The Merchant of Tiqpa: The Bathrobe Knight's Sequel Page 13

  I do not want to sell to someone who is just going to turn around and sell them right back to someone I loathe at a higher price, Locke grumbled, inferring what would happen the second the exchange occurred. If they knew that they could make a quick profit by selling to someone else for a higher price, why wouldn’t they? A lot of people and guilds would jump at that opportunity. After all, this was the first time that potions had ever been sold on such a massive scale.

  Hello! Another message from your friendly, neighborhood Ash: Booyakasha! Seriously though, isn’t it great? I had my doubts that you’d actually make an impact and draw people’s attention so quickly. I figured, given the almost-endless supply of alchemy bottles I gave you, that you’d just stay out there farming for another week. But, hey, kudos to you! Congratulations on being such a shameless self-promoter. It's like you've mastered the craft of trawling online forums and luring people into viewing your wares by any means necessary. You didn't agree to sing karaoke open mic or something, did you? I hope not. Maybe, in the future, I can remodel your character and add a nice, little tattoo of ‘Try out alchemy’ on your forehead. If you want, I can even put a picture of me on your character’s arms . . . You know you love me. Us GMs, we have that power, and if you can’t tell, I’m totally cool with abusing it. Anyway, thanks for all the hard work . . . against your will . . . Do they have a word for minions that don’t get a choice? Feels like it’s one of those words that’s on the tip of my tongue, but I just can’t say for some odd reason. I’m crossing my fingers. Hopefully, by the end of this encounter, at least fifty more Alchemists will pop up. Or maybe guilds will just start making one of their members reroll into an Alchemist, and I’ll be able to rub this in Gary’s face. I’ve got a whole ‘I told you so’ party planned with some scary-looking birthday clowns and a few sheriff’s deputies. We’re pumped! Now, go get ‘em!

  Locke cringed. Why . . . Why do you have to be in my head, you evil . . . Locke was about to rail off in his inner monologue with a series of horrendous names, but he caught himself. The way she seemed to always know what he was thinking right when he was thinking it kind of scared him. He was almost convinced that there was a function in Tiqpa that actually did allow the GMs to read the minds of the players, but that just seemed silly. Actually, it is a virtual reality device that jacks into a person’s brain and submerges them into a mass hallucination by some weird neuro mumbo jumbo . . . It’s not that big of a stretch that she might actually be using the device to read my thoughts, is it? Locke decided to mentally picture the most horrendous thing possible just in case she was using the game to watch even his thoughts. Oh no, why did I do that? He almost vomited in his mouth as the picture surfaced. Punishing Ash or not, why?! He cursed himself for such a foolish idea. Now that the image was there, stuck in his head, it wouldn’t go away.

  “Relax, isn’t this a good thing?” Sampson nudged Locke.

  She didn’t understand how any of this could be to his chagrin, especially given that he hadn’t expressly spelled out how much he hated the idea of selling to the Holy Alliance. It was a feud she didn’t even know existed. There was also no way for her to know that his look of horror right now was self-inflicted from recalling a picture that could only be described as the very worst that the bottom-feeding trolls of the Internet could dream up to terrorize someone in a forum.

  Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop! Locke, still struggling to blink away the image, barely heard Sampson. “No, no, this is not a good thing,” he said, half-talking about the crowd in front of them, half-talking about the image that was poisoning his sanity.

  “Why?” Sampson pressed. “You said the reason you didn’t deal with the Holy Alliance is because the other people offered something better. Well, now that everyone is here, you can put them in a sort of auction scenario and make even more money!” She was right about the possibility, but she was clueless about his situation. The last thing he wanted to was to draw undue attention to himself, and this entire situation held a myriad of unfavorable outcomes.

  “I don’t want to be stuck with people constantly harassing me for potions. It’s nice if I can come into town once every now and then and sell however many potions I want at whatever price I feel is fair. But with the Holy Alliance, they’ll always have orders for exactly the potions they want, and they’ll want the price to be static forever.” He was in a sort of verbal pickle with Sampson, and he knew it, but he might as well keep trying his best to get out of it. Locke did his best to think up excuses, and it was easy considering that he already had personal experience with the issue.

  “Oh.” Sampson scratched the pronounced chin that came with her bull-man’s avatar. “I see. Well, you could just message them on the forums that you’ll come back later, that it was too crowded, and you didn’t want to attract company.”

  “Or . . .” Locke looked at Sampson, “How much money do you have? On your character? Total, that is?”

  “Umm . . . I have about a hundred and eight gold. Why?” Sampson’s big bovine eyes looked at him in confusion. It was evident from her expression that she knew a plot was afoot but not exactly what it was.

  “Would you like to make a few extra pieces? Say, fifty or seventy-five?” Locke grinned. As much as he hated literally giving away money, these transactions were something he was suddenly dreading even more.

  “You want me to make the exchanges for you, don’t you?” Sampson surmised.

  “Yeah . . . and not mention my name at all. I’d love it if you could be the face of my business for today, make all the exchanges with the agreed upon customers and leave me worry free,” Locke said. “I’ll give you one gold piece for each potion you sell on my behalf.”

