Skull and Thrones: A LitRPG/GameLit Adventure Read online

"My dear elf, you are already standing within it."

  "This building?"

  "In a sense. The third floor and above of this building holds offices, but the main campus is to the north just a block. It’s quite nice — I’d argue it’s one of the most beautiful spots in the city — but I am more than a little biased.”

  “I take it you studied there?”

  “One can argue I still do,” he said with a wink.

  “The kobolds live next door to the Heavy Purse.”

  “Is that a tavern?”

  “It is, in Old Town.”

  “What a lovely sounding place. You’re a tavern keeper then?”

  “I, uh, no.”

  “I do apologize for the intrusion, it’s just that I’ve a colleague who is incredibly interested in Choices and the effects of Choice on lifestyle and career. Very cutting- edge research. Seems that his passion for the topic has spilled over onto me.”

  “I’m, uh, I mean—“

  “Strictly confidential in here,” he said, suddenly coming forward in his chair, keenly interested in what I might say.

  I liked the guy, and wanted to tell him the truth. Well, some of the truth.

  “Rogue,” I said.

  “Now isn’t that unique. How did you get into this building?” He asked. “No, don’t tell me. It would only lead to, well, never you mind. If you don’t tell me, I can’t know and I can’t tell. Important thing, that.”

  “I guess it is something of a trade secret.”

  “Was your town a place of rogues? Is that, I mean, I just would not expect to see a rogue from such a rural locale. But listen to me talk, it’s like as if I knew something on the subject when clearly it’s only a passing interest for me—“

  I held up my hand to try and get him to stop talking.

  “Quick question,” I said, “if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not! That’s practically my entire purpose for being here.”

  “Your friend. The one who’s studying Choices. Is he the only one looking into the game? Uh, I mean, those aspects of the world?”

  “The game? I don’t follow.”

  “It’s uh, not important, but I meant, you know, our skills being, uh, you know, like numerical. Is anyone studying that?”

  “Well, as I said, my colleague is engaged in studying Choices. I would imagine he’d transfer his own interest across to other areas of, how to term it, the character sheet, if it appeared there was research to be done there. And I know there are certainly those in the other Academies who are interested in abilities, skills, and indicium, understanding the manner in which they manifest, attempting to catalogue which ones exist. But if there is a definitive study of that side of life, I would imagine it is probably something the Empire would keep secret. So, if we follow that idea, even if I did know about it, I probably wouldn't be able to tell you, random citizen Clyde Hatchett, about it. Which means there probably is something the Empire has done, but I don’t know about it, and they have yet to stop my friend. So. Yes. Or no. I’ve forgotten what we were discussing.”

  “You’ve been a fantastic help today,” I said, getting up from the couch.

  “Oh, my dear elf, it truly was my pleasure. The last question I had to answer was bout why the Death Gate is called the Death Gate, and I’ve answered that one enough I feel it would be a better use of my time to write up a pamphlet and leave copies of it downstairs.”

  “People really come up here to ask that, huh?” I asked, all of a sudden desperate to find out the answer.

  “Sadly, yes. Now, I will endeavor to make it down to that Purse place of yours—“

  “The Heavy Purse.”

  “Right, that’s the one. Otherwise, have the loveliest of times with your outlaw kobolds.”

  “Ah, quick addendum: how might I get them registered as citizens?“

  “A quick trip to the immigration and naturalization department would clear that up. Though I do wonder what they might think if you showed up with a pack of kobolds.”

  “I’ll let you know when we’re heading over.“

  “I might actually show up to watch that.”

  Dunt walked me to the door with a smile on his face, and we clasped wrists.

  It was a really pleasant interaction.

  Which was why it was such a downer to walk out of his office and get arrested.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  I have no idea how they knew where I was or what I was doing. But I tromped down the stairs, going from the fourth floor past the third floor, and suddenly there were men with robes on either side of me. And men in armor with spears behind me. Then two armed and armored women came around the landing in front of me. I was surrounded.

  Having little recourse, I stopped.

  “Clyde Hatchett,” the robed man to my left said, “You are to come with us.”

  “I’d really rather not,” I said.

  A bright and sudden pain flared across my back as one of my new guard buddies hit me with his club.

  “Grab him,” mister robe said.

  The guards got me under my arms and marched me back to the third floor. We went along the hall, our little group of ten, and turned the corner at the far end. There, we went down a different, smaller set of stairs that was completely devoid of people all the way down. We bypassed the ground floor and went down into the sub-basement. From there, we went through a tunnel for far longer than the building could possibly contain, which meant we had to have gone under the street and over to another building.

