Bitter Ch. 526-530 (Patreon)

Britta walked home with one eye to the rear. She no longer had the feeling she was being followed, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t. Where had that feeling even come from? It wasn’t like she had heightened senses all of a sudden.

If her encounter with Rick had been in a game, she would have had all sorts of special ways to track him and be aware of what he was doing. Symbols would light up and messages would appear on screen.

She stopped and scanned the road behind her, just to be sure. There was no sign of him.

If this was a game, there’d also be some point to him following her. She didn’t understand how he’d found out about Dad, or what he wanted with him. To swap tips and pointers about the game?

Dad would have probably liked that. Maybe she should have just taken Rick home and introduced them. An involuntary shudder went through her. It was unfair to judge Rick as creepy without really knowing him, but it was hard not to when he creeped her out so much.

When she got to her house, she had one last look down the street. Nothing. Would it even be that hard for him to find out where she lived? In the age of the internet, personal information wasn’t hard to get hold of. If Rick had been able to create an alt account on the school forum — where you needed a special registration number to join — surely he could have pulled up her home address.

It was a worry but at the same time it was a ridiculous thing to fret over. She could handle someone like Rick. He was weird but he wasn’t dangerous. Not in this world, anyway.

The house was quiet and she assumed Dad was in-game. She dragged her bag up to her room, feeling tired and relieved. Her encounter had been stressful and she wanted to fall onto her bed and lay there, face down on the pillow.

She was surprised to find her room wasn’t empty. There was a momentary sense of panic, and then mild annoyance.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

He was sitting at her desk with her laptop open. The screen was dark.

“I’m trying to develop a relationship with your computer,” said Dad. “I thought if we got to know each other a little better, it wouldn’t be so mean to me.”

The laptop always shut itself off when Dad was around, but it would do that whenever anyone was around, not just him.

“It isn’t personal,” she said. “It’s a computer, it’s programmed that way. It’s trying to protect sensitive information, that’s all.”

“Sure, sure,” said Dad, getting up from the chair. “But it’s not like I don’t have a relationship with APE. I’ve signed an NDA, I know about how the game operates. There’s no reason to shut me out.” He looked down at the blank screen. “Right?”

There was no response. Dad sighed and turned back to Britta.

“But I think it has room for discretion. I mean, it let me see when you told it to.” He looked like he wanted her to tell the laptop to be his friend, he just didn’t want to say it.

“I have to log in today,” she said, avoiding the whole matter. Everyone wanted her to do something for them today. Rick, Dad, and of course, APE. At least APE was paying her. Every forty-eight hours, she had to log in for twelve minutes, for which she received thousands of pounds. She saw it as a reasonable arrangement.

“Yes, right, of course,” said Dad. “Okay. Have fun.” He was sulking, but that was fine. She was used to it. Parents weren’t supposed to act like children, but then parents weren’t supposed to play video games all day and night, either.

“There’s a boy at school who has the game, too,” she said. She hadn’t meant to mention Rick, it felt unnecessary. She had generally kept uncomfortable school matters to herself. The idea her parents would go to her teacher to sort out a problem made her cringe just thinking about it. “He’s getting bullied because the other kids are jealous.”

“Oh,” said Dad. “Nobody’s bullying you, are they?”

“They don’t know I have the game. If they did… I don’t know.”

Dad’s eyes seemed to lose focus. He was thinking. “It’s not really surprising. It’s wrong, but if I was a kid at school and someone else had the greatest game ever, I’d be pretty upset. It’s definitely wrong, but I understand.”

She hadn’t expected him to take the side of the bullies. He wasn’t really taking their side, but he was being sympathetic. It made Britta a little annoyed at him.

“What good is beating him up going to do? It’s not like they get to play the game if he can’t.”

“Hey, now, take it easy. I said it was wrong, didn’t I? But it’s human nature. You can’t make everything better by acting like it doesn’t exist just because it shouldn’t. People get jealous when they see others happy or successful or having a good time. You have to deal with it, not simply wish it away.”

