The Bathrobe Knight: Volume 3 (32 page)

“Yeah, you could say that. This feels like we’re taking a Trojan horse.”

“It might be a trap, admiral, but what are we going to do about it? Actually, I have a serious question: Why didn’t you have rope?”

“Why would I carry around a rope?”

“Why wouldn’t you? I mean, what if we were in a dungeon with a super-steep wall, or we were trying to invade a town full of beasts with really tall fortifications? Did you never play board games? Always carry a pole and a rope. It’s not like it would eat inventory space with Tiqpa’s storage system,” Darwin shook his head in dismay.
How does he play an MMO without knowing the golden laws of the original dungeon games?

“A rope and a pole?”

The two of them descended the flight of stairs to the ground level of the city, walked past two guards as if nothing were out of the ordinary and continued on through the marketplace towards the capital. Not a single person seemed to notice that the giant, horned man was out of place or in any way noteworthy, which was quite odd, given that Eve’s quest should still be active, and Darwin had forgotten to raise the hood on his outfit.

“Yeah, a ten-foot pole, to be exact,” Darwin specified.

“What would you even do with a ten-foot pole?” Kitchens cringed, his mind likely farther in the gutter than maple leaves from three autumns back.

“The uses for a ten-foot pole are . . .” Darwin paused. He knew at least a hundred, but he also knew that, in most MMOs, there wouldn’t be any. Creativity had dropped off in the gaming world ever since things were standardized by gaming scripts. Trying to explain how a ten-foot pole could be used as anything but a weapon in most videogames would be as fruitless as explaining the differences in red wine to someone who refuses to drink alcohol. “Never mind.”

“If you say so.” Kitchens accompanied his concession with a shrug. “By the way, you didn’t bother with a disguise?”

“Well, I’m a nearly seven-foot-tall, humanoid guy with horns and red eyes. Not much you can do to cover that up,” Darwin answered and frowned. “I’m just surprised that none of the guards have even bothered making a move to stop us--or none of the players for that matter.”

“Yeah, does this mean that the quest is no longer in effect?” Kitchens’ brow furrowed he squinted his eyes as he looked around suspiciously, likely trying to find a clue as to what could be causing the lack of defense.

“So, I know we planned to come in acting like assassins, sneak around and murder the council, but . . . what exactly are we supposed to do if this keeps up?” Darwin nervously looked at one of the guards who waved at him as he passed through the market on his way to the center of town.

“If they keep acting like it’s a quaint country town, and we’re here to drop off pie for the new neighbors?” Kitchens asked as one of the town’s trusted defenders gave the two of them a little bow of the head.

“Yeah, that.” Darwin sighed.
It’s much easier to go around maiming and butchering hateful attackers than it is to do it to the friendly, pie-wielding neighbor.
“We could ask them what’s going on.”

“Ask them why they aren’t attacking us? You’re not concerned that might make them actually attack us?” Kitchens laughed. “It’s like asking your girlfriend why she is still dating you. Even if she has plenty of reasons, you’re making her reconsider it with every inquiry.”

“Hmm . . . That’s a good point, but we don’t have to ask one of the guards. We could ask a townsman?” Darwin looked around. “We could even ask one of the players. Since neither of us read the forum that often, maybe we are missing out on some information?”

“And deal with what might happen when the players remember the quest reward and gang up to kill you? Stick with an NPC trader. Traders will look at a dangerous pair that they should, under all law-abiding and nationalistic notions, attack or apprehend and instead try to barter with the deadly duo. We’re much less likely to encounter any problems if we go to one of the vendors to find out what’s happening,” Kitchens suggested.

“Can we not refer to ourselves as a ‘deadly duo’?” Darwin asked and then remembered that previously Kitchens had kept calling him ‘fire’ after some elemental affinity and cringed.
I really hope he doesn’t go around referring to me as a flamer with the usual serious and unaware mentality of most fathers have,
he grumbled to himself. “That said, a shopkeeper does sound like the safest option. Let’s go with that one,” Darwin said, quickly agreeing with the suggestion in hope of the name-calling situation being forgotten.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Kitchens stressed a condescending tone into the last word this time.

