NOVEL NEXT Chapter 17B – Premonition or Pessimism?
"Hughe is mostly hot air," Colt was saying as he woke up.
"Maybe," Lacey mumbled, using Colt to clamber up to the top bunk. She was tired.
"How did your night go?" Colt asked, pulling on boots and running a hand through his short, spiky hair. He was completely unmoved by Lacey using his shoulders to boost herself onto the top bunk.
"Traps are more lucrative than adventurers," Lacey told him, unlacing her own boots and tossing them off the end of the bed.
"That's good," Colt brushed off his shoulders and reached for his leather jerkin. "I mean it's something, right?"
"I guess, but it's like any new business," Lacey flopped back on the bed. "I had to spend most of what we made for parts for more traps. Springs are expensive and I didn't have enough water for that mechanism I really wanted."
Selling the traps was more lucrative than anything that the adventurers had given them. While Lacey might have been better at the less lethal kind of traps that they could use in the escape rooms, she knew them all from their dungeon building days back when they'd been trying to make extra money selling pre-made dungeons for DMs.
"How many levels are trapped?" Colt asked.
"Seven," Lacey groaned out and Colt whistled in appreciation. "And that's with me selling every other trap for parts. I've got a trap team of worker goblins making more. There should be another five levels done by morning. And I found your still."
"Lace," Colt turned to give her a warning glare to go with that growl.
"Don't 'Lace' me," Lacey rolled over to face the wall. "There's no way those goblins figured out a copper still out of a couple of cooking pots, and you had to buy that copper piping. I found it when I was searching for coils and fishing wire. Imagine my surprise to find that you had opened up a bundle of whiskey-making supplies."
"I only used credits I'd made from cleaning bat dung out of the caves," Colt complained. "And I was looking to make a French press coffee pot, if you want to know. And I got…"
"Bat dung?" Lacey perked up, rolling back over. "Wait, can't you use bat dung to make gunpowder?"
"Yeah, but we're missing sulfur," Colt answered too quickly.
"That's why you were scooping bat dung," Lacey nodded her head.
"Well, yeah, but honestly, I didn't deep dive into the explosives after Dougie threatened to show Mom my search history," Colt admitted. "But if you feed the glowing worms to the bats, the bat poop makes a longer lasting light source than just the moss."
"Of course," Lacey threw her head back on her pillow and put a palm under it. "That's how the beetles ended up with glowing shells."
"I was going to try it today," Colt admitted. "But yeah, probably. Feed the worms the moss, then feed the worms to the bats and beetles and we get glowing stuff."
"You think it'll satisfy Hughe long enough for us to get stronger?" Lacey asked, having trouble sleeping even though her eyes were burning from fatigue.
"Sure," Colt told her, but she didn't believe him. "And if not, I'm sure your traps will keep him and his friends out of the deeper levels."
Lacey fell to sleep despite herself. She dreamed of Hughe eating pizza in the pub and washing it down with a pale ale because he was a lightweight. She dreamt of trying to soak glowing bat poop out of her hair and she dreamed of the Foo bird, an old joke her mom had told her when she was young. The Foo bird had poop so stinky that it drove everyone away from you, but if you washed it out, you died. It was an old shaggy dog story that her mom had been really good at telling. The key to a good shaggy dog story was to drag out the story of it until you had your audience sitting on the edge of their seats waiting for the punchline, which was always a moral of the story that was a messed up old adage that made people groan. At least that was how her mom told it. Lacey was on the edge of her dreamy seat and her mom was just saying the first words of the punch line when Colt shook her awake.
"Lace, we got trouble," Colt hit the side of the bunk bed and dashed back to the pedestal. "Get up!"
"Hughe wasn't patient, was he?" Lacey groaned rolling over.
"It's not Hughe," Colt wasn't smiling, and he wasn't his normal chill self with the positive attitude, and that jolted Lacey awake faster than anything.
"What's going on?" Lacey hopped down to the bottom bunk to put on her boots.
"Hughe came back while you were asleep and I tossed out a few of the old glowing beetle shells to stall him," Colt was trying to explain faster than his mouth could form words. "He took them and said he'd be back for more the next day. I tried to tell him that we knew how to make them now, but he was stupid and still ranting about…"
"Colt!" Lacey derailed Colt's story, the red lights of the dungeon making her worried about the end of the story more than the beginning.
