Quest for Justice (19 page)

“Kat,” said Stan suddenly, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Don't. He's unarmed. What good will it do?”

“It'll stop him from ratting us out to the King!” said Ben.

“If we let him go, it'll just come back to bite us!” cried Bill incredulously.

Kat's sword was shaking. The look on her face showed pained confusion.

“Kat,” said Charlie. “Just don't—”

But his response was cut off when Kat's sword found its home in the cow-man's chest.

T
he player's items burst out around him in a circle, indicating the death that Stan had already known was coming. Kat pulled the sword out of the player, and she looked down at the body in disdain. She then looked over at Stan and Charlie, both of whose faces showed disbelief and horror at the murder of an unarmed player by their friend.

“I'm sorry,” said Kat, and Stan couldn't tell who she was talking to, him and Charlie or the dead player. “I am so, so sorry.” On the last word her voice cracked and she sank to her knees and burst into tears.

Bill walked up to Kat's weeping form and knelt down beside her. “I'm sorry, Kat, but these are the tough things about war. It's eat or be eaten. If you had let him go, then he would have followed us and relayed our position back to the King's forces, and we'd be captured within the next week.”

Kat had stopped crying, and she looked up to face Ben. “I know that,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes on her T-shirt sleeve. “But it doesn't make it any easier.”

“I know that,” said Ben. “You know, when I first joined Elementia, I had to kill my old sword-fighting mentor to save Bill's life. I realize that killing people, even if it is in self-defense, is hard. But if we are truly going to overthrow the King, then there are certain
things that are going to have to be done. We are going to have to kill people to get to where we need to get. That is a fact. But we'll be saving hundreds more and making life better for thousands. You understand, don't you, Kat?”

Kat stood up, breathing deeply. “I understand. You're right, Ben. Thank you.”

The two players hugged. Three of the other players looked on solemnly, but Stan looked away. He was filled with an overpowering feeling of disgust, and right then and there, he swore that he would never kill a player unless he himself was in mortal danger, no exceptions.

After the moment of peace was over, the Nether Boys stood back as Stan, Kat, and Charlie looked through the stuff that the player had been carrying. Stan picked up the iron axe, relieved to finally have his choice of weapon back, while Kat pulled on the iron helmet, leggings, and boots. Charlie picked up everything else: apples, fire charges, TNT blocks, redstone dust, a redstone torch, and a compass.

“So, do you guys know what you're going to do now?” asked Bob.

“Yep,” replied Stan. “Thank you for all your help. We'll rendezvous with you guys and the others back at the Adorian Village after we've made our way to the End.”

“All right, see you guys then,” said Ben, and the three Nether Boys turned and ran back toward the looming jungle
trees in the far distance. As they were running off, Ben turned around one last time. “And be careful in the End! I've never been there, but I hear it's way more dangerous than the Nether!”

“We will! Thanks!” cried Charlie, and the Nether Boys ran off into the distance. As they did, Stan, Kat, and Charlie ran in the opposite direction, back toward their old campsite. Even without the compass, Charlie knew the way back, and they had reached the sand abode before the sun was at its highest point in the sky. Needless to say, the animals were very happy to see their owners again.

“Hey, boy! How've you been?” Kat laughed as Rex pounced on her and started licking her face, and she fed him some rotten flesh she'd picked up from a passing Zombie. Charlie stroked Lemon behind the ears, and he purred affectionately, rubbing up against Charlie's hand. Stan went over to the chest and took some things out, readying for their departure. They had decided as they walked over that they would leave some nonessential things in the chest to give the illusion that the base was still in use. Stan put the Ender Chest and the book on entering the Nether and the End into his inventory. The rest of the items they decided to keep in place. They also decided to leave their beds—as they would be traveling a lot, they would have no need for them.

