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Chapter 17: Bounty on the griefer
At night, Krim’s murder rate tripled.
Day-trippers went home, proud that they hadn’t been murdered or seriously injured—or still reeling from the pain of their murders and injuries, promising themselves that they’d never come back to Krim again, and planning to look up the names of law firms. Either way, they’d get out of their immersive rigs, hit their bathrooms, and get something to drink.
As Trask and Joe turned right onto Banking Street, leaving the central square behind, happy tourists were replaced by less-savory tourists—the night trippers. These were invariably dressed as assassins and mercenaries, skulking around, looking to inflict carnage. They could be easily distinguished from the grid’s resident assassins, mercenaries, and trouble makers because their clothes were brand new, sparkling clean, and with no signs of blood or other bodily fluids.
Some peaceful residents were still out and about, practically invisible in their drab, practical clothing.
Joe kept his hand on the hilt of his sword. Trask had the stone buildings on one side, and Joe on the other. As Krim grew, Trask planned to add two more bodyguards—one to walk behind, to ensure that nobody stabbed him in the back, and another to walk ahead and check for threats from open doorways and alleys. But it was hard to find good help on Krim, and even harder to convince the chamber to pay for more staff.
Maybe he’d dip into his personal accounts, he thought. Even with all of the costs of his Krim lifestyle, he still wasn’t making a dent in the interest from his savings. And Trask wasn’t one of those hard-core “living off the land” types who insisted on living off of only the money they could earn in-world. He had no problem spending real money on something if it made an appreciable difference to his quality of life.
Joe slowed down as they approached Butters Place, which is what Leadenhall Street was called west of Banking Street.
The post office was already shut for the night. They paused at the corner, waiting for traffic to clear, and Trask caught the scent of baked goods. The last customers were leaving The Kafay. It used to be called The Cafe, but changed its name after repeated fines because any reference to coffee was anachronistic. It was now named after the owner, whose name was, suspiciously, Kafay the Bitter.
“Wait for me,” Trask told Joe then followed his nose inside the establishment. There was one man sitting by the window, nursing a cup of something, probably herbal tea, and looking out over the street and the post office on the other side. Default assassin avatar eighteen, Trask thought automatically. No crossbow. He wondered how much longer it would be before he stopped looking for the griefer.
“The kettle’s shut down for the night,” said Kafay.
“What about the day’s leftovers?” Trask asked.
“Already on their way to the Barley Mow. Didn’t you see the cart leaving?”
“I’m sure you’ve got something left,” Trask said. “I can smell it.” He breathed in again. He smelled vanilla, cinnamon, and other spices. Technically speaking, vanilla didn’t get to England until 1520, but if the grid administrators decided to allow it, Trask wasn’t going to argue.
He was nothing if not flexible.
“I swear there’s nothing left,” Kafay said. She brushed off her hands on her apron, then untied it and hung it on a hook behind the counter. “Shoo.” She turned her back to Trask and reached towards the oil lamp behind her.
Trask leaned over the counter. “What about that bag right there?” He pointed at a canvas sack on the floor behind it.
“Just some personal items I’m taking home.” Without turning around, Kafay turned down the wick on the lamp, paused until the flame went out, blew across it, then turned the wick adjustment knob back up slightly to ensure that the flame was completely out.
Trask was about to compliment her on her commitment to safety when the front door was flung open.
“The griefer’s back!” Joe held the door open for Trask. “Let’s go!”
Trask turned around slowly. “I’m a little busy,” he said.
“But the griefer…”
“Is dead. It’s probably a copycat.”
“That makes it worse,” said Joe. “What if it’s an epidemic?”
Trask sighed but walked out of the cafe. No, not the cafe, he corrected himself. The Kafay. “How can it be an epidemic?”
“Well, suicide is contagious, isn’t it?” Joe asked. “Why not murder?”
Trask looked around nervously. The pedestrians were hurrying along a little faster than they usually would be. Peaceful residents must have heard the news—and how could they have missed it, with how loud Joe yelled—and were trying to get home before they were shot. And the not-so-peaceful residents, who were usually in the majority on the streets at night, would be out looking for a fight.
“Someone took a couple of potshots at tourists up near the docks,” Joe said.