"Anyway," Colt fast-forwarded. "He took them and said he'd wait a day, and then a few hours later, we got new people in the dungeon."
"The traps should keep them on the top floors," Lacey took the time to tightly lace her leather armor bottoms that were little more than leather patches held together on parts of her body that were most likely to get hit.
"These guys aren't lower level like Hughe," Colt shook his head and tapped the pedestal.
"Fighter, level 14."
"What?" Lacey darted to the pedestal to watch as Colt hit another person on the screen.
"Rogue, level 16. Cleric, level 15."
"That Rogue is the problem," Colt waved his hand as Lacey watched the problem Rogue disarm a trap on what had to be level four.
"They're at level four already?" Lacey goggled.
"There's no way the goblins can take those guys," Colt clenched his fist. "We're looking at another dungeon wipe and there's nothing we can do about it!"
With the pedestal locked during every incursion, Lacey could only watch and wring her hands next to Colt. They weren't prepared for something like this. They'd only had a few days to even try to get it together on a system that had mostly locked them out. The unfairness of it whacked Lacey upside the head like a hammer. Lacey watched the Rogue laugh after the Cleric said something and she could imagine what they were saying like they had turned off the sound on an old Japanese ninja movie.
"What a joke of a dungeon," she imagined the Cleric had said.
"We could trip all these traps and still be okay," the Rogue would reply.
"Yeah, but then I'd have to use some of my precious mana," the Cleric would reply as the Fighter, bored half to death, gave a half-snort of a laugh.
Lacey shook herself out of it. Once those guys got through her traps, they were on their way here to take out the dungeon masters so that they could take over. It wasn't that Lacey thought that her puny little dungeon had a chance against them, but it was her dungeon, good or bad, and she needed to fight for it. She darted a gaze around her for something she could fight with. She sucked at the sword, not that they stood a chance against guys more than ten levels above them.
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Chapter Bonus: Because I SAID So! (Skippable) "You can't," Karma threw up her hands and paced the tiny runway from the armchair to the kitchen. "It's not the engine's doing," Typewriter insisted. "Hughe was the one who contacted the guild three towns past the noob zone." "You can't stack the deck against them," Karma insisted right back, slapping her hands on her jeans in a way that made Bench slide back away from her. "Sorry Bench. I promise I won't kick you like Fizz did. I'm just incensed! I've been gone for a single day to help Dom clean out the pirate uprising against his organization and you've brought in NPCs at a level so high that the dungeon can't possibly survive!" Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author."Hughe stipulated a powerful guild when he complained to the Adventurer's Guild," Typewriter continued to support the engine's decision. The constructs were not afraid of Karma, like they had been afraid of Fizzbarren. They respected her abilities and appreciated her for the fact that she'd freed them from Fizzbarren's slavery of them, but they also knew that they could push back against her ideas if they felt strongly about it. "The engine simply found the nearest powerful guild to answer the call. The Penchance Guild was large enough to be powerful and yet still hungry enough to listen to a low level if it meant a chance at a baby dungeon. These are perfectly logical escalations of tension which are notoriously hard to find in dungeon creation plots." "You brought in NPCs almost ten times their level!" Karma glared at the sanctimonious box of self-serving bullshit only barely masked with literary justifications. "7 or 8 at most," Typewriter reasoned, undeterred by her anger. "The dungeon was level four and you brought in adventurers that were level 26!" Karma shook her fist at the box, holding up four fingers and then pulling her palms wide apart to show the difference. "It has to be beatable!" "There was a chance they could survive," Typewriter persisted stubbornly, its keys still. "They had a hundred years of growth and the financial gain thereof to spend on upgrades. The engine could have created a dungeon to challenge the group. After all, there were only three of them." "And why was one of them a thief?" Karma raised her eyebrows at the box. "Meta much??! Why would they think they'd need someone who could disarm traps!? Most dungeons that you've made are full of monsters but not a lot of traps. What gave them the idea they needed a thief to disarm traps?" "That was purely coincidence," Typewriter didn't even quiver at the lie. "The thief is a cousin of the leader of the guild, and he was sent mostly as a favor to help him level up his skills." "Why would anyone think a dungeon would have enough traps and locks to increase his skills so much?" Karma crossed her arms, wondering why she was arguing about the side issue. How did this machine always seem to switch the tone or subject so that it could be right? "You stacked the deck against the dungeon so they'd fail, and you did it because you don't want a human taking over the job of dungeon construction!" "The machine does not have such emotional idiosyncrasies," Typewriter twitched its ribbon disdainfully. "Rewind it," Karma stated. "No," Typewriter balked. "I said rewind it," Karma planted her feet apart. "You are not being