Project Daily Grind (Mirror World Book #1) (23 page)

Wait a sec. And what if?.. Without even knowing it, the farmer had just given me an idea. Nothing major but it was worth trying. I’d have to look into it when I had the time.

As I entered the city, I received the standard system message and the offer to download the free map and the city’s history. Plus lots of other offers for paid apps. Okay. I couldn’t say no to freebies. The rest I didn’t need.

It took us about twenty minutes to get to the city center. Remarkably, the town turned out to be much bigger than I’d assumed from forum discussions. Leuton wasn’t a patch on it. Broad streets. Three and four-story buildings. Lots of shops, inns and taverns. It wasn’t even eight in the morning and the sidewalks were heaving with people.

I actually might like it here. I absolutely had to check their fair stalls for any new clothes. The shop and the auction would have to wait. I just might find something cheap and cheerful.

“Here we are,” Zachary stopped his cart. “You see that green building with wide windows over there? The one with the bird on it? That’s where you need to go.”

I nodded. “The bird” was an Aquila—the picture of an eagle spreading its wings. The Steel Shirts clan had simply copied the Roman legion’s emblem.

“Thanks a lot, man. You’ve really helped me out.”

He grinned back. “My pleasure. Come and see me at the market.”

“Absolutely.”

Eight o’clock: logically, the office must have already opened. Last night I’d checked their schedule on the site, just to make sure.

The doorway was completely blocked by players: dwarves, gnomes, Dwandes and humans. I also noticed a few Horruds and Rhogghs. About eighty percent of them zero-level, the rest Seasoned. I didn’t see any Experienced ones. The beginning players in their start-up kits were an eyesore. They were standing apart from the rest, coveting the Seasoned players’ gear. Others stared openly. The Seasoned ones, in their turn, stood there as if the whole world belonged to them. They didn’t check out anyone; they just hung out talking calmly, casting an occasional ironic glance at the beginning players. I received the same kinds of stares: arguably even more scornful than if I were a bare-chested newb.

I checked my reflection in the window. I could understand them. I looked like a scaled-down dwarf, shaggy and disheveled. Although my stats were private, my clothes—whatever was left of them—betrayed me as a Seasoned Digger. My bag, boots, and gloves were missing. Even the new players looked better than I did.

I didn’t give a damn. This wasn’t Paris and I wasn’t on an haute couture catwalk. I took another look at them, noticing that all of the Seasoned players had their stats available to all. It felt weird—really as if they were part of some beauty pageant.

There was nothing particularly special about their gear: just some standard-issue tools and runes. Only three of the Dwandes stood out. Their gear was top of the range and virtually unused. Not a single empty item. They stood apart from the rest, casting searching glances around as if looking for someone. They must have been a team. Their gazes scanned me en passant with a disdain reserved for a pigeon that had just shat in their soup.

Then the crowd perked up. Five dwarves were approaching the building from the direction of the square.

“The Ironbeards’ headhunters,” a zero-level Dwand commented.

“Yeah. They’ll start hiring in a minute,” a Cave Rhoggh agreed.

I cast a curious glance at the three Dwandes. They stood up straight, bright-eyed. Were they counting on this job? Then why hadn’t they gone directly to the dwarves’ office? Never mind. Why should I care? We’d soon find out.

The dwarves were only a few paces away from the front door when it swung open, letting out the powerful shape of a Cave Rhoggh. Everyone turned to the sound. The Rhoggh looked over the crowd as if it already belonged to him.

Having noticed the approaching dwarves, he scowled, “Breon, did anyone tell you that you look remarkably like a hyena?”

The smallest of the five dwarves hid a smirk within his fat beard. “Don’t worry, Weigner, you’ll have plenty left for yourself!”

He looked over the crowd, studying the workers. His mocking stare rested on me. Or rather, on my bare feet. He turned back to the Rhoggh and shouted, nodding at me, “I’ll leave you the best ones, don’t you worry!”

