Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (15 page)

A system message greeted me at the doors,

Welcome to the Old Bell Tavern!

Would you like to download and install our free Menu app?

I accepted.

The tavern met me with a cloud of tantalizing aromas and the hubbub of voices. Players were chilling out after another hard day. No one was making trouble. Little wonder: two wardrobe-sized Horruds levels 40-plus kept the room peaceful. This was the first time I saw Greg's fellow counterparts in full combat gear: weapons, armor and all. They looked impressive. Apparently, the tavern owner was on the rise. It must have cost him a pretty penny to hire two such hulks as bouncers. Or was I missing the point?

I looked around me. The customers were mainly Grinders. Two level-forty men would be well enough to bring any number of trouble-makers to heel. Their service was excellent too: a bunch of petite Alven girls fluttered around the room in their uniforms resembling that of the German national costume: calico aprons embroidered with little bells and navy pinafores with full skirts worn over white wide-sleeved blouses with demure cleavages. Men cast surreptitious glances at the pretty girls but didn't allow themselves anything immoderate. Rrhorgus had chosen a very decent place. I really liked it here. If only I could bring my two girls here one day! We'd have had a lovely evening, the three of us.

Greg rose from a far table and waved his shovel of an arm at me. I threaded my way between the tables trying not to inconvenience anyone.

“What took you so long?” Greg thundered.

I smiled. “Sorry I'm late.”

Sandra, Greg and Rrhorgus stared at me cheerfully.

“You don't mess about, Mister Goner, do you?” Sandra said. “We thought we'd have to chip in for a nice little coffin for you—and you’re a Seasoned Motherfucker already! Congrats!”

“Thanks! As the classic said, reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“You like it here?” Rrhorgus asked.

“Very much. Sort of like Munich away from Munich.”

“You got it,” Rrhorgus nodded. “The owner is German. He started off as a Grinder too.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “One day I'm gonna save enough money for a Bronze plan. Then I'll spend some quality time mopping up dungeons until I make enough gold to open something like this. What do you think, Sandy? Would you marry a well-fed
sour craft
lover? We could make a few baby Horruds, brew beer and live happily ever after.”

“It's
sauerkraut
, stupid, not sour craft,” she corrected him. “Making babies and drinking beer, that's all you can think of. You seem to be too content to stick to your hourly wage. Look at our Grinder friend here and try to level your skill up a bit too. You need to start growing otherwise you risk lugging granite around for the rest of your life.”

“It's all right,” Greg waved her words away. “Every dog has its day.”

“If you say so,” she murmured. “So do groundhogs.”

Three girls fluttered out of the kitchen carrying large trays groaning with food. Expertly navigating the room, they headed for our table.

Noticing their advance, Greg tensed in anticipation.

“I wish you were as enthusiastic when you saw a slab of rock,” Sandra commented.

While they exchanged quips, I leafed through the menu. Oh well. It looked very respectable, neat and quite cheap too.

Rrhorgus smiled at the other two's banter. “We've already ordered while we waited for you.”

The table began to fill with various dishes. A deep clay bowl was filled to the brim with sour... er, sauerkraut. An oblong plate heaving with fried sausage of every kind and shape stood next to it. Pig shanks and spare ribs were followed by a few misted pitchers of light beer. The whole caboodle looked and smelled delicious.

I surveyed the table in bewilderment, then looked at my friends. All three stared at me in anticipation. “What?”

“Just waiting for you to try,” Rrhorgus said. “As far as I understand, this is your first meal in Mirror World.”

“Ah yeah,” I forked the nearest sausage. “That's good. Why? What's wrong?”

“
Good?
Is that all you can say?” Sandra couldn't conceal her disappointment.

“Our Olgerd must be so used to his virtual body now he can't even understand what we expect from him,” Rrhorgus explained.

“Honestly, I can't,” I admitted. “What's all this about?”

“It's about you sitting here eating virtual food. And the fact that you can smell and taste it,” Sandra couldn't help herself.

“Ah. I see.”

Rrhorgus smiled and sent a piece of bread tumbling into his mouth. “It's just that your reaction is unusual,” he said. “One might think you've been a gamer for at least a couple of years.”

“I remember the shock I had the first time,” Greg confirmed, necking down some pork and potatoes.

I shrugged. “I never looked at it that way.”

“It's all right,” Sandra summarized. “What difference does it make? The main thing is, he's enjoying it.”

Rrhorgus swigged some beer from his mug. “What have you done over there at the malachite mine?”