The three players resolved to spend the time until dark—when
the Endermen came out—to hunt for food. All three players went in separate directions, but they stayed fairly close to the sinkhole. Stan went to the far side of the hole, and he saw a herd of cows wandering around the oasis where they had gotten the water for the obsidian, eating the grass and drinking the water. He walked up to them and started downing them with his axe, one after another. He was chasing one cow with an axe, ready to kill it, when he noticed something. About twenty blocks in front of him was a straight line of railroad tracks stretching in both directions as far as the eye could see, with one end headed toward the jungle and the other headed out into the desert.

Intrigued, Stan walked closer to examine the tracks, but he stopped when he heard a rumbling sound coming from the jungle-end of the railroad. He noticed something in the distance coming down the tracks. Fearing it to be the enemy, Stan dived into a shallow trench near the edge of the tracks that was deep enough to conceal him yet still allowed him to see.

The train passed Stan at high speed. It consisted of seven mine carts, four of which contained chests and two of which contained what appeared to be furnaces. In the remaining mine cart, which was situated in front of the two furnace cars and behind the chest cars, sat a player with pale skin in an army uniform. The train thundered past and into the distance.
Stan was incredibly curious as to where this player was going. Resolving to be back before Kat and Charlie noticed he was gone, he ran down the railroad tracks after the train.

The train was much faster than he was, and before long it had disappeared from view, but Stan kept running, following the tracks. He was wondering how he was ever going to catch up to this player when he heard another rumbling behind him. A lone mine car with a furnace was chugging down the line, spewing black smoke as the two before it had. Stan supposed that this cart must have fallen off another train. He had noticed that on the previous train the carts hadn't fastened to each other very well. Willing to accept the gift, Stan let the mine cart catch up to him and he jumped on, riding it at full speed toward the end of the line.

The sun was showing it was about noon by the time Stan saw the buildings in the distance. They were simple wooden huts, and they were the lone structures in the middle of the endless miles of desert. Wondering why in God's name anybody would want to build their house in such a barren land, Stan jumped off the cart just before it entered what appeared to be a railroad station.

He snuck over behind two chests, and he noticed the train that he had seen before. The player that had been riding it stepped out, and he appeared to be talking with another player who was dressed like Abraham Lincoln and had a
distressed and desperate look on his face. Eager to hear what was happening, Stan crawled underneath the station platform so that he was right below the two men and could hear every word they were saying.

“. . . is no excuse for you not producing your quota,” said the player in the army uniform in an angry tone.

“But, sir, please, as I've been trying to explain, our miners have run into problems,” responded another desperate voice. “We were mining out the areas that you had requested, and we hit a rather large lava spring. We are going to have to slow production until we can fix it. Otherwise the environment would not be safe . . .”

“Do you think the King cares about your safety?” barked the soldier. “He needs all the resources he can get his hands on, especially in these troubled times. As I'm sure you're aware, there is an assassin on the loose.”

Stan gulped. He sincerely regretted coming this close to the soldier now.

The soldier continued: “And the King needs all available resources to put the assassin out of commission! It is my responsibility to make sure that the town of Blackstone, as Elementia's primary coal producer, generates more than its share, not less! If there isn't enough coal, the King gets angry with me, and therefore, I get angry with you! This is your last warning, Mayor. If you fail to produce your quota one more
time . . . well, you can imagine . . .”

There was a clinking sound and the mayor cried out in terror. Stan jumped up to come to his aid, forgetting that he was under the wooden platform. He hit his head on the underside of the plank above him and he saw stars. When his vision came back into focus, he saw the soldier leaving on his train, and he realized in horror that the block of wood above him had been burned away. The clinking had been a steel ring against flint! And it was a wooden station . . .

The mayor was doing all he could to punch out the flames, but they were spreading too fast. Throwing caution to the wind, Stan stood up through the hole and helped the mayor put out the flames with his fists. The mayor's eyes widened in surprise, but he did not question Stan's sudden appearance. He was simply grateful for the help he had miraculously received, and within a minute all the flames were extinguished.

“Thank you, kind stranger,” said the mayor, bowing his head in respect. “Without your bravery, we might have lost one of the few respectable buildings we have left in this city.”

