part0028

EDWARD HAD LEFT a while ago, but I still stood on the shore, deep in thought. What was going on? Haze and his bodyguard Hulk had been here in the new world for half a year already? That was an eternity. What heights might they have leveled to in that time? Obviously both characters would be far higher than level seven, which is what the ‘official’ nameplates over their heads said. Apparently, Haze had found a way to change that piece of information for others, hiding the true power of his group members. Badass was right when he said that I shouldn’t have gone up against him. A war of words against some psionic at whatever ridiculously high level. It was like taking on a tank bare-handed.

Of course, it was possible that Haze and Hulk had arrived in this world recently, only they’d been taken from another point in time just like Varya Tolmachyova. Just not so far back in time. But personally I didn’t believe that, because it didn’t explain Haze’s phenomenal ability to convince all the other players of his point of view, to put strange ideas in their heads. After all, if I really thought about it, right then I couldn’t understand the spontaneous desire I suddenly had to drop everything and run away from Pan’s Landing in any direction. The only explanation was that it was an idea was from some outside influence. But the most awful thing was: if it wasn’t for Varya who had managed to shake my confidence in my decision, I really would have gone. That was scary. And I had to accept that I couldn’t go toe to toe with Haze yet.

But that didn’t mean I had to sit and do nothing. I was a Beast Catcher. That was my strength, and I had to keep getting better at it. I brought the Marsh Mistress to the shore of the oxbow lake and introduced her to my creeping crocodiles. That seemed to go fine. My pets showed no aggression to each other. I even checked how deep in the water the cruel arachnoscorp could go — just in case I had to escape a pack of night beasts atop the Marsh Mistress. It turned out the arachnoscorp could go anywhere in the lake — the water reached up to the monster’s chest at its deepest. Great! If things got bad, I could escape through the water. The Marsh Mistress would get through, but the pack of beasts would meet the ever-hungry creeping crocodiles.

On the whole, the slippery swampy shore of the oxbow lake was similar to the Marsh Mistress’s previous abode. She liked it there. All the same, the Marsh Mistress was nervous and itching to do something. When I gave her permission, the arachnoscorp leaped into action, weaving a giant spiderweb outside the palisade, crafting herself cover. I didn’t disturb her.

I cleaned mud and leeches off the creeping crocodiles, fed them some tasty loaches and tried to explain to the armored pets that when their master’s life was in danger, they needed to react right away, not wait for a command. I don’t think Katy and Tick-Tock understood my pantomime, although the creeping crocodiles were smart, easy creatures to train. I could control them by snapping my fingers, by whistling. They understood voice commands better and better, although not when underwater.

“And now, catch fish! Whoever gets the biggest will get all the rest of the treats!” I showed the river monsters the dozen loaches in my bucket.

The creeping crocodiles already understood the “catch fish” command, although they only obeyed it if they weren’t hungry. Katy and Tick-Tock loudly threw themselves into the water, kicking up waves and showering me from head to toe. Katy was the first to return with a catch, dragging a small rainbow carp and dropping it at my foot, weighing maybe two pounds. The monster considered her task complete and trampled over to the bucket, but I clipped her round the ear.

A minute later, the huge Tick-Tock crawled out onto the shore, dragging a flopping eight-whiskered catfish that must have weighed over thirty pounds. Woah! Now that’s more like it! That fish alone would feed the whole village that evening. After giving the female just one fish, I poured the others into the male’s open mouth as she watched on. Tick-Tock’s jaw snapped shut and he stretched out happily on the shore. Katy quietly slid away, disappearing underwater without a sound. Was she really upset with her master? I tried to call her back, but it didn’t work — she wasn’t reacting to commands.

Ten minutes later, I was getting seriously worried. What if I’d lost control of the female creeping crocodile? Then the water suddenly started bubbling around two hundred yards away. Not in the oxbow lake, but in the main river! There was a battle going on in the water! Twenty-foot long Tick-Tock shot up from his sleepy sunbathing on the shore and sprinted across the narrow island, diving in to help his partner. After three minutes, the creeping crocodiles both dragged something strange and terrifying onto the bank: a giant living cluster of seaweed, a rustling mass of watery growth. I went closer, interested. Inside the mass of multicolored seaweed, I could just make out a bluish green river crab, six feet long and struggling hard, snapping its terrible serrated claws threateningly. Also, as I looked closer, I saw that it wasn’t seaweed enshrouding the creature at all… It was brown, orange and green threads growing right out of the crab’s body like fur!