reasonable, and you know it. I'm not going to argue with you if you can't even tell the truth." "No," Typewriter clacked its keys in defiance. "I call a vote," Karma announced to the room. "Cliff isn't here," Typewriter protested weakly. "He would be on my side if only for the sake of tension and realistic escalation due to player actions." "I doubt that," Karma shook her head, "but it's irrelevant. There are enough of us here to vote on the matter now, but I'll call in Dom and Kat if you force me to." "Fine," Typewriter knew that Dom and Kat always voted with Karma. "I'm positing that we rewind this fiasco and give them at least another couple of days to prepare," Karma moved her hands to her hips. Her vote went to the room and the engine lost that fight. Karma went on to insist that if the still explosion happened that it would realistically be enough of a blast to collapse the whole level. That was also voted in, much to the engine's consternation. "Furthermore," Karma started, but Typewriter cut her off. "No more! I won't consider more stipulations," it insisted, its ribbon twisted around one of its keys. "If you coddle them any more than this with your bleeding hearts, I'll delete the scenario and restart the whole thing. I'm driving the plot, and you know it. Next thing you know, you'll be giving them coffee and pastries." Karma curled her lip, then pointed a finger at Typewriter, "Fine, then I'll make a wager with you." "The engine hates your wagers," Typewriter growled with a snap of its carriage return. "But we like them," Mirror stated too brightly. "You're not allowed to deny a vote anyway. You're lucky Karma isn't pressing the issue." "True," Footstool fluffed her tassels. "I'd vote with her just to teach you not to try to strong-arm us all to get your way. We're all equal here since Karma freed us and she could have just made you do everything her way, but she doesn't, so be a better sport about it." "And we don't have to spit out god cards that allow her access to magic like rewinds and time manipulations either," Typewriter tugged its ribbon, but it was stuck in a way that would take human intervention. "But we do it and all your players get time off for bad behavior! They get to go see their mommies or whatever every time they die! We think that Sinjin character is dying just so that he isn't late for work somedays. You'd think they'd have a work ethic like that for us. We do pay them after all." "How about a bribe then?" Karma wheedled, not wanting to get into the player characters she'd gotten with this last batch. They really weren't all that motivated. What Karma wouldn't give to have a great player like her daughter in the engine, but Hughe was the best of them and he was a jerk. "I'll trade you two hard drives if you open up cupcakes on the pedestal." "Cupcakes?!?!?" Typewriter goggled so hard that his ribbon untangled. "You must be kidding." "High speed ones, top of the line," Karma dangled the fruit. It was an easy bribe since Cliff was already picking up some new drives. "You'd be surprised what a little chocolate can do for a girl's motivation." "Cupcakes," but the indignation had simmered down into a mutter. "I'll have to text him," Karma pulled out her phone and waggled it at the engine in the box. "I sure hope he hasn't left the store by the time I get to the end of the drive…" "Fine but no frosting," the engine tried to bargain, but she could tell that it wanted those drives. It ate four of the things for dinner every night. It was a good thing they had funds from Fizzbarren's magic and gadget sales. "Chocolate and frosting or it's a no go," Karma made to put away her phone. "All right," Typewriter vibrated like it wasn't an old manual version. "But if you don't get there in time, no cupcakes. I mean it." Typewriter called out as Karma chuckled her way out the door. "I'm not doing cupcake unless I get those new drives tonight. And no cheap ones either!" "If they sleep together, they get the password reset," Karma bargained, tapping a butter knife against the measuring cup. "That won't happen," Mirror shook a phantom head that floated in its frame, behind which was running an old Hallmark Christmas movie that Footstool was watching by pressing pillows against the glass to see around the hulking head. "I think it could, or I wouldn't suggest it," Karma protested, dumping another cup of flour into the mixing bowl. The mixer ran on magic, as did the oven. While it was easier to bake in the game world, it was more satisfying to do it in the real world sometimes. "No way," Cliff chimed in from his spot on the armchair. He too was trying to watch the Hallmark movie, something that they couldn't do in the game world. "They're like you and me, not you and Dom. They won't sleep together." "Not have sex kind of sleep together," Karma argued, checking her supply of nutmeg with a discerning sniff. "Just sleep at the same time so that the time goes by." "No way, they're paranoid about that after the 100 year thing," Pestle ground out around cloves and cinnamon that Karma had dropped into the mortar. She was baking Christmas spice cookies and there was just something about freshly ground spices that she got Pestle to grind together. "Then it shouldn't be a problem," Karma shrugged, applying some heat magic to the mortar so that the spices melted into the butter. "It's a wager," Typewriter agreed, as Karma had known he would. Now all she had to do was get that druid to interrupt their sleep in a way that made them both exhausted at the same time. |
"Lace," Colt's voice penetrated Lacey's panic.
