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Chapter 36: Post office sniper
When Trask got to work late Wednesday morning, he entered through the back again because there was a crowd at the front entrance, even bigger than before.
The griefer had shown up early that morning, near the commercial gate, shot a few arrows at delivery drivers, then got away before either Joe or Matilda could get there.
The griefer hadn’t managed to hit a single person, but traffic was snarled up and all the deliveries were now late.
Trying to cover the entire city with just two guards was pointless, Trask thought.
Joe was taking statements in the lobby and Trask could see that Osgar was in his office, dealing with one of the more high-profile members. Trask couldn’t see the member from the hallway, but he recognized the voice—Zephora Harte of the House of the Writhing Fun. He wondered what she was doing at the Chamber. No griefer, no matter how evil, would dare target one of Krim City’s most beloved establishments.
Medieval sex, with all the unpleasantness it entailed, was the second-biggest draw for Krim. Sometimes even the first, depending on how the user survey questions were framed.
Of course, the griefers had no qualms about targeting Trask himself, Krim’s most respected representative of law and order. Why wouldn’t Zephora be on their list, as well?
Trask crossed the lobby, opened the front door and peeked out. Matilda was out there, on crowd control, but the crowd seemed larger than before. Mostly merchants and other business types, but also a few new faces.
He stuck his head outside. “Psst!”
Matilda’s head whipped around and a knife appeared in her hand, then just as quickly disappeared again when she saw who it was. She growled at the crowd and people edged back nervously.
Then she turned and walked up the steps. “What’s up, boss?”
“Who are the new guys out there?” He gestured at the people standing at the perimeter of the crowd, most of them nervously glancing around. They all wore light armor and carried swords, but they looked more like tourists than actual fighters. The armor was a bit too shiny, the shirts a bit too clean, and, the real-giveaway, their hair looked perfect and styled. Nobody had good hair on Krim unless they’d just come in through the gate with a brand-new avatar.
“Some of the merchants have hired guards,” Matilda said. “But most of the fighters are going off to the war, and those who stayed behind don’t have the patience to deal with paranoid civilians. So the shopkeepers hired noobs and alcoholics.”
“Who’re you calling an alcoholic?”
Trask didn’t recognize the voice and it took him a moment to place the speaker.
“Boozy Beau!” he said. “I didn’t recognize you up on your feet.” He didn’t add, “and sober.”
“Well, I’m gainfully employed now, aren’t I?” said Beauchamp Scrope, the town drunk. Trask usually stumbled over her in the gutter outside the King’s Armpit. He had never heard her speak before when she wasn’t slurring her words.
“You didn’t tell me your name was Boozy Beau when I hired you,” complained Tottie Lovell, the seamstress.
“Why should I? It’s not my name now, is it?” Boozy Beau said.
Trask moved closer to Matilda. “How much longer is this going to take?” he asked. “It’s getting close to lunch time.”
“You’re going to have to get delivery,” Matilda said. “I don’t think this crowd is going to go anywhere until they get some answers.”
“I don’t know what they expect us to do,” said Trask. “The chamber can’t afford to put armed guards around every shop, theater, and art studio.”
“Don’t forget the bordellos,” said Matilda.
“We could probably cover the bordellos,” Trask said.
The bordellos advertised heavily in the Chamber circulars and usually bought several tables at the annual fundraising gala and awards ceremony. If they needed help, Osgar could probably scrounge up more guards. That’s probably why Zephora was here, Trask thought.
“But even there, we’d just be protecting them against the usual riffraff,” he added. “Hot-headed patrons. Drunks.” He glanced at Boozy Beau. “No offense, Beau.”
“None taken.”
“I don’t know what we can do to protect against snipers,” Trask continued. “Like that guy above Tottie’s shop on Monday. What can a guard do against someone shooting from a window?”
“We could put our own snipers up on the rooftops,” said Matilda.
“Like that guy up there?” Trask pointed at the roof of the post office building where a cloaked figure was just rising over the parapet.
Boozy Beau looked up, screamed, and started running, knocking over a couple of merchants who were in her way.