“Did they hit anyone?”
“Not that I heard, but this is all rumors. Nothing official. But everyone is jumpy now. This is a bad time to look suspicious.”
Trask glanced back at the Kafay’s window, where he could see the last customer finishing up his herbal tea. For a second, Trask met the man’s eyes. He’d seen him earlier that day, just before he bought a pomander at the perfume shop. And once before, walking past the Barley Mow. He wasn’t a tourist. He wasn’t a role-player. He didn’t seem like someone looking for a place to practice a heritage trade like candle making or horse shoeing or newspaper editing. Trask didn’t know what the man was doing on Krim and didn’t like it. Something smelled fishy about his presence.
Of course, a lot of things on Krim smelled a bit off.
Luckily, he had a pomander. He pulled the scented ball out from under his shirt and breathed in deeply. It was a mistake. In the street, the pomander could not possibly stand up against Krim City’s street smells. After he stopped coughing, he followed Joe across Butters Place and into the safety of the Chamber’s heavy stone walls.
Osgar was still there, as was Tottie Lovell, the seamstress from Leadenthall Street. They were both in the lobby, and Osgar was holding up the woman’s coat, but she seemed reluctant to put it on.
“Joe, thank god you’re here,” Osgar said. “Can you see Mistress Lovell back to her premises?”
“It’s just that it’s dark outside, and the griefer is back,” she said.
Trask was surprised by how fast the news had spread. “It can’t be the same griefer,” he said. “I saw the body. It’s probably a copycat.”
“Either way, he’s an archer,” said Osgar. “So you’re actually safer in the dark.”
“That’s true,” said Tottie.
“What brings you to the Chamber?” Trask asked her.
“I was at the post office and I heard the news,” Tottie said. “And I came here to find out what you were doing about him. Or them.” She glanced back at Osgar. “This is very bad for business. But it’s also bad in general. You’re not supposed to target tourists on Krim. Or business owners. Someone shot at Gellhorn!”
“And me,” said Trask.
“Anyone could be a target,” Tottie continued. “You know, Krim used to be a safe place.”
Through great effort, Trask prevented himself from laughing but some noise must have escaped because Tottie whipped her head around and glared at him.
He covered his mouth and pretended to cough.
Tottie turned back to Osgar. “What is the Chamber doing about all this?”
“We’re actually doing quite a bit,” said Osgar. “I’ve just hired more security staff to patrol the business areas. And, earlier today, Trask and I both met with a grid administrator to talk about options.”
“Oh, grid administration is useless,” Tottie said. “How many times have I asked them for an export license? I can’t even begin to count…” She continued to complain while Osgar bundled her up and passed her to Joe.
“I didn’t come to Krim so that some crazy person could kill me,” she threw back at them before she finally allowed Joe to escort her out.
Maybe she shouldn’t have come to Krim then, Trask thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
“So what do we know?” Osgar asked him.
“So far, what I’ve got is third-hand,” Trask said. “Joe heard people say that an archer took some potshots at tourists near the docks. It’s probably a copycat.”
“Or part of an organizing campaign,” Osgar said. “I’m going to need you to investigate further.”
Trask had never investigated a crime before, but he didn’t think it would be too hard. He’d seen plenty of crime dramas. The first thing he’d need to do was put up a murder board with pictures of suspects. There was a spare bulletin board in the storage closet…
“Meanwhile, I’ve got some personnel issue to deal with,” Osgar said. “Our new security hire is waiting in my office. You’ve probably heard of her…”
Trask was about to explain that he wasn’t acquainted with every freelance fighter on Krim when the entrance door opened. He should have locked it when Tottie left, he thought, and turned around to explain that the Chamber was closed for the night. But then he saw it was Wanda.
“Lockton sent me to tell you the news,” she said.
“That the griefer is back? We heard,” said Trask.
“No, well, yes, but that’s why the grid’s decided to put a few gold coins towards a bounty on anyone who kills a tourist or a merchant.” She held up a canvas sack. “Where do you want this?”
“Why us?” Osgar said.
“Lockton was impressed by the progress you’d made on this griefing thing,” she said. “And apparently he was moved enough by whatever you guys told him to go and lobby Binkie and Gully and they decided to fund a bounty. As long as you match it coin for coin and do all the work of distributing it.”