His feelings didn’t get hurt about me rejecting the title ‘deadly duo,’ did they?
Darwin sighed as he walked up to the closest shopkeeper. It was a rather tall Reptilian that was yelling around to every passerby that his ‘wares’ were the best in town. His wares, of course, were oils, specifically beauty creams.
Does this make him a bonafide snake oil salesman?
Darwin mused to himself, trying to decide if he could actually get away with that loose interpretation of race and occupation.
He's not actually a snake, but it's close enough to call him a snake oil salesman instead of lizard man oil salesman, right?
He assured himself of his pun, only to hear a chuckle from Kitchens.

“Snake oil salesman. This stuff just writes itself.” Kitchens’ face showed the effort he was putting into suppressing a louder laugh.

“Let's just hope that none of his beauty creams are labeled salacious secretions or exotic excretions,” Darwin said snidely.

“We have both of those in stock,” the lizard man said, tipping his narrow-brimmed fedora with his tail as he spun around holding two jars of questionable-looking gunk. “Just name your pleasure and buy your miss the perfect treasure: an age reversing lotion or a weight reducing potion.”

“Uhhh . . . I'll pass.” Darwin thought for a minute.
Wait, does he have any potions that might increase my effectiveness in combat? Have I gone this long inside a game without researching alchemy?
“We just came here for some information.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I have the perfect set of lists for any young man . . . if you catch my gist!” The vendor reached under the table and pulled out several books worth of lists. “So let's cut straight to the coin. What's your type?”

“My type?” Darwin stepped back, a bit shocked.

“No need to be shy. You name it, and I've got the info on it. Looking for a pretty panda? I got books. Only looking for a certain age? Don't worry, we can narrow that down too. We even have books based on just the face. You name your type, and I'll find you the perfect date.” The lizard winked.

“Are you trying to pimp out girls?” Kitchens put his hand on his katana and started to unsheathe it. “Or are you just gonna kidnap them?”

The salesman, seeing the aggressive gesture and Kitchens’ ready stance, put up both his hands and started giving his defense “Oh, no, sir! I only trade in information. What's their favorite flower, where they like to hang out. . .? I'm just a simple merchant who compiles information. If you already have a girl in mind, I can tell you what her choice dish is and what music she likes. I can't assure you a date or even a smile.”

So he's worse than a pimp. He's an assistant pickup artist.
Darwin facepalmed. “We are just wondering why no-one has attacked us,” Darwin said, deciding to cut straight to the exact information he wanted.

“It could be those gaudy muscles or that terrible fashion sense. Maybe what you need isn't creams or info, but a stylist and a tailor. For a small fee, I can close up the shop right now and take you to the best tailor in town. Mark my words, by the time the sun sets, women will be lining up to pounce you. My boy is real good, hooked me up with this fancy coat and hat to match the northerners.”

“That's not what I meant,” Darwin explained, facepalming for a second time. “I mean . . . Wait, do you have any information on us in those books?”

“Oh, not really. You're a total mystery to everyone, except for the fact your tastes are more lacking than the paper bag boy,” the salesman scoffed.

“Paper bag boy? That seems like an odd thing to pick out. Do they have another option for groceries? Like a plastic bag boy?” Darwin asked.

“Option for groceries? Plastic? I don't know what you're talking about. I meant the boy who runs around wearing a paper bag. Don't tell me that ragged-up buffoon’s name is ‘Plastic,’ and that's the new kings type,” the salesman hissed scornfully.

“Huh? The new king?” Darwin’s mouth hung open a minute.

“Well, aren't you? Last we heard, the Panda King went to kill you and turned up dead. He did try to kill you, right? There isn't another giant human with horns running around, is there?” The indignant scaled salesman continued his scoffing.

“So wait . . . Your monarch dies trying to kill me, and that makes me the king?” Darwin’s mouth opened even further.