“I’ll go around the back and try to get him alive!” Matilda yelled, then jumped down the steps and pushed her way through the panicking crowd.
Trask stepped back into the chamber lobby. “Joe! There’s another sniper!”
Joe put down his pen, dripping ink onto the page he’d been writing on and jumped up from his chair.
“Matilda’s going around the back,” Trask said as he stepped aside to let Joe past. “She’s going to try to take him alive.”
Joe leaped out through the front entrance, flew over the banister on the side of the steps, and landed in the shrubbery before setting off at a run.
“Be careful with the boxwood,” Trask yelled after him.
Tottie ran up the chamber steps, blocking Trask’s view of the sniper—and making herself a perfect target.
An arrow thwacked into the door frame just missing Tottie’s head by a couple of inches. She screamed and barreled into Trask, knocking both of them over and onto the floor of the Chamber’s lobby.
Another scream came from the outside and Trask clambered to his feet, then lent Tottie a hand up.
Osgar stuck his head out of his office. “What now?”
“Sniper,” Trask said. “Post office roof. Joe and Matilda have him cornered.”
Osgar nodded. “Carry on, then.” He went back into his office and slammed the door behind him.
“What am I supposed to do now?” asked the book binder who had been dictating a complaint to Joe and was now sitting alone at the reception desk.
“Stay inside, Tom,” said Trask. “And away from the windows.”
He himself went back to the entrance, trying to stay out of the line of fire, and peeked outside.
One of the noob guards was on the ground, holding his shoulder and screaming. “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts! Get it out!”
The post office roof was clear. The griefer must have seen Joe and Matilda coming and started their getaway.
He opened the door wider so he could look at the bolt in the door frame. Another Krim Deluxe Crossbow Arrow, Special Edition.
The griefers must all be working from the same play book, he thought. Another sign of an organized campaign. On the other hand, that particular crossbow was also the most popular option with noobs. So it could be a coincidence. A copycat sniper. Everybody knew that griefing was contagious.
“I’m in so much pain!” the noob screamed, writhing on the ground. “I’ve never been in so much pain before!”
Trask looked up again at the post office roof to confirm that the sniper was gone, then exited the building, went down the steps, and approached the noob.
“Is he dead?” someone called out from around the corner of the building. Several other guards were huddled together, creating a perfect target if there was a second sniper on another rooftop.
He glanced around and didn’t see anyone, then bent down over the victim.
The tip of the arrow had gone into the leather armor, but was stopped by the metal plate underneath.
The noob was a belt-and-suspenders guy when it came to personal protection, Trask thought. He pulled the arrow out.
“It didn’t even touch your skin,” Trask said. “Look.” He handed the arrow down to the would-be mercenary. “No blood.”
“But the pain…”
“It’s just a bruise,” said Trask. “You might have a black and blue mark on your shoulder for a while.” He patted the man on his uninjured shoulder and straightened up. “Come on, get up.”
“I can’t! The pain is too much!” The noob curled into a fetal position and started sobbing. He must be young, Trask thought. Not used to having to deal with his own emotions.
Back when Trask was growing up, people didn’t have somatic interfaces that let them dial their feelings up and down. They dulled their pain, fear, or sadness the old-fashioned way. With alcohol.
“The King’s Arms is up that way,” Trask told the noob, pointing north along Banking Street. “Right next to the central gate. Go have a stiff drink.”
“I could use one myself,” said a voice from the shrubbery. “Is the sniper still there?”
“They’re either gone, or Joe and Matilda got them,” Trask said, and Boozy Beau stood up and brushed twigs and leaves off of her cloth armor. She’d been hiding behind the chamber’s steps, in the shrubbery.
“Good,” she said, pulling out a bottle. “That severed head gave me quite a start.” She kicked at something under her feet. It squelched and Trask made a mental note to have someone look through the shrubbery for leftover heads. And any other severed body parts.
He looked back at the post office. With any luck, Matilda had caught the sniper and would be able to shake some information out of them.