“Well, if Lockton wants a bounty…” Osgar shook his head. “This isn’t going to go well.”
“You can call it a quest,” said Wanda. “Everyone loves quests.”
“Getting people to participate isn’t the problem,” Osgar said.
“People will be killing anyone who even looks funny,” said Trask. “It’s as though Gully Labs is deliberately trying to tank the grid.”
“Never attribute to malice what can be explained by simple…”
“Incompetence. I know. Are we going to go along with it?”
“I don’t see how we have a choice.” Osgar sighed. “Wanda, can you tell Lockton that we’re on it?”
She nodded and left. This time, Trask remembered to lock the door. Joe had a key.
“Come on back to my office,” Osgar said. “I’ve got a mass murderer for you to meet.”
Trask got a very bad feeling about Osgar’s new hire…
Chapter 18: The chamber’s new hire
“So,” Osgar told Trask as they left the lobby and walked down the corridor to Osgar’s office. “How did your meeting with Lockton go?”
“Badly,” said Trask. “He refused to do anything about the process server or say who the investors are. I also saw all the piles of old paperwork. Resident complaints, I’m guessing. It’s probably where all the import-export paperwork endded up.”
“As soon as Lockton or Binkie take the paperwork back to their real offices, where all the computers are, the complaints will go into the official records,” Osgar said. “But while they’re still on Krim, well, it’s kind of like they don’t even exist. Now, back on Olaf’s Own…”
“No, wait,” Trask interrupted. “I got some news about the investors. Lockton said that the Board of Directors was voting on Thursday to accept one of the bids.”
“Are you sure about that? This Thursday?”
“Wanda confirmed it,” Trask said. “She heard them talking.”
“Well, you got a lot more information than I did,” Osgar said. “Nice job.”
“She also said that one of the investors is Lifeworks.”
“The company that brings old people back from the dead?” Osgar stopped walking and turned to face Trask…
“That’s the one.”
“I hope they’re not planning to bring the oldies to Krim,” Osgar said. “But I can see why they’d like a place without any modern technology or magic.”
“They’d be better off on a historical reenactment grid,” said Trask.
“That would be the logical option.” Osgar sighed. “Well, maybe all the griefing will scare them away. You know, we had something similar happen…”
“You said you hired a mass murderer?”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Trask could hear soft snores coming from Osgar’s office as they approached. The door was slightly ajar and when Osgar opened it all the way the woman sprawled across the visitor chair immediately opened her eyes.
“Matilda Scarletstrike,” Trask said.
“And you’re the guy with the photographic memory of everyone on Krim,” Matilda said, sitting up.
“Oh, good, you already know each other,” said Osgar.
“I don’t have a photographic memory,” said Trask. “And I certainly don’t know everybody on Krim. In fact, I hardly know anyone at all.”
“Who’s the new lieutenant on the Pomegranate?” she asked.
“How could I possibly know that?” Trask said. But then he remembered. Her name was Barnabas Pubwash and she was saving up for her own ship. In her spare time, she played darts and whittled.
Matilda must have seen something in his expression because she nodded, satisfied.
“So, Matilda, Trask is your new boss,” Osgar said, and quickly hid behind his desk. “You’ll be reporting to him.”
“Learning everything he knows,” Matilda said. “Following him around.” A knife appeared and she started tossing it back and forth between her hands in a complicated pattern.
Osgar cleared his throat in a soft, unthreatening way, and the knife disappeared. She was so fast that Trask didn’t even see where it went. “I don’t know when you were planning to start–anytime is fine with us–but we could really use you tonight, because of the griefer.”
“No problem.”
Matilda moved like an animal. One of those fast, deadly ones. One second she was casually sitting down, the next second she flowed to her feet, almost faster than the eye could see. She towered over Trask.
She shouldn’t have. He was bulkier, and had layers of padding on to boot, but she still made him feel small.
“Don’t piss your pants, boss.” She patted him on the shoulder. “I’m on your side. Where do you want me?”
Trask backed away. “Umm, patrols,” he said. “We need patrols in the main commercial districts, to make sure that merchants get home safe. But…” He looked over at Osgar. “Joe’s not going to be happy about this.”
