Grand Game 205: Hunting for Knowledge (Patreon)

The players were still muttering amongst themselves as they drew to a halt in a ragged line before me. Fingers were pointed, and the epithet ‘scav’ was thrown around more than once.

Saying nothing, I waited for someone to address me first.

Toff and the same elf who’d accompanied him outside the dungeon stomped forward. “Who the blazes are you?” the ogre growled.

I’d not had the opportunity to again assume the facial disguise I’d worn when I first met the pair, and they didn’t recognize me. Right now, I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“My name is—” I began.

“Are you responsible for that?” the elf demanded, his hand snapping out to point in the direction of the dead mantis.

I shifted minutely to face him. “If by responsible you mean: did I terrify him…?” I drawled, “then yes, I am.”

My answer seemed to confound the elf, but not the rest of the party, and a moment later, an avalanche of analyze attempts—failed attempts—washed over me.

The corner of my lips twitched upwards in satisfaction.

Toff took another step forward, placing his broad chest inches from my nose. The threat was unmistakable. “Are you the one the mantises are hunting?”

“Were hunting,” I corrected. “The other one is dead too. And as to your question: yes, I was their quarry.”

The ogre peered down at me, his face an inscrutable mask as he considered my response. “Then why did they attack me earlier?”

“They did?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know anything about that.”

“You’re sure?” the elf asked suspiciously. “What are you doing in the dungeon then?”

“Hiding from the mantises,” I said, giving him a hard stare of my own. “Obviously.”

The elf scowled, not liking my response, but before he could respond, Toff intervened. “Well, they’re dead now, so you can get yourself gone.” His piece said, the ogre turned about and walked away.

I glanced beyond Toff’s retreating figure to the still-sealed gates of the final chamber. “Need any help with the boss?” I called after him.

“No, the elf snapped before the ogre could correspond. He laid a threatening hand on his sword, and the players behind him followed suit. “And now, like Toff said, you better get going.”

I raised my hands and backed away. “Alright, no need for us to fight. I was only asking.”

The elf gestured six players forward. “Escort him out,” he ordered, glaring at me. “I don’t trust him.”

“Now, there’s no need for that,” I said hastily, thinking about all the other undead still waiting to be slain on the level. “I’ll see myself out.”

The elf snorted. “No, you won’t.” The six players surrounded me. “We’ll see you out ourselves.”

~~~

My escort accompanied me all the way to the dungeon exit on the first level, not letting me out of their sight the entire way.

Of course, had I truly wished, I could have escaped them at any point, but I decided against it. I was drearily tired of making enemies. I didn’t need more players hunting me, and besides, I’d already accomplished what I’d set out to do in the dungeon.

“Out you go,” one of my escorts snapped.

I bowed mockingly to him. “Safe hunting,” I said in farewell and stepped through the portal.

You have entered sector 1 of the Forever Kingdom.

A second later, I found myself blinking under the sun’s harsh light. Nearly the entire day had passed while I was in the dungeon, and it was late afternoon in Nexus. Turning about, I surveyed the square.

“Hey, you,” a dwarf called. “How is the dungeon run going? Will they be done soon?”

“Not long now,” I assured him. “They’re about to tackle the second boss.”

“About time,” the dwarf grumbled.

I strode away, leaving the crowd behind. No one appeared to be watching me, and why should they? I was just some random noob fleeing the dungeon. Exiting the square, I slipped into an adjacent street.

It was time to decide my next move.

~~~

Information, I decided. That’s what I need first.

For the time being, matters with the mantises were about as resolved as I could expect them to be. At the very least, I’d bought myself a few hours.

But with any luck, it would take Menaq much longer to find a replacement for whichever mantis I’d sent to his final death. I was hoping for a few days at least and planned on using the time wisely. Namely, on obtaining my third Class.

Turning my steps north, I made my way to the information brokers’ offices. I didn’t have much gold remaining, but I couldn’t afford further delays, and if I needed to spend all of it in pursuit of my third Class, so be it.

