The place was a lot calmer with the preventers gone. Which isn’t to say there were fewer tourists—NPCs lived their lives and continued to travel to Kinema, but I saw no player patrols.
We wandered the Bazaar, buying building materials as we went. It was no easy task. A lot of walking, talking and sweating. And Patrick decided to ‘whet his whistle’ at every watering hole we passed. It was a good thing the wholesalers had magic delivery services, which was something like Dis mail, but the clan was the recipient and the cargo was sent straight to the clan vault.
I spent so much money that my decision to sell the Portal Key to Holdest was finally made. It was foolish to keep hold of something that had no more use and never would. Especially when we were hurting for cash, and the valuable artifact threatened to turn into a bauble; if the launch script for the Destroying Plague faction ended, then Holdest would likely become the continent of the undead. New players who chose that race would immediately wind up there, and none of us doubted that hordes would reroll their characters in the rush for achievements.
Finally, we finished buying up building materials. Along the way, I even managed to buy a few types of rare spices that I hoped to use in future culinary experiments. Patrick, who had by now emptied his emergency flask of Black Mountain Fire Ale, suddenly stopped sharply and jabbed a demanding finger at a goblin holding a sign that said “First drink on the house!”
“The Sleepers won’t forgive us if we squander this opportunity!” the first priest declared. “And it’s high time we had a bite to eat, Scyth. Business can wait. There’s an old Russian saying: war is war, but lunch has to be on time. Our corporal used to love saying that, may demons devour him.”
“Alright, let’s take a break,” I reluctantly agreed.
Oil splashed in the slate-gray smoke of the anonymous tavern. The walls lit up with red heat and fat dripped from skewers onto the coals, burning with a choking blue flame. People were smoking too, and scantily clad goblin waitresses raced to and fro. A fortune-teller cried his sendees in the far corner.
With great difficulty, we found a seat at one of the tables. Even more surprisingly, they served us fast and we were out of there within an hour, well-fed, though neither of us were happy. I’d lost time and Patrick would have happily stayed to live there. He quickly found common ground with the suspicious-looking goblins sat at the same table as a minotaur and a werewolf. Worse—he almost agreed to join them on an adventure involving a certain high-ranking noble lady from the League High Council, a chest of family jewels and a love story. Sounded like a quest, but I didn’t even bother.
Ignoring Patrick’s sighs and disappointed glances, I activated Depths Teleportation to the Auction for Special Sales. There were many watering holes in Kinema’s financial quarter, and Patrick gladly stayed behind in one of them to Test the quality of the food and drink of these cursed little folk again’ while I went to see Grokuszuid.
The goblin was busy, but, seeing through my disguise and recognizing me, he immediately handed his customer over to his assistant Zamozik, freeing himself up. We exchanged pleasantries and I got down to business, silently placing the Portal Key on the table. Grokuszuid’s eyes were a sight to behold! I tried to memorize the sound of the normally rock-solid goblin’s jaw dropping. It would make one of my favorite memories.
Recovering from his surprise, the goblin picked up the artifact and spent a long time studying it, feeling it, looking it over, even sniffing it.
“May I ask where you obtained this?”
“From the treasury of an ancient mage. Mr. Grokuszuid, I don’t have much time. Can we talk business? I need to sell the portal for the highest possible price, and so I insist that you invite the excommunicated clans of the Alliance to participate.”
They weren’t the only players with big money, but I doubted the Celestial Warriors that controlled the Perfetto resort city would be itching to explore a new continent.
“That is impossible,” the auctioneer shook his head.
“I insist.”
“I cannot promise anything. A decision of such importance is the purview of the League High Council. But I will raise the issue. Any other wishes, Scyth?”
“I need the Portal Key to sell for at least a hundred million. And I need it to sell as fast as possible.”
“Those are mutually exclusive requests. We will have a hard time gathering truly wealthy buyers. The Portal Key is no fallen god’s helmet, for which there are many buyers. We will certainly contact the guild of explorers and cartographers, offer it to the Dangerous Game Hunters, the office of Bastian the First and the family of Emperor Kragosh…” Grokuszuid thought for a moment, then put a scroll on the table and blew into the silver whistle that always hung around his neck. “Zamozik!”
It was as if the assistant had been listening at the door—his head appeared in the half-open gap the instant Grokus called his name.
“Yes, master?”
“Announce an unscheduled gathering of the High Council in my name. Make a list of those with fortunes greater than a hundred million. And… Maintain strict secrecy! Dismissed!”
Zamozik disappeared, closing the door soundly behind him. Grokuszuid watched him go and clicked his fingers. Suddenly, we were enveloped in a material-looking bubble whose nature I couldn’t grasp.
“We can’t allow leaks,” the auctioneer explained. “Wars have started over less…”
* * *
Great Portal Scrolls were for sale both in the auction houses and at the transport guild. I bought four of them from the latter, and at a good price; my reputation with the goblins and with Gruzelix personally helped.
I