  It made sense the imperial buildings would be connected. Not only from a defense standpoint, but also because of all the crap weather. I thought about saying something, but I remembered my throbbing back and realized keeping my mouth shut was probably the preferred course of action.

  Finally, we got to a stone door. One of the robed guys put his hands on the door, and muttered something. I could feel the tingle of magic spread across the door as it swung open. The guards were non-plussed, and just marched me on through. Down another hall, up two flights of stairs, and then I got shoved into a room.

  This room was kind of like the low-rent version of Dunt’s office. It had windows on one wall, and held a small table with four uneven legs, one chair that looked like it was made out of splinters, and two chairs that were smooth hard wood.

  They knocked me into the splinter chair, but I definitely felt my luck stat acting up as I managed to hit the chair without either breaking it or getting any new additions to my body.

  The robed gents took the other two seats, and then everyone else left the room. It became very still in the room, almost like I was wearing noise-canceling headphones.

  “Clyde Hatchett,” the first robed guy said, pulling a notebook out of his pocket and setting it on the table. He flipped it open and read over some notes.

  The man had a hawk-like nose and thin lips. He had a very long space between nose and lips, so if he ever bothered to grow a mustache, it would be a thing of true magnificence. Especially given how bushy his eyebrows were. His teeth were a bit crooked and his nails looked like they were a chief source of both nutrition and entertainment for the guy.

  His buddy was a little more refined, with light hair, a ready smile, and pale blue eyes. He had a sort of relaxed handsomeness to him, which made me both like and hate him immediately.

  Hawknose busied himself with his notebook.

  Blondie, on the other hand, just looked at me.

  No one was eager to speak. I’d seen enough movies and whatnot to know whoever spoke first lost, so I just leaned back in the chair and looked out the two windows behind me.

  Still raining.

  We were three stories up, and if I leaned back all the way, I could see the street down a pseudo-courtyard. At the far end there was just a small fence, and there were other robed individuals who seemed to be enjoying a traipse in the park, though how they managed to do that without getting wet was, well, maybe they had magic umbrella spells.

 
Hawknose cleared his throat. I looked back over at him.

  “Clyde Hatchett,” he said.

  “That’s me,” I replied.

  “You have placed us in an interesting predicament.”

  “Well that certainly wasn’t my intention."

  "Mister Hatchett, I would like to know who you think you are."

  "That's a ridiculous question, mister, uh, man. Mister Man."

  "Inquisitor Oromak. And it is not an odd question, so much as you are an odd elf."

  "Have you met many elves?"

  "Yes."

  "And you think I'm the odd one out?"

  "Yes. Who are you, Mister Hatchett?”

  "Just an elf."

  "An elf who's deeply engaged in magic."

  "Maybe."

  "You gain nothing by lying to us, Mister Hatchett," Blondie said. "Rather, it will likely hurt you more."

  "You're going to kill me twice?" I asked. "Or should I say, try?"

  Inquisitor Oromak's lips thinned out under his hawky nose.

  "There is only a single reason for what happened," Oromak said. “You were not in the building."

  “Maybe I have special powers you know nothing about."

  "That's clearly not the case."

  "Or is it?"

  "It is not."

  "Maybe—“

  "Shut up!” Oromak screeched at me. "You will not make a mockery of this inquisition."

  "Nope," I said, "you're doing fine on your own."

  "That's right."

  I think Blondie got the joke, because he turned away to hide his smile.

  Oromak's hand shot out. He grabbed onto my forearm, skin on skin contact.

  Then he closed his eyes and started muttering. The familiar warm tingle zipped around my body.

  His eyes shot open and he glared at me.

  "You dare use an illegal magic item within our hallowed halls?" he asked.

  "I, uh, yes?"

  "Surrender it to us. Now." He held out his hand.

  "No," I said, and leaned back out of his reach.

  He stood up so quickly, his chair fell back to the floor behind him, and he grabbed my face.

  "I will enjoy this."

  He muttered a different word, and he kept his eyes focused on mine. Where before it was a slight tingle and a little warmth, now it felt like actual heat. Which continued to grow, focused around the talisman I wore around my ankle. The pain blossomed, but I did my very best to smile at the hawkbilled asshole.

  "Seems like I’m enjoying this too," I said through clenched teeth.