“And how do I deal with it?” He was giving her the sort of advice parents always gave kids about bullying — bad advice. Deal with it — as though confronting a bully or going to a teacher ever solved anything. She had the experience to back up her views, he only had a distant memory of a time when people got excited about a new iPhone. Those days were long gone.

“You deal with it by ignoring it,” said Dad. “Cut those people out. You have better things to do and more interesting places to go. You won’t lose anything by removing them from your life.”

To be fair, that was the conclusion she had come to. Rick would do well to do the same, but for some reason he had decided to provoke people, instead. He had gone after them when there was no need to. She didn’t understand him at all.

She sat down on her bed and reached under it to take out the Anderson cradle.

“Right, I’ll leave you to it.” Dad took a last look at the inert laptop and then left the room.

Britta lay down and put the helmet on. Twelve minutes and then she could go back to her real work. The French tutor would be here soon, no time to waste.

She opened her eyes in the small church. She was lying on the altar in the chapel. She sat up and Stan was in front of her.

“Finally,” he said. “What took you so long? Homework?”

She looked at him. “You’re a bully, aren’t you? Is it fun, is that why you do it?” Might as well ask an expert.

“What a lovely way to greet an old friend,” said Stan. “Nice to see you, too.” He folded his arms and then lifted a hand to his chin like he was waiting for what she had to say.

He had changed quite a lot since she first met him. He had a goatee beard and his hair had grown, but that was just cosmetic. He still had the pompous look permanently fixed to the front of his face, like he had everything where he wanted it, but there was less of an edge to it. He was trapped in a game but he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps he even preferred it.

Britta looked around the chapel painted in colours from the stained glass windows. There was no one else here.

“It’s true, isn’t it? You force people to do what you want because they’re weaker than you. That’s what you tried to do to me.”

“Wow, something’s bent you out of shape, hasn’t it? Tough day at school?” He was mocking her, as expected of a bully. “Britta, you are possibly the strongest player in the game. Going after you wasn’t bullying, it was an act of bravery. I should get a medal for even trying.” Mocking her and buttering her up at the same time.

“I don’t feel like the strongest player in the game,” said Britta.

“That’s because you’re so strong, you bypassed the rest of us and went straight to dealing with this world’s gods. Boss monsters are your buddies and regular mobs are polite and helpful in case they piss you off. Trust me, you’re doing a lot better than the rest of us.”

She let out a long breath. She wasn’t the strongest fighter or the most powerful magician, but she did have access to the most interesting parts of the game. She looked around the chapel again, in case there were people in the shadows.

“Where is everyone? Don’t you have a revolution to organise?”

“It’s a rebellion, not a revolution. And they’ve all logged out. They have lives, or something. I imagine they’re eating unhealthy meals and watching bad TV. Can’t say I’m not a little bit jealous.”

For all her whining about her own life, Stan had been stuck in the game for months. His body was in a hospital bed, slowly deteriorating. He had it tough, but so what? Same with Rick. He definitely had problems at home, but that was no excuse for treating others poorly. Stan didn’t deserve her pity and neither did Rick.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you later.” She headed towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m only here for twelve minutes, I thought I’d have a quick look around the city with the—” Britta checked her screen “—ten minutes I have left.”

“Wait.” Stan had lost some of the laid-back composure he’d been projecting. Was his whole persona an act? “I’ll come with you. Give you the quick tour, no charge.”

She was fairly sure he was after something, but it would be helpful to have someone to point out the city’s interesting features and answer a few questions.

“Okay. Thanks.”

They stepped outside into the late afternoon sunshine. There were people passing by, all NPCs, and the air was filled with the noise of activity.

“Welcome to my city, Shona-by-the-sea.” Stan raised his arms like he was presenting the city to her.

“Your city?” said a voice from a window above them. “Don’t talk daft.”

“Who are you talking about?” said another voice. “Oh, the tourist?”