Now on the bank, scratched and covered in a multitude of pincer wounds, Katy opened her mouth in which she’d been carrying the creature by its left claw. With a calculated crunch, she cleanly bit off the strange beast’s head. Ashot ran up at that moment. He’d seen the unusual activity in the river from his post at the drawbridge.

“Woah! What the hell is this hairy crab?” our Baker asked, looking at the river monster in horror as it twitched in death.

The nameplate appeared and then immediately darkened, showing that the creature was dead. I smiled.

“It’s a Hairy Crab. You just named it. Can you cook it? Shave it first and it’ll go great with beer! Uhm, I guess we don’t have any beer…”

The cook scratched the back of his head in thought, pacing around the unfamiliar creature.

“Slow down. It’s only back on Earth where all the crustaceans are edible. Not the case here at all. On the contrary, so far all of them have been inedible . But I’ll try to make something.”

“Good thing we have some newcomers. We can continue the Pan’s Landing tradition of experimenting on them with new recipes.”

I’d said it as a joke, but Ashot’s reaction was unusual. The Baker got serious, glanced from side to side to make sure nobody was there to hear us.

“Sergeant… there can’t be two players with the same name, right? It’s just… when I was working in the kitchen for the New Pharaohs, I saw a list of ‘nobles’ — players particularly close to the pharaoh. We always saved the choicest cuts for them. Anyway, there was a player called Haze in that list. I never saw his face, but… I see a newcomer with that name and it worries me — could they have sent someone after me?”

Holy hell. What Ashot told me explained a lot, although it gave rise to new questions too. What could one of the ‘pharaoh’s nobles’ want with a tiny village on the other side of the snowy mountains? An escaped slave and even twenty-odd inhabitants that avoided imprisonment… How were they worth all this attention, all this effort? That ghost train brought in fifty new slaves a day… Anyway, if they wanted to capture the people of Pan’s Landing, then they’d have sent a whole squad of fighters, not just a couple of men.

“What’s that?” My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of wingbeats above me, and the roar of some great beast.

The creeping crocodiles dived into the water as if on command, hiding from the danger. I didn’t even have time to bind Katy’s wounds. My kitten dug its claws into my clothes in fear and climbed onto my shoulder. I span my head, trying to see the roaring monster. The sound came from almost straight upwards, only the thick clouds stopped me from seeing the flying monster.

“I don’t know what’s roaring at us, but we’d better sound the alarm!” Ashot ran to his post as fast as he could. Ten seconds later, the sharp sound of the gong resounded around the village.

Alarmed villagers poured out of the homes. My sister Julie ran to me in fear. I hugged her. Pan climbed up the watchtower with his hunting rifle, stared a long while into the thick cloud cover. He pointed toward an approaching shadow in the clouds.

Chaos descended, everyone started running around. I didn’t hear what Shelly whispered to the Engineer standing next to her, but Max Dubovitsky’s echoing shout drowned out the noise:

“Don’t panic! The werewolf says the dragon is saddled. It’s the Cartographer!”

“Yes, it’s the Cartographer!” Pan confirmed half a minute later. “A rare guest. It’s been a year since we saw him last.”

I’d heard about the Cartographer from Pan already, and from Shelly. A traveling merchant that traded in all sorts of rarities, but news most of all. Deliberately neutral, he never got involved in any conflicts. Nonetheless, he was mighty and fearsome enough that none of the natives even thought of trying to rob him.

The flying black reptile landed right in the middle of the village, beating its giant wings and raising clouds of dust. It barely fit between the houses. What a beast! It was around sixty feet long and its wingspan was the same again. Anthracite-black scales all over its body. A bright red mane on its back. A long tail ending in a diamond-shaped horizontal stabilizer fin, or whatever the dragon equivalent was. A long neck, powerful teeth and anger burning in orange-red eyes with vertical pupils.

Now that was a machine of death! I felt no fear before the dragon, but rather excitement, a wish to get myself one just like it, whatever the cost. I wondered, where did such dragons live?

