Was five sol worth the risk? Yes, it was. It was, after all, currency I could spend on new clothes, another awl, or maybe some water and food cubes. Also, it wasn’t like we had anything else to do. We didn’t have any other jobs, so we just would have ended up lying around on the warm benches like a group of seals. I was also looking forward to the most important bonus: the game challenge. Last time I had won big. But even if they just gave us tic-tac-toe, money was still money.
We could do the job without Bask, but I didn’t want to leave him alone since he was blind and wounded — a nasty combo. Plus, the drugs he was given affected his brain, making him sluggish and addled. With all the fuss about the dead body… Bask had already been seen in our company. I could handle myself, but what if those intimidating halflings showed up and started putting pressure on him? They didn’t know he was clueless. I thought about shoving him in a sleeping capsule, but he seemed to read my mind and told me he felt fine and didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t have to worry — the system healed us well. So Bask came along with us.
We made it down the short death path without any problems. When we were five hundred yards from our destination, I ordered Yorka to stop practicing, and she was only too happy to obey. I could understand her — this basic club training wasn’t easy, and I was making her do it on the move to boot. The clubs here had a hook you could use to attach them to a belt, but it could easily get stuck when you tried to draw the club. I broke the hook of Yorka’s club in half, leaving a short peg that was big enough to keep the weapon on her belt but small enough not to get caught in it. Then I ordered Yorka to draw her club every tenth step and do a strong vertical strike. I hated long, predictable blows like that, but I remembered how the Lamer guards had smashed pluxes against the floor with ease. It was a perfect weapon against smaller opponents — it pierced the skin with its spikes, then crushed the spine with its own weight, pinning the dangerous creature to itself and holding it in place. That’s why I had Yorka swing it over and over again every tenth step, then, after fifteen minutes, every twentieth step. She also had to hold the club with just her right hand, not even touching it with her left hand.
Bask counted her steps in a clear, even voice. He also served as our living map of the Outskirts, telling us where to turn and what dark and dangerous paths we should avoid. I listened attentively, simultaneously correcting Yorka’s movements. We eventually made it to our assigned zone and block.
The job site wasn’t that impressive — it was much smaller than the hall with the high ceiling we had worked in before. This hall had a much smaller bulge in the center, with the same familiar containers. A single row of the square openings ran along the wall. One small omnipresent dome ran back and forth under the ceiling, highlighting the importance of this job. Four workers were resting in the corner, playing cards and talking animatedly. They seemed to have finished their shift.
We still had a job to do. Twenty containers between two of us? That was nothing. We finished quickly without wasting too much energy — I carried eight steel cubes and Yorka did twelve. Bask rested, covering his disfigured face with his cap again. Just as we were leaving the hall, he shared a particularly interesting piece of information: we were only about three hundred yards away from the Jolly Plux, the Lamers’ mess hall. Their plux processing place was there, too, but no outsiders were allowed in. To get to the Jolly Plux, you just had to take a short, dark passage out of the job site’s second entrance, then continue along a well-lit, safe path fitted with wall ledges, vending machines, and an ATM. Everything civilized and respectable goblins would need if they decided to go out for a stroll. Bask had just shared this information in an attempt to be useful to the party, but I decided to change our course and take a closer look at this citadel of what passed for capitalism here. It seemed to me the Lamers weren’t so lame after all. At least they were accomplishing something.
Balance: 15 sol.
* * *
We made it down the dark path quickly, arriving at an intersection of six hallways and paths. At the entrance to the hallway we would take to get in there were four hulking guards in familiar gear. Their appearance spoke volumes: ‘Don’t worry, respected visitors, we’ll make sure you stay safe. Come in and relax.’ Above the entrance, just over their heads was a painting of a lifelike plux with a sloppy red smile on its front end. It looked like it was splashed on with blood that artistically formed a happy face. Below the picture, multicolored letters spelled out ‘The Jolly Plux’. I stared with sincere interest, examining the sign, the guards, and their equipment.