“It's not like the decision doesn't make sense. It's not like this was a democracy, and their king was some beloved and chosen ruler they would fight for long past death. No, the only people who would fight for a monarch’s name after his death are the nobles with something to gain . . . or lose,” Kitchens began to elucidate. “Given that no matter which race was in charge there would always be tension, it's likely the people didn't have a super strong attachment to him or any of his predecessors. A society that wanted to avoid unnecessary civilian bloodshed during these types of conflicts might adopt a policy like that just to avoid further fighting after their army was defeated. A kind of ‘well, if we follow them, they probably won't stab us’ kind of mentality.”

“That . . .” Darwin wanted to point out how silly it was--that if anyone attacked and killed his country's president, his countrymen would fight to the bitter end--but then he thought about it a little further. There wasn't a chance in hell he’d fight for a leader he didn't care about. As long as the new rulers were generous or didn't change anything, he'd be fine with the result. “That does make sense. So I'm the king of Mt. Lawlheima and Peh-Ting Zhou?”

“It appears that way,” Kitchens laughed.

“But what about the whole ‘kill the head honcho’ part of our plan? I mean, unless you're feeling a bit regicidal, we need to think of something quick,” Darwin groaned. This was going to be a lot more complicated than he had anticipated.

“Well, what do you have in mind?” Kitchens asked the question, but his look was the knowingly smug one he used that made Darwin understand he already knew what Darwin was going to suggest.

“A king should meet his council, don't you think?” Darwin grinned.
Forget complicated. I'm just overthinking things.

“A king should indeed meet his council.” Kitchens smiled too.

“I'm surprised no one told you about it sooner,” the uppity lizard chortled while shaking his head. “Hey, you're the new boss. See? Wasn't hard to say. Why hasn't anyone done it before? Well, forgive my rude compatriots and their inability to inform you at the gates. If you want to meet your new advisors, they should be waiting for you in the main chamber of the palace. They usually stay there all day and night gossiping and bickering like boys trying to decide which fighter is better.”

“Why does that need to be debated? I'm the best there is.” Darwin gave a hearty, egotistical laugh, complete with an opening ‘Muwahaha.’

“Maybe today, maybe the best alive today, but what if you were compared to the warriors of old from centuries ago?” the merchant asked.

“Doesn't matter. I win,” Darwin said with a laugh and then flexed his royal authority, “or are you questioning your king?”

“Sir, I'm a humble trader. I may pay taxes to the crown, but my only king and god is the coin. Of course, if you buy enough of my products, I'll call you whatever you want.” The lizard-man’s tongue snaked out as he spoke the last phrase before punctuating it with another wink and a slap on Darwin’s arm.

“Alright, well, let's get moving. We have a schedule to keep before all hell breaks loose and we start losing our own townspeople to our own troops.”

Darwin thought about Alex breaking through the door and attacking everyone indiscriminately under his own orders. “Yeah, good point. See you round, Liz.” Darwin waved and left. He knew where the palace was. Who didn’t? It stood out more than that one girl with a callipygian figure and yoga pants in the gym trying to do bent over rows off a squat rack.

“Are you sure you don’t have time to buy some skin treatment creams before you leave? You don’t want to show up to your coronation with dry and flakey skin, do you? I can even try to get some hair growth for you if you want to try regrowing your fur!” the salesman called out as Darwin and Kitchens walked towards the palace.

“You have to admire his tenacity at least,” Kitchens remarked. “If I were younger, I might have been tricked into buying one of his products for the wife. She used to love that expensive stuff.”

“Really? You’d think, with a game like this, no one would be conned. I mean, can’t you just edit your skin texture in the character creation screen?”

“I meant if I met someone like him in real life.”

“Ah, well, in that case, yeah, he does seem good. But, for a moment, I thought you were going to tell me you would have been conned into buying information off of his list,” Darwin laughed. “I mean, I don’t know . . . Maybe back in the day that’s just how things were, old man.”