Erebos (21 page)

Nick weighed up his options. He could power down the computer, but that was risky. If the messenger didn't like it, he might take his hard-won levels back from him. Or he'd think of something even worse.

Another possibility was leaving the computer running and turning off the screen. Then Sarius would be standing on the street as if he was rooted to the spot and any One who happened along could relieve him of his possessions. That wasn't a great idea either.

Nick's bladder felt as if it was about to burst. He had to go to the toilet, there was nothing for it. First he needed to get Sarius to safety quickly. But where to go?

The idea came out of the blue – he'd rented a room, hadn't he? He made his elf run through the night-time streets of the White City as if big Goggle-Eyes was after him. Was this the right way? He remembered some narrow stairs, next to a bakery – he had to go along there and the next right. But where were the blasted steps?

He made Sarius run and run and run. The blue bar on the stamina meter got shorter and shorter – despite the fact that he was a Six. If he didn't find his way soon, he would leave Sarius somewhere and go have a pee. But not here, on this dark corner, where dubious characters were hanging around.

Bakery. Steps. Finally. He rushed Sarius over the threshold of the inn, up the creaky steps to his little room. Closed the door. Turned the screen off. And now quickly, pleeease, quickly . . .

Nick leapt up, ran out of the room as if wild dogs were chasing him and sprinted to the toilet. Just made it.

‘Nick?' his father yelled from the living room. ‘If you slam doors like that again, you'll get what for!'

There was vegetarian lasagne with tofu instead of meat, but Nick didn't complain. He could hardly taste what he was eating. His parents were discussing the film they'd seen at the cinema, and were satisfied with the occasional ‘Mmm' or ‘Oh' he put in. They did wonder at the quantity of food Nick shovelled into himself, though. He was pretty astonished himself, until he realised he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

He was still in a hurry now. He had left Sarius alone in the inn, unprotected and online. What if there was a fire? Or a raid? What if Lelant had tracked him down?

I should have cut the internet connection, Nick thought. Except I haven't got the faintest what happens then. Will the gnomes get huffy with me and report it to the messenger?

He was already standing up as he pushed the last morsel onto his fork.

‘Thanks, it was great!' He smiled at his mother and she smiled back. Everything was fine, except that his father was making a face again.

‘Don't tell me you're going off to study again. I'm not buying that.'

‘No, I've done enough for today,' Nick said, and yawned demonstratively. ‘I'm going to read for a while, and then go to sleep; I'm totally knackered.'

‘The last time you went to bed at this time, you were eight.'

‘I told you, I want to read first!' Nick retorted, more fiercely than he'd intended. ‘Sorry about that. Chemistry makes me aggro.'

His father mumbled something into his plate. Nick didn't inquire. He had to go and look after Sarius.

The moon shining through the window of the tavern is in exactly the same waning phase as the moon over London. But London is a long way away.

Sarius is lying on his bed, his hands clasped behind his head and his gaze directed at the ceiling. At some stage someone must have delivered a letter; there's a yellow wax seal on it in the shape of an eye. Before he opens it he checks on his possessions and is reassured to find they're all still there. The gold, the healing potions.

He opens the letter, which is brief and not encouraging:

The others have gone. You were needed and refused your assistance. We are disappointed, Sarius. Your negligence cannot remain unpunished – do you understand?

The letter is signed, again, with a yellow eye-shaped mark – it's all that's needed. Sarius has screwed up.

The moment he puts the letter aside the candlestick on his table extinguishes, the next moment the moon extinguishes. The world of Erebos becomes dark and mute. Sarius is locked out; for a few frightful seconds he thinks: This time it will be forever. But that's rubbish of course – he fought so awesomely today. The messenger said he was looking for the best of the best. Sarius could be one of them. He knows it. He feels it.

The vegetarian lasagne was sticking in Nick's throat. If he'd eaten less, if he'd eaten faster, he wouldn't have missed the quest. It was enough to make him scream. Seriously. Nick stared at the black screen. It was so unfair. But as always the blackness remained relentless, and resistant to computer restarts, pleas and curses.

Nick wondered where the others were right now. Was Lelant with them? Would he overtake him again tonight? Damn, damn, damn. And all because Nick didn't know how to pause the game properly.

Listlessly he checked his email, but didn't find anything that improved his mood. More from habit than from genuine need he loaded Emily's deviantART page and found a new poem.

NIGHT

In my bed I keep guard

behind a palisade

of cushions and blankets.

With wide-open eyes

I watch for whispering creatures

who shrink from the daylight,

the dark twins of my thoughts.

With outstretched arms

I feel for familiar things

and cannot even find myself.

Only the prayer mill in my head clatters

steadily, incomprehensibly, insanely,

and I pray for a cease-fire

between day and night,

for sleep in my eyes

and the first light of morning

that's pale as you.

There was something in the poem that distracted Nick briefly from his frustration. It made him think that maybe he should talk to Emily some time. Ask her if she was actually okay, or whether she was having problems. He thought about it briefly and dismissed the idea again straightaway. They didn't know each other well enough, and he'd only make a fool of himself.