  “That’s a pretty good deal, actually. I’ve been needing a fancy new axe. I’m in.” Sampson nodded. “But, wait a second . . .” Sampson started moving her fingers in the obvious ‘inventory sorting’ method that made actual players come off as a bit slow or weird to NPCs. Then, after a moment, she produced a cloak and handed it to Locke. “In case you want to follow me around while I do the sales. This is so cool. We’re going to be all cloak and dagger, and I’m getting paid to do it!” Sampson laughed.

  “You’re really into this, aren’t you?”

  “Of course! I’m the evil dungeon master, here to make cash to bring back to my labyrinth with my unwilling manservant Daedalus. I should probably buy him consolation flowers after what happened with his son, but I warned him: ‘If you keep letting your son get high, you’re going to lose him forever,’ I said. It was his fault that he didn’t listen,” Sampson espoused, getting more and more into her role.

  “You know, you don’t need a backstory to make a simple exchange,” Locke said as he finished putting on the robe that made him look like a cultist in a B-rated horror film.

  “Shy, this is an MMORPG. It’s got RPG, Role-Playing-Game, right in the name for a reason! You don’t need to assume a role to make an exchange, but you do need one to properly play the game. Why do you think Sparky has put so much effort into her lines? At least she gets it,” Sampson chastised Locke and then stuck out her hand. “Poisons?”

  “Okay, here is the first batch of two hundred. I need you to give . . .” Locke went over each of the clients with Sampson as she nodded.

  “Alright, Shy.” Sampson popped her fingers and neck and then started walking toward the crowd. “Time to go earn momma some money.”

  Locke followed along behind her in his cult outfit, chuckling as he did his best to keep up with Sampson’s large strides.

  When Sampson snuck up on the first customer, she tapped his shoulder where no one could see and motioned with her head for him to break away from the pack. “Excuse me, are you here to purchase these?” She extended her hand, holding a bottle of the poison.

  “Yep, here you go.” He held out a bag of gold. “It’s all there. Count it,” he insisted unnecessarily. As soon as the gold went into the inventory it would be stripped from the ‘exchange bag’ tha
t the game generated for trades and immediately turned into a green number next to the person’s gold counter to let them know how much their personal hoard had increased.

  “Thank you, sir, for your patronage. I hope to do business with you in the future.” Sampson bowed and vanished so fast that Locke’s mouth was pulled open by the breeze she left in her wake. So, she’s not as clever as Tubal with transactions, but she’s definitely even better than me at trading. Maybe it’s her size? I bet it’s a lot easier to mentally wrap your head around bullying a weak Human than it is to think about trying to push around what looks like six hundred pounds of pure muscle. Yeah, that probably has a lot to do with it. Locke nodded to himself, making excuses, as he located Sampson and followed her from transaction to transaction.

  Business started off so smoothly that Locke’s hopes were rising faster than bread baking at a yeast convention. Sampson made a transaction, gave Locke the gold, Locke would give her more poisons to pass to the next client, and the process would rinse and repeat again. Things were nice and simple--or, at least, they were until the pair finally came across one purchaser that didn’t seem to understand the need for inconspicuous and covert spy-style trade-offs. As soon as Sampson showed this person the poison, everything went wrong.

  “Oh! Of course, that’s what I’m looking for!” His voice suddenly tripled in volume, blaring like a used car commercial following a particularly-quiet moment in a television show. “I’ve been waiting around here for ten minutes! Where have you been, man?!” the blowhard Naga exclaimed. His wings spread open and moved in sync as he talked, and his tail wagged back and forth like a dog’s. “Do you think I have all day?”

  “Cut it off with him,” Locke whispered to Sampson, seeing the problem starting right away. “Just get out of there. Abort mission, Master Cow Cleaver. Abort mission!” he said, trying to play to her sense of theatrical flair.

  “Relax, Shadow-Fart. I have this,” Sampson returned in a hushed tone, the Naga completely unaware of their communication. Locke was directly behind Sampson, not at her side, but he could still make out the customer’s facial expressions perfectly from reflections off the glassy, mirror-like surfaces that decorated the sides of every building in the market.

  “Oh, is he here? The Alchemist?” Sol asked. He and Sal happened to be standing nearby, and they ceased their conversation and turned to the Naga as soon as they suspected that something was up.

  “Yeah, it’s the Minotaur.” The Naga pointed at Sampson, who was now backing up so quickly Locke felt like he needed to roll a dexterity save just so he didn’t end up trampled underneath her hooves.

  “It’s not me!” she insisted. “I’m just . . .” She looked around for Locke as he made his way to safety, where he could keep his eyes on the scene from the sideline, no longer risking an accidental reverse bull rush.

  Get out of there, Sampson! Locke mentally yelled at Sampson like she was some teen about to be knifed in a slasher flick. He was worried that Sampson couldn’t handle the pressure from the growing attention of the crowd they had been so neatly avoiding earlier. With only around a dozen people looking at her so far, he could already see her nerve slowly starting to shatter like a cracked mirror with a weight on top. We can lose one customer. Just get out of there! Why didn’t you listen to me and run away when this guy first rocked the boat?