A large and sophisticated saddle was attached to the creature’s back. On the saddle was a bright and multicolored closed tent. Along the reptile’s sides were a multitude of bales, boxes and even cages. Most of the cages were empty. Some housed mysterious animals unlike any I’d ever seen. I also saw prisoners in two cages: an older man in a rich suit and tie, but barefoot, sitting cross-legged. His name was The Philosopher. Must be the same guy Edward Samarsky mentioned. In the other cage was some kind of winged creature — a thin and exhausted boy in a dirty gray robe, but with scaled wings folded neatly behind his back.

Veyer? Another sentient species that inhabited the new world alongside humans and veichs? Apparently so. The boy looked wiped out, barely holding himself upright.

“Stand back from the dragon if you wish to live!” boomed a powerful voice from somewhere within the tent. The inhabitants of Pan’s Landing hurried to step back.

A rope ladder with wooden steps descended with a crack, unfurling in flight. A fragile-looking and tall creature climbed down it, shrouded head to toe in a long dark cloak with a hood to cover the face. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn’t make out his legs or face. I wasn’t even sure if it was a man or someone from some other species, his clothes hid his shape so well. The dragon rider’s info was also scant:

☠ The Cartographer. Traveling Merchant.

The skull sign and bright red color of the name, and particularly the fire-breathing dragon behind him, made it clear to even the most foolish that the Cartographer was not to be messed with. The seven-foot figure looked around, paying no attention to the gathering people. As soon as he saw Pan, he walked straight toward the old man.

“Hello there, Pan! Where is Tootles, where is Curly? Are you really the only survivor of the old crew?”

The traveling merchant’s voice was strange, drawn-out, with a howling quality. Nevertheless, he spoke English with no trouble. Pan respectfully bowed low to the rare visitor, answered him:

“Afraid so, sir. I was the only one to survive the winter.”

“Shame. They were good men. Especially the young one, with the guitar. His songs were so soulful and true! And he might have lived on, had you but listened to me. I told you that the winter would be fierce here in the snowy mountains, that you should build farther south. Alas… Anyway, I’m actually here on business. I have heard tell that you have tamed a cruel arachnoscorp. I saw from above that this information is correct. I am willing to buy this skill. And the beast itself too, if it is for sale.”

Max Dubovitsky strode ahead, pushing me and Julie aside. He bowed slightly to the merchant.

“A detailed map of the surrounding area all the way to the forcefield,” he declared his price. “And healing scrolls capable of treating grievous wounds. We can also sell you the skill of taming creeping crocodiles!”

The Cartographer stared silently and with interest at the Engineer for a full five seconds.

“You’re a little late on taming creeping crocodiles, stranger. I already bought that from the veichs in Orshi-Ur. And as for the cruel arachnoscorp,” the Cartographer turned in place and pointed a four-fingered hand in a metal glove at me, “I would like to speak to the Beast Catcher that caught it, not to a middle-man!”

I was pushed forward. With approval from Pan and Max, I led the tall guest to the riverbank to see my pets. The Cartographer asked the other villagers to stay behind and not interrupt our conversation.

“I didn’t think these lived here. Over the barrier in New Mississippi, sure, but here in the scrub sandbox..? And a completely fresh specimen.”

The traveling merchant stuck his hand inside his jacket, dug around a while, pulled out a well-worn leather-bound notebook. He leafed through the ragged pages, found what he wanted, showed me a sketch done in pencil. The very same crab in perfect detail.

“The veyers use the spoiled flesh of these river monsters as a scent lure for large forest predators. Something in the smell attracts carnivores. They go mad for it. There’s enough toxin in the spoiled meat to knock out even the largest and most dangerous beasts. Then you can either tame the deadly predator or kill it. The fresh meat of the hairy crab is entirely edible…” The Cartographer fell silent in mid-sentence, looked at me, narrowed his eyes. “But all the same, I wouldn’t advise humans to experiment with it. Better to feed it to your creeping crocodiles. They’ll be able to eat it without any risk to their health.”

I nodded silently and the Cartographer changed the subject, at the same time pulling a couple of rolled-up parchment scrolls out of his jacket and offering them to me.

“Now, to business. I will give you everything your Engineer mentioned. An up-to-date map of this sandbox of yours from the mountain range to the forcefield, with all the veich settlements, all the rivers, all the forests. And I’ll give you a healing scroll for grievous wounds, but only one. Not because I’m greedy. It’s just the only one I have. Tell the others you got it for the arachnoscorp taming ability. In reality, this is my price for you to accept the Philosopher into your village. As for the arachnoscorp taming ability, name your price — tell me what you yourself need, not what that mouthy Engineer wants… Hey, I don’t like thieves! Scram, if you don’t want to sit in a cage like that veyer!”