“I’m sure Joe will be fine,” Osgar said.
“I’ll be fine with what?” Joe poked his head in from the corridor and then the rest of him followed. His eyes immediately fell on Matilda.
“Tottie got back all right?” Osgar asked him.
“Yeah,” Joe waved his hand at Osgar, never taking his eyes off Matilda. “We met a bunch of other merchants outside and she’s walking back with them.”
“Hey, old buddy, old pal,” Matilda said, slapping Joe on the shoulder. “We’re co-workers now. Office mates. Where’s the break room? Is there a coffee machine?” She laughed.
Joe forced a smile.
“Didn’t see kill Joe a bunch of times?” Trask asked Osgar. “And also my predecessor?”
“It wasn’t personal,” said Matilda. “Well, except for Vorgath. I hated that guy.” She glanced over at Osgar. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Osgar said. “He wasn’t my choice, and I was locked in a cell at the time, so I’m good with it.”
“Anyway, I’m reformed,” said Matilda. “Joe, tell them.”
“Yeah, we’re cool now,” Joe said.
“I haven’t killed anyone in ages,” she added.
“How long, exactly?” Trask asked.
She had to think about it. “Not since last night,” she finally said. “But the guy was cheating at cards, so I didn’t so much kill him as he committed suicide on my knife multiple times. No, wait. I didn’t like the way someone looked at me this morning when I was buying my breakfast rat.”
Osgar sighed. “They’re not rats. They’re just undernourished chickens.”
“I’ve eaten plenty of rat in my day and this was definitely rat,” Matilda said. “There was one campaign…”
On the other hand, it would be good to have her on their side, Trask thought.
Osgar cleared his throat. “So you’re good to patrol tonight?”
“Yup,” she said. “Good thing I don’t need much sleep.”
“I do,” said Joe.
A knife flashed briefly in Matilda’s hand. “If you start falling asleep, I’ll give you a nudge,” she said.
Trask cleared his throat. “Matilda, why don’t you take the city center? The plaza, and immediate surrounding area. That’s where most of the tourists are. Joe, can you take the north east? The area around Simond’s Gallery? I don’t think the griefers will hit the docks. The sailors would tear them apart. And they’re definitely not going to go anywhere near Knot’s Hollow.” That was where all the mercenary and assassin guilds were.
“What about Leadenthall?” Osgar asked.
“The griefer was just there this morning,” said Trask. “And they seem to be moving around the city. But I’ll head down there myself, just in case.”
“Great, great, then it’s all taken care of,” said Osgar. “Stop by in the morning and I’ll have posters for you to distribute. Until then, just spread the word about the bounty.”
“What bounty bounty?” Joe asked.
In response, Osgar poured the bag of Gully Lab coins on to his desk. “Double that.”
“There’s fifty golds even there,” Matilda said, before Trask could even begin counting.
“That makes the bounty a nice round hundred golds,” Osgar said.
“That would buy me ten horses,” Joe said.
“But not ten good horses,” Matilda said. “Average ones. Or you could finally get one nice sword.”
“Very nice sword,” Joe said. “Custom.” He sighed. “No point to it, though, given how often I get killed.”
Matilda grinned. “I’m not going to kill you again,” she said. “I’ve gotten it all out of my system. Now, if someone wants to kill you, they’ll have to go through me.” A knife performed a physics-defying figure-eight spin in the air in front of her, then disappeared again. Again, Trask hadn’t seen her hands move.
“So how would someone prove that they caught the real griefer?” he asked Osgar. “Especially if there’s more than one griefer out there…”
“I’ll think of something and post the details tomorrow morning,” Osgar said.
“So when we go out tonight, and tell people about the bounty, should we tell them to bring the griefers in alive?” Matilda asked.
“We’ve only got the one cell,” said Trask.
“I know, I’ve been in it,” said Matilda. She pointed a finger at Joe. “He locked me up.”
“But we’re good now,” Joe said.
“I don’t hold grudges,” Matilda added.
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Osgar.
“So, if someone wants to collect the bounty, and they catch the griefer, they should just kill them and bring the dead body here?” Matilda asked.
“No, no, of course not,” said Osgar. “We hardly have room. Just have them bring the head.”