While I walked, I renewed my protections—the enchantments had run dry—and saw to my player advancement, investing my latest attribute point.

Your Dexterity has increased to rank 39 (+6 from items).

It didn’t take me long to reach my destination. Cutting through the waiting crowd outside the brokers’ offices, I slipped into line inside. Eventually, my turn came, and I stepped up to the counter.

“How can I help you today?” the uniformed gnome on duty asked.

I’d given the matter serious thought on the way over and was ready with my questions. “I’m looking for information on the dungeons in the plague quarter.”

“Certainly, sir,” the gnome replied. “The plague dungeon is a large area and holds a multitude of dungeons. First, there are the three public—”

“You mistake me,” I said, interrupting him. “I don’t want generic information. I’m looking for detailed data—floorplans and the like—on four specific dungeons.”

The gnome’s interest sharpened. “That will be costly. What’s your budget?”

I hesitated for only a fraction of a second. “Five hundred gold.” That would leave me with a little of two hundred gold to purchase whatever equipment and consumables I needed.

“That’s not enough,” the broker said slowly, “not for the floorplans of four different dungeons.” He looked me over carefully. “Do you want to restrict your query to one or perhaps two dungeons?”

I sighed. I couldn’t do that. As yet, I didn’t know which dungeon would best suit my purpose, which was why I needed the information in the first place.

“That won’t work,” I replied. “Leave out the floorplans then. I’ll take information only, as complete and accurate as you can provide for the price.”

The gnome nodded. “Very well. Which dungeons are the subject of your query?”

I ticked off points on my fingers. “The guardian tower. The Triumvirate dungeon. And the one beneath the brotherhood chapterhouse.” I eyed the broker. “You think you can help with all that?”

“The guardian tower is a public dungeon, and information on it is easy enough to obtain,” the gnome said. He coughed delicately. “On the other hand, knowledge of the dungeons controlled by the knights and brotherhood is a bit more difficult to come by. However, for the price... we can certainly help.”

I nodded curtly. I’d half-feared the broker would claim the information on the private dungeons was restricted.

The gnome scribbled down my request on a piece of paper. “What about the fourth dungeon?” he asked, not looking up.

I hesitated again. “I don’t know much about it,” I admitted. “Only that it is located somewhere in the saltmarsh.”

The broker looked up quickly. “The saltmarsh, you say?”

“From your expression, I take it you’ve heard of it,” I said, leaning eagerly over the counter. “What can you tell me about it?”

For a split second the broker’s mask of unassuming affability cracked. “I-I’m not… sure,” he stuttered.

Before I could query this surprising response, the gnome jumped off his stool and hurried away. “Stay right there,” he called over his shoulder.

I stared at the broker’s disappearing form in disbelief. What was it I’d seen on his face? Worry? Fear? Neither response made much sense.

Why would talk of the saltmarsh dungeon perturb the broker when he’d not so much as batted an eye at the thought of revealing information on the powerful Triumvirate’s dungeon?

And where’s he run off to?

Fuming in impatience at the enforced delay, I drummed my fingers against the counter.

The broker kept me waiting ten long minutes, and when he returned, it was only to point me out to his companion before disappearing again.

I focused my attention on the second gnome. He, too, was dressed in a broker’s uniform, but he looked nothing like the other gnomes in the office. For one, he was old, with a beard that stretched down to his waist, and for another, his coat was decorated with symbols and medals whose meaning escaped me.

The old gnome sat on the stool before me. “Good day, young fellow,” he said in a spritely voice that belied his obvious age. “I’m master broker Cyren.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “My colleague tells me you’re looking for information on the dungeon in the marsh. Is this true?”

Not sure what to make of the new broker, I nodded mutely.

“Excellent!” Cyren exclaimed, his bushy brows quivering with lively interest. “Tell me, what is the reason for your inquiry?”

My own eyebrows flicked upwards. “Why is that any of your business? I thought this was a simple monetary transaction: information in exchange for money.”