Hi, Emily. I wanted to quickly ask you whether you're okay. Or . . . er . . . you're having problems.

No, I'm not. Why?

I just thought, because I read this poem of yours . . .

Oh yes? Where?

On deviant ART.

Well, well. How do you know my nickname?

Oh, I once heard you talking to Michelle about it. I'm sorry. Honest.

Not as sorry as me. Keep away from me, Nick. On the internet and in real life.

Yep, that's definitely how it would go. Probably the poem was simply art and didn't have the slightest thing to do with Emily's emotional life.

Nick gave the mouse a shove that sent it sliding right across the desk, and pushed his hair over his shoulder. He could at least have another go at getting Erebos running again. A good ten minutes had passed; possibly the messenger would think that was enough punishment. Maybe he only wanted to see how tenacious Nick was in his attempts to get back in.

It didn't work the first time, or the second, or the fifth. Shit, it wasn't fair. The evening was ruined; the only bright spot was Nick's father's astonished face when he glanced into the room and actually found his son reading.

Nine-thirty-four according to the illuminated red numbers on the clock radio. Ten minutes ago Nick had decided to go to bed early. He wanted to stock up on sleep; if he managed things better tomorrow, he could play right through the night and catch up on everything he was missing.

Second possibility: look sick and stay home from school. He bet that was what Colin had done. Just like Helen, Jerome, Alex, and – well, probably everyone else.

But Nick knew that he wasn't going to wag school, not tomorrow anyway. It would be his first school day since the Friday when Brynne had given him the DVD. Tomorrow he'd look at everyone in the school with new eyes: his flesh-and-blood opponents. He wanted to talk to Colin; they could get together and discuss who was behind which character. He wanted to find out who LordNick was.

Who knows what they're doing right now. Perhaps the best quest ever is happening. Without me. Sod it.

Nick turned onto his right side, then his left side, but sleep wouldn't come. He'd hardly closed his eyes before he saw all the fights of the past day in his mind's eye: Big Goggle-Eyes swinging his staff and approaching him threateningly, Xohoo being dragged out of the Arena by his legs, over the blood-stained sand . . .

With a deep sigh Nick clasped his hands behind his head. The clock said ten-thirteen. That was almost approaching the time he usually went to bed, but he felt more awake than ever. He wondered how Xohoo would cope with being eliminated. Whether he'd recognise him in the morning. Assuming, that is, that he went to the same school as Nick. Not all the Erebos fighters would go to his school, obviously. Of course not, what a dumb idea. He closed his eyes again.

How many had there been in the Arena today? About forty or fifty dark elves, thirty vampires and twenty dwarves. Barbarians? Also twenty at a rough estimate. Slightly fewer werewolves – fifteen? That could be about right. The number of cat and lizard creatures had been of about the same order. And then there had been the three humans. Okay, so all in all that made . . . 160 or 170 fighters. Quite a lot, but insignificant compared to the player figures for other online role-playing games. Not all Erebos players had been gathered in the Arena, obviously – but definitely a large proportion. And that ominous Inner Circle. The champions. Had Drizzel managed to drag one of them down from their golden pedestal? Nick had to grin. Probably not. Probably Drizzel had got a hefty thwack on the head. Served him right.

Ten-twenty-one. What if he tried again? Maybe the ban had been lifted. He wasn't going to be able to get to sleep anyway, if he didn't give it at least one more try.

He turned his bedside light on, went to the computer and turned it on with a cramped feeling in his chest. Don't be nervous, you idiot.

Double click on the red E. Nothing. Once more. Nothing again. Without pausing to think, Nick clicked over to Google. If he found out more about the game, he was sure to find a way to make the software start running again. Except that the messenger had found out about Nick's first attempt – who knew how. A second attempt would surely annoy him.

Acting on a sudden inspiration, Nick brought up Amazon. His game was a pirate copy, but there must be an original. He typed ‘Erebos' in the search bar and pressed
Enter
, half expecting another warning that would glow red in his night-time room:

Not a good idea, Sarius. A dumb idea, to be precise. A fatal idea.

However Amazon listed a series of opera CDs,
Orpheus and Eurydice
in various recordings. Why? Aha, it was because of an aria with the title
Chi mai dell'Erebo
, whatever that meant. Unfortunately this knowledge didn't help him in the slightest. There was no game with the title Erebos. Not even a pre-announcement. So how could there be a copy of it? And who on earth had the original?

Nick studied the various paintings on the covers of the opera CDs. They were mostly details of paintings, and they reminded Nick of something. He took a few minutes to figure it out. They reminded him of big Goggle-Eyes.

Ten-fifty-seven. Back to bed again – Nick had truly had enough now. If he couldn't play, then at least he wanted to sleep; he felt hollow.

A game you can't buy. A game that talks to you. A game that watches you, that rewards you, threatens you, gives you tasks.

‘Sometimes I think it's alive,' Colin had said. Colin was never going to win a Nobel Prize, but he wasn't naive either. No, of course this game wasn't alive. But it was remarkable. Very remarkable.