“No problem,” said Stan. “I'm glad to be of help. So what is this place, exactly?”

“This, my friend, is the humble town of Blackstone, population twenty-three, and Elementia's chief producer of coal,” replied the mayor. “And may I ask where you come from, my good sir?”

So he doesn't recognize me
, thought Stan.
That's good. Generally attention doesn't work too well in my favor.
“I've lived in a lot of places,” Stan said.

“Well, if you are in need of a place to stay for a while, we would be happy to have you here,” said the mayor. “It is rare that anyone shows such kindness to the people of this town, and on the rare occasion that it happens, they deserve to be rewarded.”

“That is very kind of you, sir,” said Stan, “but I have to return to my friends by nighttime. Do you by any chance have anything to eat?” Stan had only had an apple since breakfast, and he was very hungry.

The player smiled. There were wrinkles in his blocky cheeks. “Of course, sir. Right this way. He walked out of the station, followed by Stan, and they began walking down the main street of the town.

Stan had never seen such a pathetic-looking excuse for a town in his life. The unpaved main street was the only road, and on either side of it were ten or so small houses, all patched together with sand, dirt, cobblestone, and sandstone so that it was impossible to tell what the original material was. Stan noticed that on the sides of a few of these houses were small wheat gardens, which were surrounded with fences. Players leaned against the front of these houses.

There was no way to describe the look of these players
except as broken, defeated. Their heads hung, looking toward the ground, with the sun glinting off the metal helmets on their heads. Most of them had iron pickaxes dangling from their hands. They all wore leather armor everywhere except on their heads, which were obscured by the helmets, so it was impossible to tell them apart at a glance. When they sensed Stan walking into the town, a few of them glanced up. Stan could see pain reflected in their faces, which bore all variety of scars, and the players projected a defensive caution at this new player, young and whole, who had the audacity to waltz into their village unannounced.

“Just ignore them,” mumbled the mayor, sensing Stan's unease. “They're just tired and upset from all the extra work the soldiers have been forcing them to do lately. They're looking for a fight. They need to take their anger out on someone. So don't look anyone directly in the eye.”

Stan took the mayor's advice and looked straight forward toward the end of the street, keeping his hand cautiously but subtly close to the wooden handle of the iron axe dangling at his side by his belt. Keen to avoid eye contact with the temperamental miners, Stan forced himself to focus on the building at the end of the street. It was the largest and by far the most well-kept building. It was a rectangular complex made of brick blocks, with no windows and two side-by-side metal doors on the front. Unlike the patchy houses that held
the miners, this building seemed to be in a state of good repair. Stan asked the mayor about its purpose.

“That is the government's storehouse. They come by rail to this village every other day to collect the coal quota, but all other materials, including cobblestone, iron, and even buckets of lava from the sources of springs that we encounter, go in there, along with any other ambiguous blocks we find.”

“Do you mean to say that the army controls the flow of materials leaving this village through that storehouse?” asked Stan.

“Yes. And we don't get to keep any of what we bring up for ourselves. Even if some blocks of our houses are stolen, we have to smuggle cobblestone blocks up from the mines to repair them, an offense punishable by death. Our miners have actually gotten into fights and killed each other over accusations of stealing parts from one another's houses.”

Stan sighed in disgust at this revelation as they arrived at the house directly adjacent to the warehouse. A sign next to the front door read “Mayor.” This house was a little larger than the other houses, though in an equal state of disrepair. The mayor pushed open the wooden door and they walked inside.

The inside of the house had a wooden floor, walls made of the same materials as the outside—suggesting the walls were one block thick—and windows, some of which still had
glass panes. The entire house consisted of one room, which had a crafting table, a furnace, two double chests, two chairs, and two beds. The entire room had a defeated air to it, and at each step the floorboards creaked in despair.

“Nice place you've got here,” Stan lied through his teeth, as the mayor grabbed two steaks from his chest and handed one to Stan. “I notice there are two beds here, and two chairs. Does somebody else live here with you?”