The City: PuzzleLocked Book 1

As they sat down at the table to eat the slop that Alastair had so recently made, Flor, aka “Don’t call me cat whisperer,” {Louder for those in the back! Seriously, she hasn’t earned that Achievement yet} convinced Alastair that they should observe the other patrons who came in. Any patron with a name next to their head would be either another player like them or at least an NPC with some insight, similar to Horace. Any patron who only had a job above their head, based on an inference from the level 1 pier hand they talked to recently, would likely be a single-answer NPC. Those they would filter out as ‘not worth their time.’

Of those with a name, they would prioritize talking with any person with a job that was similar to theirs (Brawler and Scribe, for those who did not know), because that might indicate the individual was another player.

The first to come through the door was the twin of her favorite pier hand, only at level 2 rather than level 1. So, unless the previous discussion had given the guy enough experience to level in the last two hours, it was likely a different NPC. The warden followed the pier hand in, although now the text above his head read “Rudolf, Warden 4.”

Flor and Alistair decided they would talk to him later if they didn’t give any of the others who came in a higher priority.

While they waited, Alastair discretely asked her, “Do you think ‘Warden’ is the right title for him?”

“Why do you mean?”

“I tend to think of wardens as in charge of whole prisons. Rudolf seems to only be in charge of a pier and the boats that come in.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the devs have no idea what a warden does so they mislabeled him. ”

The two went back to focusing on their slop. A moment later, another couple of others walked in, dressed in outfits similar but not identical to theirs. Both had a title but not a name: Brawler (Imprisoned) 0 and Scribe (Imprisoned) 0. Flor realized she probably wouldn’t have been able to distinguish them from the group who had exited the boat that morning.

Just drones. In a snap judgment, she had decided that drone was an easier moniker than single-answer NPC. {Even if “drone” is insensitive as an unofficial title.}

As their bowls emptied, the room filled and began to get a bit noisy. The Warden finished his food quickly and then started chatting with some of the others who had wandered in, almost as if what Alastair called the ‘chip on his shoulder’ had fallen off.

Horace continued to work around the tavern, adding and removing bowls and mugs. Every once in a while one of the patrons would say something, and Horace would either light up or deflate before moving on. He paused a bit extra as he talked to the Warden and then they shook hands a little longer than what might be considered usual. Was that a bribe?

“Alastair,” she said extra quietly while leaning in, “I think the Warden just slid a bribe to Horace.” Alastair raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment but recognized that nothing he would say or do would add anything to the situation.

Eventually, the patrons departed by ones and twos until only Horace continued to clear tables and the Warden and ‘pier hand 2’ were left. Warden waved away the pier hand and stood, stretching, then walked to their table. He stood in what he surely thought was a noble pose, looking down at the two.

“I’ve heard a few interesting things about you two. Now, don’t talk. It’s not your place to talk until I ask you a direct question. Let’s start simple, as you two look simple between you.”

While Flor did not like his tone, perhaps this was the best chance they’d have to get a solid answer out of the man.

“My man told me that you two stopped by my shack to speak to me. Well, go on. What about?”

Alastair started to say something but Flor thought that he might say something out of line and land them in trouble, so she jumped in with “We were…simply, that is…wondering if there were additional jobs outside the Released Prisoner guild.”

“Oh, so you want something, so to say, under the table. I’ve got a few rats in my shed that could do with a good throttling…hahaha.” He laughed too hard at his joke. “That one always gets you new arrivals.” He paused, then grew stern again. “I happen to know you already found an unadvertised job, and if it weren’t in my tavern I might take issue with it. Arguably, it was nice to have the slop prepared as it was supposed to be, rather than whatever it is that Horace does to it. It tasted proper, today, at least, so I’m going to overlook that you took a job outside of the guild. Tomorrow, though, you don’t get an option; it’s guild work or no work, at least in this city. Now, was there anything else? No, I didn’t think so. So, you’re minus two plus one with me. Don’t get me cross or I will make your stay in West Shilgrave unbearable.” Rudolf turned hastily and went toward the door. “Horace, I’ll be by for inspection in four hours.” He then went out the door and walked toward the city.

“Well, at least we know he is the warden of more than just a pier,” said Alastair. “And how about that?! A meal made proper. And maybe a name for this city: West Shilgrave!”

“Well done. A proper chef you are. So, did you see Rudolf hand Horace something, or was I making that up?”

“I didn’t see it, but I believe you. Let’s add it to our list of mysteries to solve.”

“Our seemingly ever-growing list.”

“Yes, it hasn’t shrunk. Should we recap?” {Please don’t.}

“No, I think not yet. {What relief!} I’d rather plan what we have to do next. Although, part of that is perhaps a mystery.”

Alastair leaned forward impatiently. “Well, go on…”

“I don’t like it when you do that. I’ll get to my point, and sometimes I prefer to think aloud. It’s not as if my thinking aloud obstructs us from accomplishing something pressing.”

“Yes, yes. I’m sorry I sometimes get impatient. Perhaps I’m getting testy from not knowing when or where this game is going.”

“Surely you know that goes for both of us. And for two days I had the extra worry of not knowing if you would remain comatose. So, of the impatience, I think I have a reason to be more upset at your impatience with the situation.”

Alastair looked glum at her reprimand. He said nothing, then, “I’m sorry. You’re right. You have more reason to be…so, what was your thought?”

She looked abashed for a moment. “Um, I don’t think I recall. I was getting there then I got angry. Maybe it will come back to me in a moment. So, let’s clean up from cooking, and then we at least have a place to stay for the night. Oh, that was it! Both previous days you’ve ended up comatose and I’ve ended up …not alive… so, what if we avoid anything tricky or complicated and bed down in full health tonight? Maybe we’ll be able to start tomorrow as tomorrow, rather than as today?”

“I guess we’ll have to test the theory and see, eh McTaggart?” {J.M.E. McTaggart, Philosopher, 1866-1925.}

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Temporal metaphysician. You know what, never mind.”

“Regardless, that’s not my name.”

“Anyway, yes. Let’s give your theory a try. How about we go clean up the kitchen then wander around town until after Rudolf does his tavern inspection, then we’ll come back, cook another meal, and call it an early night?”