His friends guffawed. The crowd joined in. Even the newbs were laughing their bare asses off. I didn’t care. Let them laugh. You couldn’t surprise me with a brownnose here anymore. Their kowtowing was only witness to their own worthlessness. What else could a useless person do? They might be thinking they were gaining something by it: something worth the humiliation. They might realize they weren’t a pretty sight; they might even hate themselves for doing it. But as the famous French mathematician Blaise Pascal once said,
“the pureness of a goal justifies the perversity of the means”
. Which allowed me to take any and all such scorn philosophically. Now the fact that I’d been waiting here for a good ten minutes was much harder to take. I was losing time. I still had lots to do today.

Ignoring the useless dwarf, I looked up at the Rhoggh. Surprisingly, he was the only one who hadn’t even smiled at the joke. That was good. The guy had character. Silently he opened the doors wide, turned around and walked back in. Apparently, it was supposed to mean that the office was now open.

To my surprise, no one seemed to have noticed it. All the mine diggers stayed outside, watching greedily the five dwarves who were walking through the crowd as if they were shopping for a couple of old cart horses.

I seemed to be the only one not interested in working for the dwarves. Excellent. It meant I wasn’t going to languish in the long line at the PR office as I’d expected. How lucky was that?

I hurried to climb the steps in the Rhoggh’s wake. Breon the dwarf was just talking to the three Dwandes. Our eyes met. He gave me another smirk and went right on talking.

In the meantime, Weigner the Rhoggh was already climbing the stairs to the first floor, muttering something under his nose. The sound of my voice made him turn round,

“Excuse me! Could you please tell me where I could sign a work contract?”

“Ah, it’s you,” he chuckled. “Decided to join us? Simply because those midgets won’t hire you? Don’t you worry, all those idiots will be back in a minute. But today, you’re gonna be the first. Hurry up. I’ve lots to do.”

Without saying a word, I tagged along.

His office proved too small for his bulk. A giant of his proportions needed more breathing space. Actually, it was the second time I’d seen an office worker of his dimensions. Was this the current trend? Or the company’s policy? Or could it just be that the player was too puny in real life so here he lived life to the full, scaring any potential clients with his fangs and his booming voice?

“Shut the door,” Weigner grumbled. “And take a seat. I’ll make out the contract.”

I closed the door softly. I hate doors being slammed. It’s just some sort of a nervous tick I’ve had since early childhood.

Noiselessly I moved my chair closer to the desk and sat down. Been there, done it. I knew what was going to happen next.

The Rhoggh touched a dark wall panel with his clawed paw. A translucent screen materialized above the desk top. While the program was loading, Weigner was going through some paperwork, muttering deliberately loudly under his nose to make sure I could hear his every word,

“It’s the same thing every month! One might think the dwarves’ mines are paved with gold. Okay, so they pay a better wage, so what? Who would need their flippin’ circus? They’re not Ironbeards: they’re Cheekyfaces.”

It was probably time for me to butt in. “Why, what’s going on in here?”

He squinted at me, disbelieving. “Quit playing the fool, you!”

I shrugged. “I’m not. I’m just curious what this hoo-ha is all about. That’s the only reason I asked.”

Weigner froze, his tiny yellow eyes boring a hole in me. His gaze sent shivers down my spine.

“Are you saying that you’ve no idea that the Ironbeards keep on coming to our front door every month offering jobs to players of other races?”

“I had no idea, honest,” I replied, then added with a smirk, “Since when are they so generous?”

Weigner sat back, his stare still pinning me down. He paused, then spoke,

“There was this stupid discussion at some forum where the forum members accused the dwarven guild of being racist. People claimed they only hired dwarves and gnomes. I don’t know about the Stonefoot, but the Ironbeards decided to teach everybody a lesson. Now every month their scouts arrive at the offices of those forum members who were particularly outspoken in that discussion, and pick workers from other races.”

“But what about Lady Mel?” I asked.

“Well, she was the loudest. And the fact that they keep coming to her doorstep, she actually considers it her victory.”

“So that’s what it’s all about.”

“That’s exactly it,” he grumbled, then added, fuming, “And she doesn’t seem to give a damn about them stealing our best workers!”