“It is, it is,” Cyren said, nodding agreeably. “But you must understand, young man, some information is more sensitive than others—” he shot me an all-too-shrewd look—“and some matters, we dare not entangle ourselves in, not for all the money in the Game.” He paused. “Now, I’m afraid, until I know more about the nature of your request, I will not be able to help.”

I hesitated, torn between my need for secrecy and my desire for information. It was obvious the old codger knew something worth hearing, but how did I convince him to tell me what that was?

“I’m looking for a dungeon to enter,” I said finally. “Somewhere off the beaten track to level up.”

“Ah, you’re an adventurer then,” Cyren said, a strange look passing too quickly over his face to decipher. Was that disappointment I’d seen?

“In that case,” he continued, “I regret to inform you—”

“Wait!” I interjected, sensing a refusal coming. “That’s not the entire reason.”

I leaned forward across the counter. I wasn’t sure why the gnome was being so cagey, but I realized if I wanted to find out more, I would have to risk sharing some truth. “I have other reasons, reasons that are my own. I will tell you, but to be clear, it’s not information that is for sale. To anyone.” I eyed Cyren meaningfully.

The old gnome gazed back at me solemnly. “We are brokers of information,” he said. “But we do not trade secrets that our clients are unwilling to share. You can trust me.”

I wasn’t sure about that, but I didn’t see that I had much choice.

I could always blindly search the swamp, but given the diseases that were said to run rampant there, I doubted I would find the dungeon before I was infected. Still, I hesitated.

“Does it have something to do with your Class?” Cyren prompted suddenly.

I glanced at him sharply. “What do you know about my Class?”

Cyren ignored the bite in my voice. “Mindstalkers are rare these days. I can’t recall the last time one was spotted in the city.” A knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “And I’ve been around for a very long time.”

I stared at the gnome. How had he figured out my Class? More importantly, what else did he know? If his expression was anything to go by—too much.

Is this even a gnome in front of me?

Reaching out with my will, I analyzed Cyren.

The target is Cyren, a level 128 loremaster, and gnome.

Cyren’s level was surprisingly high, but if the Game’s response could be trusted, he was an ordinary gnome—and not a player.

But could the Game’s response be trusted?

Is Cyren Loken in disguise? Or some other player? Amgira, for instance? And how would I even know if he was?

I rubbed at my temples, feeling the onset of a pounding headache. The truth was, there was no way to know. And suspecting everyone I met of being someone else was a sure path to madness.

Curbing my paranoia, I answered Cyren as vaguely as I could manage. “You’re right. My Class is a large part of why I’m seeking a rare and dangerous dungeon like the one in the saltmarsh. Someone told me it is in such a dungeon that I would find the third Class I needed.”

The gnome’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Someone? A… blood relative, perhaps?”

I forced myself not to react. Cyren’s rejoinder sounded innocent enough, but I was sure I hadn’t imagined the slight stress he’d placed on the word ‘blood.’

Careful, Michael, you’re swimming in dangerous waters now.

“You could say that,” I answered just as obliquely. “It is something of a dying wish of one of my elders.” I paused, then added casually. “He is quite ancient these days.”

“Ah,” Cyren replied. The gnome’s expression remained just as impassive as mine, but he was unable to hide the sudden flare of interest in his eyes at my use of the word ‘ancient.’

He fell into meditative silence, and I let him, waiting with thinly disguised impatience for him to go on.

“Perhaps if your family elder is as old as I am, he will remember the past as fondly as I do,” the gnome mused. “In my more sentimental moments, I find myself wishing for a return to those times.”

I nodded mutely.

Despite the strangely coded manner of our discussion, I understood Cyren: he was another like Sulan and yearned for a return of the Ancients too. But I’d gone as far as I was willing and would not speak more openly on the topic.

Now, it was up to the gnome to decide if he would help me or not.

“On second consideration,” Cyren said, disrupting my musings, “I think I may have something for you.”