I didn't understand the question. “What
have
I done?”

“While I was waiting, I got a message from Flint, one of the Seasoned players, a nice guy. He told me about a certain Olgerd who apparently got one over on the dwarves. The guy walked in, checked in as if it was the most natural thing in the world, went down to Level 4 without as much as breaking into a sweat, delivered a very decent turnover, finished his work and left without saying a word.”

I could have done more had it not been for this particular appointment
, I wanted to say but kept it to myself. I didn't want to hurt their feelings.

“Flint?” Sandra said. “I know him. Nice guy, a Dwand. His group are all nice.”

Greg nodded. “I know him too.”

I shrugged and said what I'd been thinking, “After the agate mine doing malachite is a walk in the park. Not even to mention my gear.”

“You see?” Sandra turned to Greg. “That's the attitude!”

“Flint would like to see you tomorrow,” Rrhorgus said.

“Why?”

“He's the permanent leader of the Dungeon Busters group.”

“But there have always been four of them,” Sandra sounded surprised.

“Apparently, he was sufficiently impressed by the escapades of our Seasoned friend.”

Mechanically Greg raised his enormous paw to slap my shoulder. I squeezed my eyes shut. My jacket's Durability was about to take some damage. Still, he stopped himself just in time.

“Sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “I won't do it again.”

“Please don't,” Sandra giggled. “Our dear Olgerd still has a few years' life in him.”

Rrhorgus paused and went on. “Flint knows about your instance application. The guild included it in the newsletter it sends out to all group leaders. It's basically just a lucky coincidence. For my part I can say that both Flint and his guys are very correct.”

Sandra and Greg nodded their agreement.

“I'm all for it,” I said. “I was quite prepared to join any group at all.”

“Excellent,” Rrhorgus said. “I want you to come over to see me tomorrow. I'll introduce you.”

“That calls for a toast,” Greg announced. “To the future dungeon buster!”

Our clay mugs thudded their fat sides in unison.

“That's not all,” Rrhorgus continued once we'd drunk the toast. “We have a gift for you. You're a Seasoned Digger now, after all.”

“What kind of gift?” I asked.

Greg grinned. “It's a surprise!”

“Come on, give it to him already!” Sandra opened her eyes wide in anticipation.

What were they up to? Judging by their hyped attitude, it must have been something interesting.

“Here, take it,” Rrhorgus said.

Rrhorgus would like to give you a Surprise Gift.

Accept: Yes/No

I smiled. This was an easy choice.

You've received a Surprise Gift!

Would you like to open it?

“Come on, open it already!”

“Go ahead, dude!”

“You're like children, really,” still smiling, I opened the gift.

You've opened a Surprise Gift!

You've received the Truth Will Out Ring!

Chapter Fourteen

“T
hat little shit!” Dmitry fumed, pacing his office. “You wait till I get my hands on him! I'll rip his head off!”

He looked the spitting image of our father now: the same brisk walk, the same large hands clenched into sledge-hammer fists. This one could rip the head off anyone. I had no doubts about it.

“But what's he up to, d'you think?” I reached for my glasses and wiped them mechanically.

“Do I know? Does anyone know? The guy is a nutcase!” he finally slumped into his chair opposite the small couch by the window where I was sitting.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “He might have his reasons.”

Dmitry waved my argument away. “Please. He was always slightly off his trolley. I could never understand him.”

“Your not understanding him doesn't make him, as you call it, slightly off his trolley.”

“Personally, I know very little about him. He's from a foster family. I've never seen him with a girl. Not that I'm surprised, but then again, who knows. I'm pretty sure that those at HQ could tell you much more about this loon and his private life.”

“Is that it? How about a few character traits? Apart from him being a “loon” and “off his trolley”—I heard you perfectly well the first time.”

He smiled sarcastically and shook his head.

“What, nothing at all?” I insisted.

He shrugged. “His workmates used to say he was very greedy. He would count every penny, whether it was his or somebody else's.”

“Well, I have to count every penny too.”

“You have a good reason,” Dmitry dismissed my argument.

“How do you know? He too might have a reason.”

He shook his head. “Not him. The guy is seriously deranged. He is a true penny pincher, literally. Either he's a control freak or deluded, one of the two. Then again, he used to spend all his paycheck on himself and his favorite gadgets.”

“Why, was he supposed to share his earnings with anyone who asked?” I quipped.

“I didn't say that. Still, he could walk over to you and remind you you'd borrowed five rubles from him a couple of weeks ago.”