“The rich and their whims,” I summarized. “Do the dwarves really pay higher wages?”

He shrugged. “Indeed they do. And they have better working conditions. They’re a guild, what do you want? They’re interested in making money first and foremost. And the Steel Shirts are a military clan. Admittedly one of the richest and most influential in Mirror World, but some of those clan members, while not exactly have-nots, have no idea of how to manage their riches. Or rather they don’t want to.”

I wasn’t going to tell him about all the possible solutions to their money-making problems. If the truth were known, I didn’t give a damn about all these “useless bosses vs. stupid rulers” conversations. What was the point? Why would I care about other people’s problems? I had more than my fair share of them. It was time to fold up this discussion.

“Had I wanted to work for the dwarves, that’s where I’d have gone to.”

“And you think they’d have hired you?” his voice rang with sarcasm.

“They might,” I said, unveiling some of my stats.

Chapter Twenty-Two

W
atching the change come over his pallid fanged face was admittedly funny. He stood up in his seat, reading my characteristics. Naturally, I didn’t allow him to see my Shrewd Operator. He seemed sufficiently impressed with my Experienced level, anyway. I don’t think they had many diggers of my caliber here.

I flashed him a friendly smile. “So shall we sign me in? I’m a bit pressed for time.”

I left his office at nine in the morning. Not bad. I’d thought it might have taken longer than that. The corridor was already packed with sour-faced players lining up. Apparently, not many had been “lucky” enough to get a job with the dwarves. I didn’t see the three Dwandes anywhere. I was pretty sure the dwarves had hired them. I’d have done the same. A well-knit team is worth a lot. I knew this from experience.

I had signed their standard contract of my preferred piecework type. Two weeks. My level gave me no preferential treatment. Well, that was to be expected.

According to Weigner, Experienced Diggers didn’t stay in town long. They inevitably found a strong group and moved cluster in order to start mopping up instances. That was fine with me too. The fewer people down the mine, the more space for me to swing my pick.

Still, I wasn’t yet ready to join any mop-up groups. At my level, the minimum raid duration was six days. I wasn’t quite prepared to be stuck in some cave or grotto for almost a week without the chance of getting out. Firstly, because at this work pace I risked leveling up prematurely. You never know with my Operator. So as I wasn’t planning on blowing my cover, I’d have to work in a regular mine, slowly but surely. That also gave me the chance to check Zachary’s idea out, even though he knew nothing about it.

Secondly and most importantly, if my char’s Reputation with Mellenville wasn’t up to scratch, the in-game bank wouldn’t deal with me at all. And in order to level it up, I had to perform daily or long-term tasks within the city limits.

That decided it. I had to work in Lady Mel’s emerald fields. That would fetch me about fifteen hundred gold a week. No doubt I could have earned way more doing instances but at the moment, reputation was key. Plus I was desperate for a long-term work contract. If I failed to get a loan with Reflex Bank, then I’d have to go cap in hand to real-life banks. So the longer my working experience, the better. The main thing was to make sure I didn’t pop my clogs too soon. Nor do anything stupid. I had six weeks to raise a hundred eighty-five thousand dollars.

My next port of call was Mine Diggers Guild. I paid the weekly due of twenty-five bucks, this raising my Reputation with the guild 50 pt: 100 in total.

As I left the guild’s building slapping my bare feet along the marble tiles, I could hear giggles and quips. Enough! I could stand a lot if absolutely necessary but there was a limit to everything.

Thus thinking, I headed off to the market. Time to do some shopping. Admittedly I did look like a tramp.

“Holy Jesus,” I uttered, watching the central square transform before my very eyes.

I had surely expected to see some semblance of a market. The kind of market I knew in real life, that is. But this... Had I ventured in, I could have easily spent a week there.

My eyes watered with all the colors. The bright miscellany of tents and pavilions formed uneven aisles crowded with carts, kiosks and stands. I could hear the inevitable music playing.

