent more and just kept them for five to seven days. My second mistake was ticking the
'character: random'
box. Already those green monsters were making a sparrow-like racket, pushing and shoving each other, a few of them rolling on the floor in disagreement.

"Out, everyone! Out into the court! Line up!" I yelled, confirming my command with an almighty kick that sent flying the two goblins who were fighting over some especially good broom.

I hurriedly summoned their foreman, ran through his options and increased his strength, aggression, diligence and desire to please his patron. That was another fifty gold a month gone, but I had to be sure he was able to run his menagerie with an iron hand.

The ash gray goblin was middle-aged and covered in old scars. His stance commanded respect. He studied the surroundings and stroked the bamboo stick he carried as weapon.

"What can I do for you, Master?" he lowered his head.

I glanced at his stick. "You'll be Harlequin," I said remembering the Italian
commedia dell'arte
character whose job was meting out blows to the ever-sad clown Pierrot.

The goblin stood up straight. His eyes glistened, his back bending lower in a bow. "Thank you, Master."

They all seemed to have funny reactions to the name-giving procedure. Could it have something to do with the divine spark the Fallen One had mentioned? When we singled someone out, raising them over the homogenous faceless crowd by giving them a name, were we not breathing life into them? I really had to find out my Hell Hound's moniker or present her with one.

"I've got here fifty cleaners to put under your authority," I said. "Your task will be to clean up the castle. All the non-standard debris has to be collected and stored in the inner court, sorted out where possible: metal and ores into one heap,
artifacts into another, unidentified miscellany into a third one. What else... yes, no dismantling any compound objects. You'll see two statues of trolls, please don't touch them but try to transport them into court if you can."

"What's the surface area?" Harlequin asked, all businesslike.

"Everything up to the outer walls. In case of any danger, address the head of castle guards. Let me know when you're finished. I'll need you to arrange a work party to the fort. That's it. Get on with it!"

As he dashed off, eager to apply himself, I had one belated idea. "Wait! One more thing. On one of the north towers," I gestured in their approximate direction, "there's a Bone Dragon's batch of eggs. You need to find it."

He scratched his head. "What does it look like?"

I very nearly did a facepalm, amazed at his stupidity, when it dawned on me: did I have any idea myself how the eggs
—whether bone or phantom ones—looked like? Not good.

"Eh, a nest and, you know, two eggs, yes, sort of round ones," I made an OK sign with my finger and thumb. "I think. Just play it by ear, dude. I don't think the place is packed with dragon eggs."

He shrugged, as if saying,
the boss is always right
. Obeying my nod, he finally dashed out of the room. Right he was, too. I could bet my bottom gold piece his subordinates were already at each other's throats, busy ripping each other's overalls.

I suppressed a smile and activated the portal spell.
Bang.

I
greeted the Portal Hall guards, one of them a very bored Eric who roared like a happy bear as he descended on me with an equally bear hug. Immediately he began telling me about some really cool piece of bear gear he'd seen, if only-

There he was interrupted by a messenger
—the sergeant who'd been shifting his feet by the door as he waited to take me to the General's office. I shook Eric's enormous paw and hurried down the stairs after him.

The NPC guards saluted me indifferently, showing no reaction to my
hatred
relationship status. By then, I already knew how easy it was to change the guards' friend/foe settings from the castle interface. The Vets' clan didn't differentiate by race or faction, they had plenty of players of both Light and the Dark. You couldn't surprise anyone here with a Blood Orc whose face otherwise graced all the quest boards elsewhere in the Lands of Light.

Finally I reached the carved oak doors of
the General's office. The sergeant knocked and opened one side of the door, letting me in.

Inside, Dan and Frag were choking on their coffees.
You can't really enjoy the poison of your choice twenty cups in a row. Dan squinted at me, tired but cheerful. The General's poker face didn't change; he nodded and beckoned me to approach.

"Come sit down. Take the weight off your feet."

I obeyed. Both stared at me expectantly. Pointless beating about the bush with two seasoned sharks like those. So I moved straight to the point.

"General, as far as I know, you were considering the possibility of dedicating the clan's entire contingent to Macaria, offering two million for the rite. Is that correct?"

Frag raised an eyebrow, soundlessly enquiring about my information sources but neither confirming nor refuting my words. Dan gave me an encouraging smile.

I took in a lungful of air and said with a TV-soap actor's lilt, "The Dark Priest you wrote to
is me."

I wasn't prepared for their reaction. Dan guffawed, clapping his hands. Frag shook his head, unbelieving.

"You didn't believe me, did you?" Dan turned to him. "So you owe me one more staff member for my seventh department. Sorry, Sir, a bet is a bet. I want Brown's Lieut, please."

"You want too much. Find someone from your kindergarten group and train them up yourself," Frag turned to me and lay his heavy fists onto the fragile tabletop. "Report," he ordered
, boring me with his glare.