“Right,” I shrugged. “Anything else?”

“He couldn't take criticism. None at all. You couldn't tell him anything.”

“Do you mean he expected everyone to praise him?”

“Not necessarily. I don't think he cared about it that much. I saw him once when the boss praised him. Zero reaction. Judging by his expression, he considered it his due.”

“Anything else?”

“Haven’t you had enough?”

“Personally, I don't think I have. I'm trying to work out his motives.”

“His motives are to damage the company, that's what I think. Imagine an army of Ennans rapidly leveling up their respective skills. That might crash the market!”

“Then how do you explain the disappearance of my second skill? I'm pretty sure this was a premeditated trick, not just something he willed to happen! And now this ring... Didn't you say the admins were on it?”

“I just don't know what to think any more. All I know is that Pierrot is an expert. Just look how he keeps showering you with surprises.”

I winced. “How does he do that?”

Dmitry shrugged. “I'm not a programmer. I'm good at other things. The game is still developing. They keep fine-tuning it all the time. You should expect some problems and errors.”

“Talking about problems. Have they identified the auction vendor?”

He flinched. “Yes and no. Torreip is Pierrot's old char he used at the testing stage. He created it when the game was only just starting out. He hadn't used it for ages. Until recently, that is. I'll tell you more: God only knows how many toons he's got. The guys kindly checked the logs for me. They say that Torreip discovered the stash containing this ring a few months ago. He then lay low for a while until a week ago when he began showing up in the game on a daily basis. Guess what he was doing?”

I shrugged, then offered something that had occurred to me on my very first day in the game, “Monitoring the auction.”

“Exactly. As soon as you began putting up your stuff, he put up the ring. And there was only one ring of this kind at the auction. Which meant he initially targeted the first Ennan who'd made Seasoned Digger. Had there been more of them, one of them would have bought it anyway.”

“So if I understand correctly, if even one Ennan laid his or her hands on this ring, it would affect the whole race?” I asked.

“Something like that,” Dmitry muttered. “What a shame we failed to ID him. He must have his own jailbroken capsule, I think. But my guys are still working on it. I'm pretty sure they'll dig something up.”

“Shit.”

“What did I say? You should have changed race when you still could.”

“Yeah, but you also said that my skill points were safe.”

“That's true. Even Pierrot can't get to them.”

“In that case, I don't have to worry about it.”

We fell silent. The day before, it had taken all of my self-control not to reveal my emotions at receiving the gift. Luckily, my friends hadn’t noticed anything. They must have thought that my shaken expression was caused by their gift’s sheer value. Which was good. They didn't need to know anything about my problems.

And as for their gift—the disgraced programmer left me with no choice, really. As soon as I'd confirmed acceptance, the ring clung to my index finger like a hungry tick, much to my and the others’ astonishment.

“Have you tried to remove it?” Dmitry asked.

“You can’t. According to Rrhorgus, the ring's setup works similarly to that of a rune. The only difference being, you apply your runes to your items and this bastard snatched my finger instead.”

“Any effect?”

I shrugged. “None whatsoever. All my skills and other stats are still the same. I haven't grown a pair of donkey ears, either.”

He guffawed. “It's early days still.”

I cracked a sad smile.

'It's okay,” he grinned. “The administration express their appreciation of your cooperation and suggest, for the umpteenth time, that you change your race.”

“They appreciate it, yeah right. Appreciating the cooperation of their guinea pig. I don't think so. I'm meeting up with Flint tomorrow. I might sign up for an instance.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. So,” he sat up straight, rubbing his hands, “how about another one to celebrate your new level?”

We spent the next hour appreciating his excellent brandy. I wasn't sure about Dmitry, but personally I'd forgiven Dad a long time ago. When I'd been a little boy I think I'd even hated him. As I'd grown up, my hatred had dulled into indifference. And once Christina got sick, all earlier problems had seemed like... like they hadn’t been problems at all. I'd suffered a complete reality shift.

It didn't take me long to get to the module center. I had a late-night conversation with my girls and sent them a few screenshots of the streets of Leuton and of the Old Bell Tavern complete with my smiling friends. My girls laughed looking at them; predictably, they wanted to come and see me in “fairy land“, as Christina put it. Also predictably, I promised that things were going to work out just fine, adding that we might be together soon.