That last was addressed to my curious kitten Whiskers, who had climbed up the Cartographer’s clothes onto his shoulder and was now persistently trying to get into the inside of his jacket. The merchant picked up the kitten by the scruff. My pet meowed pathetically.

“Hmm. Interesting…” The Cartographer examined the unhappily whining ginger kitten from all sides and… carefully sat him back on his shoulder. “Stay there! You’ll get yours. Sergeant, you wouldn’t believe how lucky you are to have this kitten!”

I stood uncertainly, not understanding what the man meant. A kitten was a kitten. He was ginger and had a limp. Apart from that, nothing out of the ordinary. When he saw my confusion, the Cartographer boomed out a laugh. Unhurriedly wandering further along the bank, he returned to the subject of the caged Philosopher:

“I saw the man at Hundred Skull City. He was sitting barefoot, cooling off his burnt feet in a stream. I landed nearby. He was hungry, so I fed him, gave him ointment for his burns. We spoke. First about life, about this and that. I don’t know how the conversation turned to matters of great import, the meaning of life and so on. He and I argued. Argued fiercely. In the end he caught me in a sophistic trap with absolutely no right answer. I wanted to kill him for that — I don’t like tricksters. But before I fed my hungry dragon, I made the Philosopher an offer: since he won the argument, he could have whatever he wanted! I have many goods, boxes full of interesting trinkets! He didn’t even bother looking. He chose his life. I am a man of my word, so I didn’t kill him. But he said nothing about his freedom, so I put him in that cage. I was so angry at him for his trick. Since then I’ve calmed down a little, thought about it, and accepted that the wise man is right about many things. In short, the Philosopher has earned his freedom. I want to release him into the wild, back to his own kind.”

As this conversation unfolded, if the nomadic merchant’s monologue could be called a conversation, we arrived at the creeping crocodiles and the cruel arachnoscorp. The Marsh Mistress had covered the whole lake shore in webbing, building herself a canopy and a hole that even had spiderweb walls.

“Wow, look at her!” The Cartographer looked into the hole with no fear and examined the Marsh Mistress as she hid within. “Do I correctly understand that you won’t sell the beast itself? Well, no matter. The tale of how to tame such giants is enough for me. Name your price.”

I named it, explained why I needed it. The Cartographer was silent a long while, then asked:

“Are you sure, Sergeant? Do you really want to interfere with the plans of a man considered a noble of the pharaoh — the leader of the largest human faction in your sandbox? And I’m not even talking about the risk, about how you might make a deadly enemy. It’s just that I personally know the player by the name of Pharaoh. For all his harshness, and I would even say cruelty, he nonetheless represents your race and does all he can to benefit humans specifically among the other competitor species. If the Pharaoh sent Haze on a secret mission here, into the territory of the veich peoples, then it’s nothing to do with you. It’s a far larger operation. Are you sure you want to act against those plans?”

It sounded alarming, even threatening. All the same, I stuck to my guns. The presence of Haze and his gang in Pan’s Landing was unacceptable. That meant I needed something to protect against psionic magic or even block any magic within a certain range.

“Alright,” the Cartographer agreed. “You’ll get my very own signet ring. It protects the wearer from any attempts to influence the mind. But it costs far more than the information on how to tame cruel arachnoscorps. So you’ll add another item from your backpack. From the right side pocket.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. I took off my backpack, unclasped the pocket and… my eyes widened in surprise! Apart from a pack of fishing line and some hooks, there was a brownish green magic card sitting inside! One side showed an arachnoscorp, the other a complex rune flowing with all the colors of the rainbow.

This looked like the artifact Shelly had described, the one that appeared in the ruins in the marsh during a storm. The one that could be used to summon an arachnoscorp. I was in the swamp during the storm and the card just appeared in my backpack! Lucky me! I handed the artifact over to the Cartographer, getting in return a huge silver signet ring shaped like a reptile coiled in a circle.