People were leaning out of windows and watching from doorways. They were his neighbours, so they probably knew him.

“Been here five minutes, thinks he owns the place.” Laughter erupted around them.

“It may seem like they have a very low opinion of me,” said Stan quietly. “But it’s all part of the plan. No one can know who I really am. The less they think of me the better.”

“I think it’s working,” said Britta.

They set off down the cobbled road which sloped down to the city centre. The buildings around them were stacked up close to each other but every now and again a gap would allow sight of the boats in the docks, and the sparkling water.

“What would you like to see first?” asked Stan. “The city buildings? The Adventurer’s Guild? Tourist hotspots?”

“Just the main places I should know about.”

“Let’s go down to the main square,” said Stan. “Should only take five minutes. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

Helpful and accommodating. He was definitely after something.

“Thanks. I’m hoping to find a way to level up that doesn’t force me to kill everyone I meet. How easy is it to pick up quests here?”

“Tough,” said Stan. “It’s just as tough to level up even if you do kill everyone you meet. If you find a decent place to grind weaker mobs, they pick up and move their entire village to some hidden location.”

“Do they? I didn’t know that. I suppose it makes sense. Why stay where you are if players are going to hunt you down? I’d move, too.”

“It might be realistic,” said Stan, “but it isn’t very convenient. How are players supposed to level-up? Everyone’s stuck at low levels unless you join the Empire. It’s hardly fair.”

“I don’t think enlisting with the Imperial Army is much better,” said Britta. “They don’t give you much to do, apparently. It’s all training and guard duty.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Stan, “we’ve been finding it hard to compete with the Empire. They have lots of meaningless achievements people seem to like. Medals and uniforms and a place to stay with food and hot baths. Fascists.”

“And what do you offer?” Britta asked.

“Freedom,” said Stan.

“Don’t you tell people what to do?”

“Yes, but only until we win. Then they’re free to do as they please, that’s the prize.”

Britta could see a problem with that kind of thinking. No one wanted to work for someone so they could then not work for them. Might as well not turn up in the first place.

“You know, I could really use your help,” said Stan casually, in a way that wasn’t casual at all. “You know, find ways to level up, unexpected ways, it’s what you’re good at.”

Britta stopped. It took a Stan a few paces to realise she wasn’t next to him. He turned around.

“And what’s in it for me?” Britta asked him. Simply rejecting his request would only encourage him to try harder. Forcing him to admit he could offer her nothing in return would end the discussion a lot sooner.

“You help me with my problem, and I’ll help you with yours. I do have a very good understanding of bullies, like you said. I also have contacts on the outside. Just tell me who’s giving you grief and…” He ran his finger across his throat.

“That’s not funny,” said Britta.

Stan grinned at her. “It’s kind of funny. Imagine the look on your bully’s face when they get bundled into the back of a van.”

It was hard to know how to respond to something so stupid. “That is a horrible idea. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“What?” said Stan. “They wouldn’t really get hurt.”

She knew he was winding her up, probably. Not even he would go to those sorts of lengths for a prank. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. I’m not the one being bullied. I just thought you might have an insight into the mind of a bully. I should have realised there’s no point asking a psycho about how to handle other psychos.”

“I feel you’re being a tad unfair,” said Stan. “Can you see that small square building in the corner of the main square? That’s the Institute for Magic Studies. I imagine you’ll want to find a way to gain entrance, although it’s supposed to be very difficult. There’s always a bunch of players trying to get in.”

“ It doesn’t look very magical.” It was a nondescript structure that could have been one of the annexe buildings at the back of her school.

“No, not very magical. Things aren’t always as they appear.” He said it like there was a lesson to be learned.

“Usually they are, though,” said Britta.

The street was busier now. There were more shops, too.

“What do they sell here? Anything useful.”

“For adventuring? Not really. You can buy gear from the stores in the main square, but they’re not cheap. I can take you to a few out of the way places when you have more time.”