They probably sold
everything
here. In an aisle off to my right, a big dwarf fronted a stand selling weapons and armor. To his left, a slim Alven lady boasted her embroidering skills; not two paces away from me, a fat Rhoggh was busy baking golden loaves of bread for everyone to marvel. The air was thick with music, vendors’ voices praising their goods, the howling and bellowing of animals... What a crazy place. At nine in the morning, mind you. Where would I go? Where was I supposed to find what I needed?

“Aquamarine dust! Aquamarine dust for sale!”

“Hares’ pelts! Wolves’ tails! Boars’ fangs! Bear claws!”

“I’ll buy your gear!”

“I’ll buy class-two herbal infusions! Price no object!”

“Hey, mister! Need some boots?”

At first I didn’t even realize he was addressing me. “Pardon?” I managed.

A ginger-haired guy of about twenty-five patiently waited for me to focus my stare on him. “Just wondering if you might need a pair of boots. I can see you ain’t got no gloves either.”

“No, I don’t,” I hurried to reply, embarrassed by my momentary lapse of concentration. "What have you got to offer?”

“Over there,” the guy waved somewhere to his right. “Stall nine. My uncle has some gear to sell. Froll’s the name. Understood?”

I nodded. Not waiting for me to reply, the guy stole deeper into the crowd. As I began moving in the direction he'd indicated, I couldn’t help hearing his voice,

“Hey, ma’am! Need a jacket?”

This was scary. A person with money wasn’t going to leave this place empty-handed. By the time I made my way to stall nine, I’d been offered all sorts of things, from needles to legendary-class swords. Had I had to move a bit further on, I was pretty sure I would have stumbled along a tank vendor.

Froll’s stall wasn’t that hard to find. It was groaning under piles of clothes, footwear and various accessories. I’d never been a big market shopper so I was completely out of my depth here. Sveta, she’d always enjoyed this sort of thing. She would have loved it here.

As I studied the goods, I cast a quick glance at the vendor. His nephew hadn’t taken after him, that’s for sure. They might have been related in real life but here in Mirror World it would have been a bit over the top.

Froll was a Rock Dwand. His stats were hidden. Broad-shouldered, wearing town clothes. Not a Grinder.

I coughed to attract his attention.

He turned round and beamed, seeing me. “How can I help you, dear sir? I just happen to have an excellent Strength kit,” he immediately switched to the offensive.

“No, thanks. I’m interested in Energy ones,” I said.

“Excellent. Hardy Digger will fit you just fine. I have both new and second-hand ones.”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. I need something more advanced.”

For a brief moment, his expression betrayed surprise. Then his face dropped.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Not really,” he breathed a sigh of disappointment. “Thing is, I don’t trade in items for your caliber. I’ll tell you more: I don’t think this market has anything to offer someone like you.”

“Why not?”

“In this backwater? What do you expect? Experienced workers all move closer to the capital. If you take me, it’s not worth the trouble for me to stock items I can sell once or twice a year if at all. My cart and my storeroom can only hold a limited amount of items. Pointless lugging around something I can’t even sell.”

“I see,” I said. “But why would you lug them around? Can’t you just auction them?”

He smirked. “That’s what you think. Auctions charge a fee on every submitted item regardless of whether it sells or not. And here I only pay my custom duty, then I can sell till the cows come home.”

“I see.”

So that’s how it worked, then. I’d had no idea. You never know, it might be useful.

I bade my goodbye and was about to leave him when a jaunty female voice called behind my back,

“Excuse me, Sir Olgerd!”

I turned around. This was an Alven Archer girl. A pretty face; a pair of childishly blue eyes, slightly slanted. Black hair. Slim to the point of being fragile. A fancy bow and a quiver were slung behind her back. A knife and a dagger dangled from her belt. Her name was Saimie.

“I’m sorry to delay you,” she hurried to add. “I just happened to overhear your conversation.”

I smiled gallantly and shook my head. “It’s all right. We’re at the market, aren’t we? You’ve something to sell, haven’t you?”

She beamed. “Exactly. No clothes for your level, unfortunately, but I have some interesting jewelry. It’s on my stall over there, if you don’t mind.”