The signet ring was a little too big for me. It would only stay on my thumb. Then I told the man how I tamed the Marsh Mistress in all the gory details, not forgetting the necessity to sacrifice at least one, but better yet, several giga-komodos if the beast to be tamed was hungry. The Cartographer listened carefully. Then, once my story was over, the merchant announced:

“Well then, you and I are quits. Although… I must be fair. You gave me a little more than I you. So I will answer two questions about this world. Only first, one little matter to attend to…”

The Cartographer took out another scroll of parchment, unfurled it and read it without showing it to me. It must have done something, because the scroll lit up and golden sparks shot through the air, only… nothing actually happened! I looked from side to side in confusion, but saw no changes.

“That wasn’t for you, Sergeant, but for your pet,” The Cartographer took my little kitten from his shoulder and placed him on the ground. “Your kitten has the Hexxer class, and he needs… how can I put it… to charge up with magic to get stronger. I have helped him do so. And you really do have no idea how lucky you are to have this pet! Now ask your questions. I have a feeling you have many.”

Truer words were never spoken. The new world was just as unclear and unknown to me as the first day I got there. New species, new laws, dangerous fauna… But there was something else I wanted an answer to.

“My first question. From what I understand, this place is a kind of sandbox for new players. The main world is beyond the forcefield. If that’s so, then how do you get there?”

Instead of answering, the Cartographer shook his head and wagged a finger.

“You’ve disguised two questions as one, Sergeant. The first is about the sandbox — you want me to confirm or deny it. The second is about how you pass through the forcefield. I don’t like tricksters. Information is a commodity just like everything else. Let us trade fairly. You don’t want to end up in a cage like that veyer that tried to steal from me, do you?”

“Fine,” I agreed at once. “Just the question about how to get through the forcefield.”

“Level twenty-five and a permanently assigned class,” the Cartographer answered instantly. He paused, then added: “There is no way back. Only very few players with certain classes like Merchant and Cartographer can return here. Even then, they are obliged to observe a range of strict rules, otherwise they lose that ability.”

I almost automatically asked “what kind of rules?” but stopped myself. I had one question left. There was a lot I wanted to know: who was the Pharaoh? How long had this new world existed? How many people lived in it? Was this the only sandbox? I wanted to ask about the dragons too, and a hundred other things. But I decided to clarify one of the most important questions I had.

“Tell me about the other species that compete with humanity. That counts as one question, right?”

“Yes, it does,” the Cartographer agreed. “I don’t think I need to tell you much about the veichs — their settlements are all over, and I saw a veich girl here in Pan’s Landing. The veichs are strong, numerous, cunning. It’s the same situation in all the veich villages I’ve been to — they’re all ready for a big migration. I suspect that any day now, the veichs will up sticks and leave for the wider world in unison.”

Woah! But what about Shelly? Were her packmates leaving her behind? The Huntress was just level twenty-two. Not strong enough yet to pass through the one-way barrier! In the meantime, the Cartographer continued.

“There are the veyers too. They’re… unique. A nomadic people, they stay nowhere long. They use the same word for ‘live,’ fly,’ and ‘eat.’ That tells you all you need to know of the veyers. However, they do respect strength, and can be taught not to steal. And there is no friend more loyal than a veyer — if you make friends with one, then it’s forever! This species is also the most advanced in knowledge of the new world, and particularly in how to tame all kinds of creatures. Nobody wants to fight their monster defenders. Incidentally, it was the veyers who sold me my dragon.”

Holy cow! So that meant the Cartographer hadn’t tamed his mighty cliff dragon himself, but bought it from the winged people?! Regardless of the not-so-friendly traits of the veyers, I had to meet them and learn about those dragons!

“And the last of the sentient species that settle this world are the sherkhs. The most mysterious of them all. They are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Outwardly they look like you humans, but they can turn completely invisible and disappear. They are slow to make contact. They never trade with strangers. They are aggressive, impulsive and very touchy. Backstabbing with a poisoned blade, that’s their style. The veichs are at war with the sherkhs, and I’ve spoken with several captured prisoners. The sherkhs speak other languages well, which means that they keep track of their neighbors and study them. But all sherkhs steadfastly refuse to teach their language to outsiders. I’ve seen sherkh settlements, but I couldn’t land — the inhabitants shot at my dragon and disappeared into stealth. I think that’s all I can tell you about the other species. Your questions are answered, Sergeant. Now we are quits!”