“Is there a black market?” she asked.

“There is, and you’re looking at him.”

“You?”

“Well, I try. Business hasn’t been very good lately. Everyone wants to buy and no one has anything to sell. I can do you a deal on bandanas, two for one. Excellent for keeping your identity hidden. Look.”

She looked up at him and he had a red and white polka dot bandana covering the bottom part of his face. He pulled it down. “It’s me!”

“Amazing, it was like you were a whole other person. I think I’ll pass, wouldn’t really go with my outfit. Isn’t the black market all about stolen good?”

Stan shook his head. “You really have a poor view of me, don’t you. We’re on the side of truth and justice. Don’t look at me like that, I’m a reformed character. My time in prison helped me see the error of my ways.”

“It wasn’t a real prison,” said Britta.

“It was very realistic, I’ll have you know. Bars on the windows, bunk beds, the attention to details was excellent.”

It sounded like her family holiday to Butlins from when she was very young. “Just because the Empire are the bad guys doesn’t mean you’re the good guys.”

“Maybe, but we’re certainly the better guys.”

“You won’t bully and cheat people when you’re in charge?” There didn’t really seem to be much difference between the two factions in Britta’s eyes. Both wanted to tell people what to do.

“Do you know why people bully and cheat and break the rules?” said Stan. “It’s not because they’re weak and cowardly, it’s because they’re strong and they want to make the most of it.”

“So you’re saying it’s a good thing? Survival of the fittest?”

“No,” said Stan. “It’s not a good thing, but it is an understandable strategy. You know who does drugs at the Olympics? It isn’t the athletes with no talent, it’s the best athletes. The fastest, the strongest, the ones who always stood out at school and college. Then they get to the big stage, and they’re the same as everyone one else. They’re used to being number one. They’ve already proved they have what it takes, they are undeniably part of the global elite — not an easy group to get into — they just need an edge to win the medal. That’s how it works at the top. They aren’t bullying the weak, they’re struggling against the equally-strong.”

Britta wasn’t convinced. “You’re just making excuses.”

They were in the square now, surrounded by crowds. No one took any notice of the leader of the rebels and the most powerful illusionist in the world. As far as the locals were concerned, they were no different from any other visitors to the city.

Stan pointed out the main post office, the Adventurer’s Guild, the bank and a Starbucks. The Starbucks was the busiest.

“I predict you’ll soon be a key player in the future of this city. I wonder how you’ll use your power.”

“I don’t intend to force anyone to do anything,” said Britta.

“Easy for you to say, you have the world doing whatever you want already. It’s when you get the opportunity to choose between being fair and losing, and being a bastard and winning that you really find out the kind of person you are.”

“Yes,” said Britta. “I agree. So why don’t you use your advantage to give your rebels a boost.”

“I wish I could,” said Stan, “but I think the game has us figured out. No easy mode.”

“What does that mean? No more cheating?”

“No, just different, less obvious ways. You can’t just group your kills up and AoE them down. Look how hard they’ve made it to kill anything. And the penalty for dying is savage. They clearly don’t want us to go in all guns blazing.”

“Some people seem to do alright,” said Britta. “There’s that team that beat the raid boss.”

“The Chinese team?”

“You know about them?”

“I know they’re Chinese, that’s about it. I’d love to know how they got so strong so quickly. Maybe they’re all expert players, but I doubt it.”

“You think they’re cheating?”

“I think they know something we don’t. Whatever it is, it means we can’t compete.”

“Then don’t,” said Britta. “Just level up a different way.”

“Sounds great. And how do you suggest we do that?”

“I don’t know. Get a job?”

Stan looked at her like she was joking. “Apply for a nine to five and buckle down?”

“I mean live with the NPCs as one of them. If they accept you, they might tell you how to get ahead in the game. That’s what happened to me.”

Stan’s mouth fell open. He snapped it shut. “Do you think that’s what the game’s been trying to tell us?”