She nodded, motioning me to follow her. I shrugged and followed, hoping I wasn’t getting into something I might later regret.

Her tent was comparatively small but neat and tastefully decorated, mainly in the shades of green that matched the vendress’ own clothes. A small round table stood at its center, surrounded by several small three-legged stools.

She pointed at one of them. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Without saying a word, I perched myself on the stool. Saimie produced a small canvas bundle and unfolded it on the table. “Have a look if anything takes your fancy.”

Right. What did we have there? I had a funny feeling I knew her line of business. After my memorable conversation with Shantarsky I’d checked a few forums and done a bit of research on No-Man’s Lands. There was a lot of eye-opening information there, especially about the likes of her.

“Are you a scavenger?” I asked.

“Sure,” she nodded. “Why, does that bother you?” her voice tinged with sarcasm.

“In a way, yeah. Are you White or Black?”

She smiled. “Sure I’m White. Do you think I’d be standing here selling had I been Black? Black scavengers sell everything via their own channels. My business is perfectly legal.”

“Can’t you do your own looting?” I asked.

“Hey, those are No-Man’s Land mobs. I’m not exactly in the same league,” she paused, then offered the iron-clad argument used in virtually every forum discussion, “Ninety percent of all Mirror World players are scavengers. That’s just the way it is. You’ve any idea of all the stuff lying around there unclaimed?”

“Unclaimed? Really?”

“Of course. Imagine a group of level 100+ players. To cross the location, they’re obliged to mop it up. They don’t even look at all the loot from the low-level mobs. They save the space in their bags for much bigger game. Clan raids, that’s different, there’s virtually nothing left after them as they have their own newbs to feed. But there’s plenty of stuff left after the loners too. Personally, I sign a contract with a group and do my job. Waste not, want not.”

“I see,” I said. “You sure you never robbed any corpses? I wouldn’t want to buy some charm or bracelet off you only to be hunted down by its legitimate owner afterwards.”

“They’re clean!” Saimie said, indignant. “Here, look, they’re not marked!”

“Marks are easy to remove.”

“Do I look like I have tons of money to pay wizards for doing that? Are you going to have a look or not?”

It looked like I’d overdone it a bit. “Sure,” I mumbled. “I’m terribly sorry. I’ll take a look now, only it might take some time. I’ll have to compare the prices with the auction’s. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course. I’ll be there at the counter if you need me.”

She cooled off a little. I made a mental note to mind my tongue in the future. Apparently, not everything they said in blogs and on forums could be taken as gospel.

Let’s have a look. What had she got there?

Name: The Bone Bracelet of Gadang

Effect: +15 to Defense

Race restriction: Only Cave Horrud

Level: 10

Defense had something to do with combat skills, didn’t it? I opened the info portal. Aha. It reduced Physical Damage. That was good. Unfortunately, not for me. Some of the item’s stats made it useless in my particular case. Next.

Name: Bear Tooth Necklace

Effect: +10 to Strength

Race restriction: Only Forest Dwand

Level: 15

Not for me. Next. What else did she have?

Name: Rock Charm of Torrk

Effect: +15 to Speed

Race restriction: Only Cave Rhoggh

Level: 15

Having checked about twenty items, I finally found a couple of runes: one of bone, the other of stone. Both with +15 to Capacity: one for my future bag and the other for a belt. That was all. The rest were all wrong classes and wrong levels. I checked the auction but didn’t find any similar runes there. So I might take them just in case. You never know, I might need them some day. Now we had to discuss the price.

“Saimie? I’m done.”

She materialized next to me as if on cue. “Found anything?”

Without saying a word, I pushed the two chosen runes toward her.

“Good choice,” she said. “It’ll be two hundred gold.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. What a cheek!

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked. “Two hundred gold for two miserable runes?”

She seemed so surprised that she lost her professional manner. “Are you freakin’ nuts? These are Capacity runes from No-Man’s Lands! You try and level your reputation with geologists first and then you speak! These two runes are actually the most valuable items in my entire shop!
Miserable runes
, he says!”