* * *

I met Flint in the Golden Sturgeon—a small cozy tavern in the miners' settlement. Our previous agreement was to meet up at Rrhorgus’ store. But Rrhorgus, having introduced us to each other via his PM box and having sent us our respective mug shots for easier identification, had closed his shop for inventory. The looming introduction of the water world meant that all the vendors would have their hands full. To put it nicely, Rrhorgus had more important things to do with his time than shepherd us around.

The tavern was empty: at eleven in the morning, everybody was busy working. Apart from me and Flint drinking our coffees, the only other customers were a couple of dwarves talking in the far corner.

“Why don't you work for the dwarves?” Flint asked me once our introductions were over.

I shrugged. “They didn't hire me. I came to them on my very first day in the game. They said something about all vacancies already being filled.”

“I see. You came to see them wearing your zero-level clothes, didn't you? No wonder. They have a competition for newbs: if you win, their guild will accept you on probation—depending on race, of course. I would have stood zero chance. They only want dwarves and gnomes, but your race has more in common with them.”

I dismissed his suggestion. “Whatever. It's done now.”

“True. I'm quite happy without them. We keep doing instances—there're loads here—and earn some decent money, similar to what they make farming sapphires. No one standing over you. Lord Shantar's boys keep mopping up the dungeons and bringing newbs in for a bit of leveling, so we get our share, at least two trips a week. Our group keeps in Shantar's good books so we have everything covered without having to go cap in hand to those Stonefoot pigs.”

“Flint, mind me asking? Why me?”

He chuckled, then ran his hand under his chin, checking the non-existent stubble. “That's straightforward enough.”

I shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

He took a sip from a miniature cup and spoke. “Ever since our fifth member has left, we've been passively looking for a new group member. We have a tight team. No free riders trying to capitalize on fellow players' hard work. We can afford working the four of us. There is no rush. But as you understand, four isn't the same as five.”

“From what I understand, a group of your reputation should have no problem hiring honest hard-working people.”

“It's not that easy, Olgerd. It may sound like fantasy, but there
are
a lot of honest people around. But... there's always a “but“. We need someone who can keep up with us. None of us want to take on a slow Moe, even if he’s as honest as the day is long.”

“I see.”

“And as for you... Rrhorgus recommends you. Plus there's your malachite stint. Basically, me and my guys would like to offer you a trial period. If everything works out, we might make a team of five, why not?”

“Indeed, why not. What are your terms?”

“Between the four of us, we work three to one.”

“Three with picks and one lugging?”

“Exactly,” Flint nodded. “Actually, we have two haulers. But Sprat is also speedy. He has no problem keeping up with the three of us. Sir Tristan is strong but not as fast. And Knuckles and I, we just keep chipping away at the rock. If you join, it'll be three to two—perfect. Each does his job according to his characteristics, and we’ll split the earnings.”

“Does that mean that the three of us will have to meet five people's quota?”

He shook his head. “It doesn't quite work like that. It isn't like in a regular mine. Our objective is to do the instance. The resources are non-restorable, don't forget. We begin afresh at the level before last—usually, it's level five or six.”

“Why the one before last?”

“Because if we mine ordinary resources, once we reach the last level, we might get a bonus of some quest stones. On one condition, though: the instance has to be already completed.”

“I see.”

“Exactly. And from our experience, five diggers just can't do it. Too much running to and fro. These aren't your malachite mines: quest locations are much deeper normally.”

“All right. Are there many bonus resources, then?”

He pushed the cup away from him. “That's His Majesty Chance. Can be twenty, can be fifty. Even a hundred sometimes if you're lucky.”

We fell silent. Seeing my pensive face, he added, “Take your time. We’re gonna go on a raid tomorrow. We'll be incommunicado for thirty-six hours. That gives you two days to ponder over it. And if you make up your mind, we'll do our next instance together, you and us.”

“I'm too short of thinking time,” I said firmly. When I'd submitted my application, I was quite prepared to join anyone. But these guys were too good. I simply had to accept. “Count me in.”

He nodded, then gave me a long look. “Before we sign the agreement, there's something I want to ask you. Is there anything I should know before we enter the instance?”

I expected something like that. Sooner or later the truth would come out, anyway. You can't keep a meteoric rise in skill a secret for too long. People start asking questions. And it was never a good idea to start a new friendship with ambiguity and secrets. I wasn't going to tell him everything, but I had to let him in on some of it at least.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. “But... I know it would be stupid asking you to keep your mouth shut. Share a secret with a friend, you share your secret with the whole world. No good grinning, man. I'm sorry if I offended you but that's what my experience has taught me.”

He shrugged. “I'm not going to argue. You don't know us, that's all. Go on.”