Britta shrugged. “I have no idea. You were right about people wanting to get into the Magic Institute, look at the queue.”

There was a long line of players outside the Institute, all waiting to be let in. They had name tags over their heads, but they were all dressed in very basic clothing that didn’t offer much protection. Britta assumed they were all magic classes who had rushed to the city to sign up for magic school. She could easily imagine it had been the dream of many of them since they first read the Harry Potter books.

At the front was a large wooden door that looked very solid and very closed. There was a sign on the door:

Applications to be submitted in [2] days.

The number two was on a separate board, so it could be changed, presumably.

“Applications for what?” said Britta.

“It can’t be that simple,” said Stan, ignoring her question. “You can’t just get a job in a shop or whatever.”

“Why not?” said Britta. “You can’t go around looking for people with a giant yellow exclamation mark hanging over their heads. You have to ask.”

Stan shook his head. “Could you even gain XP by working a nine to five?”

“This is the problem with all of you gamers, you only want to play the game a certain way, the same thing over and over, and then you parade around like you’re rockstars. Hit the monster in the back legs a thousand times and you’ll kill it before it aggros. Hide in this corner and the enemy won’t be able to reach you while you chip away at them. Not exactly heroic.”

The people in the queue who had been quietly chatting, stopped to look at Britta. She lowered her raised arms and backed away.

“It’s hardly a fun and entertaining way to experience the game, is it?” said Stan, following her away from the institutes closed doors. “Logging into a game to put on a tabard and dig a ditch for twelve hours a day.”

“I don’t think you’re the best person to ask,” said Britta, “on account of you being a workshy layabout. People play games where you cook burgers or stack boxes or whatever, don’t they? You don’t have to think of it like a job. Think of it more like a spy going undercover. You have to infiltrate the locals without them realising. Roleplayers would love it.”

“Well, yes, they would. Still, how would you even know where to start? There’s no job centre here.”

“How about him?” She pointed at a man selling peanuts out of a cart. He was a thin man with a skin browned from spending so much time outdoors. He was shaking a tray of peanuts over a small fire on top of the cart.

“You think the peanut vendor’s hiring?”

“Won’t know till we ask.” Britta felt oddly confident that she was onto something. It helped that she didn’t really care if she was wrong. “Excuse me, how’s business?”

“One bag, one coin. Extra for honey-coated.” He spoke quickly with a thick accent, but it was hard to say where from. Greek? Middle Eastern?

“I’m looking for work,” said Britta. “Will you give me a job?”

“No. No jobs here. Too much competition.” He nodded down towards the other side of the square where an almost identical cart was serving peanuts to what appeared to be many more customers.

“Have you thought about expanding the menu? Give people more options?”

“I sell peanuts,” said the vendor.

“What about people with peanut allergies?” said Britta. “You would do a lot better if you offered alternatives. Diversify. You’d need more employees, then.”

The vendor had stopped shaking the tray of peanuts and looked at her through a haze of peanut fumes. He didn’t seem very pleased with what he saw. “Are you going to buy anything? You’re blocking my customers.”

There was no one else waiting to be served. Unlike the other vendor.

“Maybe I’ll go ask him,” said Britta. “He looks busy, could probably do with the help.”

“Wait,” said the vendor. “Maybe I could use an assistant. I can’t pay much. Will you work for peanuts?”

Britta smiled. “I’ll think about it and let you know. Thanks.” She hurried away before he put her to work. “See?” she said to Stan, who had been watching from a short distance away.

“That’s because it was you,” he said. “No one else could have got that kind of a reaction from an NPC.“

“You try,” said Britta. She looked around and then pointed at a shop selling cloaks, scarves and hats. “In there.”

Stan shrugged and went up to the bored woman behind a counter. She stood up straight as Stan approached. Britta walked in behind and acted like a browsing customer.

“Greetings, my good woman. I notice your premises are devoid of customers, and I happen to be an exemplary salesman in need of employment. Perhaps we could come to an arrangement that would benefit us both, financially.”