"What!" Lacey stared at him with wide eyes.
"Wake up, Lace," Colt shook her shoulder, his head even with hers.
"Huh!" Lacey jerked up, nearly smacking Colt as she thrashed.
"I'd have let you sleep," Colt ducked her swing easily, "but you were having a nightmare."
"What?" Lacey rolled over, surprised to see herself still in bed, the covers warm and soothing, the lights of the dungeon's pedestal a cool, calm blue.
"A nightmare," Colt gave a nervous chuckle. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Lacey lied, shaking her head and taking a stupid leap out of bed, the covers still tangled around her feet.
"Relax," Colt caught her in that same old practiced move he had of grabbing her by the waist whenever she whooshed past him. "I got you. That must have been some dream."
"Yeah," Lacey let him put her on the ground, her bare feet barely making any sound as they gently touched the floor.
"I'd give you coffee, but unless you want to drink stewed bat guano, I'm all out," Colt tried to joke with Lacey and only relaxed when he saw the panic of her dream recede. She hadn't had dreams like that since she'd broken it off with the slimeball. That's all they ever called him.
"Uh, no thanks," Lacey curled a lip at him and shook her head to clear it.
"Good choice," Colt nodded, letting her go back to the table and sit down. "I'll admit I tried it."
"What?" Lacey gawked at him, sitting on the lower bunk and taking her time to rub sleep out of her eyes before she reached for the boots that Ginger offered her. How did big red beady eyes look compassionate?
"I heard about that bat guano coffee and decided to give it a shot," Colt's face scrunched up in a face Lacey hadn't seen him make since his sister Maggie got him to take a bite of something that looked like a Payday but wasn't. "I do not suggest it at all."
"Noted," Lacey nodded, tugging on boots that felt a little small on her swollen feet. All her walking and working had worked muscles she hadn't known she had and even her feet were overworked. "Hughe?"
"I talked to him," Colt held up a hand. "I gave him and his party each a shiny shell and promised that if he could give us a few more days, we'd have a few levels of the glowing beetle shells that he and his friends could farm."
"And he agreed?" Lacey was having trouble reconciling her dream with reality. Were there some level 14-16 folks out there that could barge in any second? Probably, but even knowing about it didn't help Lacey figure out what to do.
"Yep," Colt replied, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on another one. He was obviously pleased with himself. "They won't be back for a week, but they warned me that they'd probably be a higher level by then. I'm leaving them a few extra shells outside so that they'll respect the 'Dungeon Closed for Repairs' sign I made."
Lacey didn't think they'd be in the teens level-wise by the end of the week, but her dream had felt more realistic than it should have. Could it have been a premonition? Lacey grunted as she laced on her leather pants, giving Ginger an appreciative nod. Her clothes and armor were all clean every day even after she'd caked them in the mud of dozens of pit traps, soot from fire traps, and worm remains. If they had another dungeon wipe, at least they'd be able to resurrect Ginger. They would if they had the funds, funds that were running thin with all the innovation that Lacey was trying to instill in her dungeon and why? So that Hughe could farm them?