  “Don’t try that, you’re the one with the poisons! You have to be the guy! Why are you lying?” one of the other members in the crowd questioned.

  “No, I’m really not! The one with the poisons is just . . .” Sampson froze, and then she noticed Locke. She took a breath as the crowd continued to interrogate her and said, “That person, well, he is just very shy.”

  That was utterly beautiful, you brilliant bovine. Locke laughed at the joke that Sampson and he would be the only two to get.

  “He’s shy?” Sol asked as he nudged his way with Sal to the front of the group confronting them. “What does he have to be shy about? He’s making a product people want. We’re willing to outbid anyone who thinks that they have a better offer, so tell him to at least give us a fair shot. We’re sure we can win his business.”

  Sampson, upon hearing this, made eye contact with Locke and gave him a face that seemed to ask ‘Are you sure you don’t want to hear out their offer?’ Locke, hoping his interpretation was right, made sure to shake his head ‘no’ at her. He wanted to add ‘Don’t look at me too long. They’ll figure out who I am, but just made another gesture in the negative and tried to angle his head down so that the creepy cult robe would keep his face hidden after.

  “I’m sure that my master isn’t interested in new offers at the moment. He has already made promises to certain clients, and he doesn’t intend to break those to allow for new offers right now,” Sampson said.

  Your master? Locke suppressed a laugh at the title. He knew that she had regretted it as soon as she said it. Glad to know I have that much sway over you, short horns. Part of him felt bad for how much he would inevitably tease her over this, given she was only in this position as a favor to him, but he was just too amused to let it go.

  “Well then, just tell your master that we, the Holy Alliance, would love a chance to do business with him and that we can even meet with him later. If he’s the type to get claustrophobic with crowds, we can do the whole thing in a comfortable and private tent, just one-on-one,” Sal said.

  “Yeah, that would be real easy,” Sol added, nodding in agreement. “Just give us a chance. Tell your master that we’ll message our contact info to him or to whomever originally posted the offer on the forums, and he can reach us anytime day or night.”

  Come on, Sol, Sal. Have some dignity. Don’t beg! Locke normally would have loved clients this desperate, but for all the hatred he had for the Holy Alliance, he didn’t actually dislike these two. They had never treated him poorly. In fact, he realized now that if it weren’t for Anthony, he probably wouldn’t even be in the position to feel any antipathy toward any of them. He quickly shook his head trying to dispel the thoughts as soon as he could. They may be unwitting bystanders, but their alliance has to die in order for me to get my revenge. I can’t kill Anthony in the game, so his empire is the next best thing.

  “I’ll be sure to pass that along,” Sampson replied, politely dismissing him. She turned back to the original customer, presumably to press him into making the transaction, but caught sight of Locke still giving her the ‘cut the deal’ signal and just turned to leave.

  As the customer saw her turn to leave, he started to grumble, yelling after, “Hey, come back!”

  “I think you’ve done enough, friend.” Locke had wormed his way through the crowd and intervened this time.

  “What? I was promised poisons and that b--”

  “Watch your tongue, or I’ll kill you right here in front of the guards,” Locke said, cutting the man off before he could finish the sentence.

  Sol’s eyes caught Locke’s for a moment before he could adjust his hood to keep his face obscured, and a flash of curiosity appeared in the Dryad’s eyes. “Hey, was that . . .”

  Locke took off after Sampson without waiting around for Sol to put two and two together. The Minotaur was now heading toward the Wench’s Best Bubbly Head at a brisk pace, and Locke practically had to run to catch up with her.

  Did he spot me? Am I that obvious? Or did he just notice me sticking up for Sampson, who was doing the trades? No, Ash wouldn’t have left me with the exact same face . . . would she? He swallowed again because he already knew the answer. Yes, she totally would. He let out an involuntary groan as he considered the idea. She’s so concerned with someone finding out who I am, but she couldn’t even have the decency give me a makeover. Locke remembered her last message where she threatened to tattoo a billboard across his forehead and decided that it was probably for the best that she hadn’t dabbled with his character design. There’s no telling what kind of freaky things she might have come up with. I could be walking around wi
th fluffy pink hedgehog spikes and puppy dog ears . . . Locke shook his head, returning his thoughts to more important things.

  “Hey!” he shouted at Sampson, coming up behind her. “It’s me! They’re not following! You can stop running away so fast.”

  “Oh, I’m . . .” Sampson’s face was still red, most likely from her becoming so flustered in the market, and it was an extremely odd sight for Locke to process. She was still a giant, over-muscled Minotaur with an axe strapped to her back, and the sight of rosy cheeks and a nervous expression on such a brutish body was an amusing dichotomy to Locke.

  “It’s okay, Sampson. You don’t have to worry about a thing . . . Your master took care of them.” He snickered as he watched her face transform from red with embarrassment to relieved and then to irritated in about half a second. Yeah, Minotaurs definitely get the short end of the stick when it comes to facial expressions.