“Out!” bellowed the woman. She had a broom in her hand and chased Stan out, slamming the shop door behind him.

The door opened a few seconds later as Britta exited.

“Told you,” said Stan.

“What was that?” said Britta. “Why were you so obnoxious?”

“Was I? I was going for charming and dapper.”

“You’re supposed to be desperate for work.”

“Oh, right. I’ve never had a job interview, or had a job. Let me try again.”

This time he went into a smaller shop selling lanterns and candles.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said to the old man wearing a leather apron who was the only person inside. “I’m looking for a job. I’m a hard worker, always punctual and I never complain. Do you need anyone to help here?”

The change in Stan’s demeanour was impressive. His shoulders were slumped, his voice was respectful, his eyes were filled with sincerity.

“No work for you here,” said the man. He had white hair and a white moustache, and thick glasses that made his eyes look huge. “Don’t need anyone getting in my way.”

“Of course, sorry to bother you. It’s the wife, you see. Three small ones and another on the way. It’s my own fault, really, but when you find a fine woman next to you in bed every night, well, nature takes its course. Haha. Thank you anyway.”

The man chuckled. “Ah, I know what you mean. Got six of them myself, and a wife who would have liked more. Tell you what, I know Jint the farrier needs help. It’s hot sweaty work with long hours and the smell of horse dung, but it’s honest work.”

“Thank you, I’ll go see him straight away.” Stan left the shop thanking the man profusely.

As soon as they were outside, Stan lost the stoop and the humility. “Oscar-worthy, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” said Britta. “Remind me to never believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“This is great,” said Stan. “I think you really might be on—wait what’s this?” He stopped and stared at Britta. It took a few seconds for her to realise he wasn’t looking at her, he was looking at his status screen.

His hands came up and tapped the air in front of him and then his eyes lit up.

“What?” said Britta.

“I just got 5 XP. Five experience points for doing nothing. You were right, you were absolutely right.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” said Britta. “Where’s my five experience points?” She checked her own screen to make sure she hadn’t received any new XP. It was exactly the same.

“I guess you didn’t put in the performance required,” said Stan. “Now, what’s this do?” He poked something off to the right of his screen. “What the—” He stumbled back a couple of steps.

“What? What?” It was frustrating not being able to see whatever had appeared on his screen. “Is it more experience points?” She would be writing a strongly worded letter to APE if it was. Just because she was a special case didn’t mean they should stop her getting the XP she deserved, not when everyone else was getting some. It was probably a bug.

“It’s beautiful,” said Stan, looking around and up and behind.

“What is? Hey? Snap out of it.” She grabbed him by the bottom of his shirt, which was as high as she could reach, and shook him.

“Hmm? Sorry.” He grabbed her by the arm and guided her towards an alley where there weren’t so many people. “It’s like the skill tree, only much, much bigger. It shows your relationship to different NPCs. Most of its greyed out, but there are hundreds of them, thousands… too many to count. I don’t fully understand what it all means, but it’s clearly a whole new level of engagement with the game we need to participate in. This is why the game forced everyone to slow down and struggle against monsters. We’re supposed to integrate ourselves into the world first. It’s so lucky I stumbled onto this… this changes everything.”

“Congratulations,” said Britta. “Stumbling onto it all by yourself, quite an accomplishment. However did you manage to do it?”

“Alright, alright, you stumbled onto it. Is there any reason to point out that you hold the key to this world? I think we can take it for granted that you’re special.”

“Not sure where you get that idea from. If I’m so special shouldn’t I be the one getting the bonus XP?”

“Yes. Sorry. Thank you.” He looked around again. “It’s amazing. Are you sure you don’t have something like this?”

“No, I don’t think so.” If anyone should have access to a secret user interface showing relationships with NPCs, it should be her. If she had received 5 XP every time she’d had a conversation with an NPC, she’d be Level 100 by now.

“It makes so much sense now,” said Stan. “We were never supposed to go running into dungeons to play the hero. You have to become part of the world first.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t tell you that,” said Britta. “You are the rebel leader, after all. Aren’t you supposed to be guiding the players under your command?”

“Ah, yes, well that might be my own fault. I asked them not to tell me too much about how I was supposed to meet my objectives. Thought it would make for more of a challenge. Didn’t really expect it to be quite so hardcore. But we’ve cracked it now. I mean, it still won’t be easy, obviously, but at least I can give my people something to aim for. Might even be quite fun.”

His excitement was bubbling over. After spending days and weeks trying to find a way to level up his rebels without getting them killed and constantly de-levelled, he had a new approach, all thanks to Britta. Special, unrewarded Britta.

“I can’t wait to get started. If no one else knows about it, we could get a huge head start on everyone.”

“Not the Chinese,” said Britta.

“No, but they aren’t part of the Empire, so I’m not that worried. If they want to go on a killing spree in the depths of the most dangerous dungeons, good luck to them. Me and my thousands of NPC friends will be more than a match for them.”

“Thousands of NPC friends?” said Britta. “Isn’t it more like one?”

“We all have to start from somewhere,” said Stan. “The important thing is now I know what to do. And I even have a map to show me where I need to get to.” He looked around again. The awe and wonder on his face was starting to irritate her.

“Great. Well, have fun.” She walked out of the alley. The line outside the Magic Institute hadn’t moved, the same people were in the same places.

She had the letter she was supposed to deliver. It was a quest, so it should net her some XP, unless she really was bugged.

She walked to the head of the queue with everyone watching her. They didn’t seem to mind. Actually, they looked amused. As she neared the front, there was giggling and excited whispering. What did they think was going to happen?

The door to the Institute was huge, at least it was compared to Britta. She couldn’t even reach the knocker.

“Let me,” said Stan. He pulled the iron ring back and smashed it against the plate underneath it twice. “I assume you know what you’re doing.” His words didn’t match the look on his face.

The queue went silent. A flap opened next to the knocker.

“What do you—” a voice began to shout.

“Not me,” said Stan. “Her.” He pointed down at Britta.

The man behind the door peered down from the opening. Britta took a step back so she was in his line of sight.

“Hello. I have a—”

“Can’t you read? It clearly says applications aren’t open for another two days.”

“Yes, but—”

“You know what you’ve done, don’t you? You’ve only gone and got yourself disqualified from applying. How do you like that?”

There was much tittering in the queue.

“I don’t mind,” said Britta.

Everyone went quiet.

“You don’t mind? You don’t mind? You think I’m joking, do you?”

“No,” said Britta. “I’m not here to apply for anything. I’ve got a letter for the Dean.” She waved the letter over her head.

“Give it here, I’ll give it to him.”

“I’m supposed to deliver to him personally,” said Britta. There was bound to be some kind of reward for delivering the letter. It was a classic RPG quest. She had no intention of missing out again.

“Who’s if from,” said the gatekeeper.

“Oh, it’s from a wizard.” She realised she didn’t have a name to give him, which was a bit awkward.

“That it? A wizard?”

“A gnome wizard,” said Britta.

There was a gasp from behind the door. “You’re sure? A gnome. A gnome wizard?”

“Yes. I think I know what a gnome looks like.”

“It’s arrived,” the voice shouted to someone else behind the door. “The letter, it came. Yes! It’s really from him.”

The door began to open. The queue watched dumbfounded. Britta did her best not to gloat. She was more interested in why the mention of a gnome wizard had got the reaction it had. Technically, she was a gnome wizard. No one ever got this excited when she turned up anywhere.

“You better come in,” said the man once the door was ajar.

Well, it wasn’t her they wanted to see, but she was looking forward to completing the quest and getting something in return. She headed inside.

Author's Note: Another week, another voting opportunity on topwebfiction. If you like the story, don't forget to VOTE. Cheers.