  Inquisitor Oromak glared and seemed to double down, sending more mana my way. I swear I could hear a sizzle as the talisman got hotter and hotter and hotter.

  The thing was, pain just wasn't that big of a deal. On the one hand, I knew I could heal most anything that happened to me — at least, I could at some point in the future, if not right away. Second, the worst thing that could happen to me would be death. And I'd already gone down that trail more times than I could count. So really, why bother letting it get to me?

  I smiled as the talisman heated up more and more. It felt like it was burning a hole right through my leg.

  It infuriated Oromak. He gritted his teeth, and gripped my face tighter. His own face was starting to get red as he exerted himself, sending what might have been a torrent of mana into me. I couldn’t really tell. It was certainly difficult for him, and while I was sitting there, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a way I could use his touch to send my own magic into him. If, theoretically at least, I could cast drain on him while he was casting his heat-up magic items spell on me. Granted, it would be a bad idea to cast such a spell while in the custody of the Mancers — I didn't actually want to wind up dead, since that'd be a pain in the ass. Especially since I just got a new outfit and it wasn't disgusting yet.

  Veins popped out all over him.

  Blondie reached over and put his hand on Oromak's arm.

  "Calm," Blondie said.

  Oromak released my face, and he sank back in his chair, breathing heavy. He looked exhausted.

  I took a relaxing breath, and turned my attention to Blondie.

  "This happen often?" I asked.

  He just shrugged and smiled a little.

  Oromak sat there, glaring at me, breathing heavy. Still.

  "Did you run out of mana?" I asked. "Because that seemed, I don't know, quick."

  "You will only speak when spoken to!" Oromak said, and he swiped his hand through the air.

  There was definitely a tingle of magic, but I doubted it took hold the way he'd wanted it to. Even if he was incredibly powerful, the guy had drained himself.

  "Was that supposed to do something?" I asked.

  Oromak just glared at me. Again.

  Blondie looked over at Oromak, and I think he touched Oromak under the table. No, not like that. At least, I don't think in that way. Whatever the way that Oromak was touched, or not, Blondie passed along some sort of message to the more confrontational of the two. Inquisitor Oromak stood up from the table, glared at me one more time for good measure, and then stalked out of the room, head held high despite his inability to do anything whatsoever.

  Blondie sat there, a slight smile on his face.

  "You're the good cop then?" I asked.

  “Cop?” Blondie replied. "Not sure what you mean there. I'm here for a different reason."

  "Which is?"

  "You. I'm your suppressor."

  "You suppress magic?"

  He nodded.

  "Seems, uh, you're trained in that I guess?"

  He nodded again, smiling. “It requires a fair amount of training."

  "Mind if I ask you something?"

  "Sure. We've got time."

  "How, uh, delicate, or uh, what's the, how much magic can you detect?"

  "Almost any, really."

  "So, like, a one-mana spell?"

  "If there was a one-mana spell, I'd like to think I'd detect it."

  "And then stop it?"

  "If necessary."

  "That seems like a useful skillset."

  "It can be."

  "Can you stop any spell?"

  "Theoretically."

  "How? Is it a spell like counter-spell?"

  He chuckled. "Afraid that’s something I can't tell you. Considering, you know."

  "You're worried if I know how you work, I can circumvent your suppression.”

  "I wouldn't say I'm worried. But why take chances?"

  "So you're not here to interrogate me?"

  "Not my job," he said, leaning back in his chair, looking perfectly relaxed.

  There was a light knock on the door, and then it opened. An older man peeked his head in, looked from me to the blond man, and then back. His grey hair went every which way at once, and his glasses were a hair's width from falling off his nose.

  "Ah, right room this time," the old man said, coming into the room and making more sounds than I thought possible as he settled his old frame into the chair opposite me. He pulled a small pouch off his robes and set it on the table. Then he got out a notebook, a pot of ink, and a quill. He took his time arranging all the things up to his liking. Then he looked around and smiled. "I've got this now, Derringer."

  Derringer nodded once, then stood up and left the room.

  "Just the two of us now, eh?" the old man said.

  "It would seem like it," I replied.

  "The name is Elmer Kisiner. And if I have my information correct, which sadly is not all the time lately, you are Clyde Hatchett. Of the Biscuit's Union. Is that correct?”

  "That's me."

  "Ah, splendid.” He smiled at me, then reached into the pouch and pulled out a cookie. He set it on the table. And then grabbed another, and bit into it. "That one’s for you."

  I looked at the cookie, but I didn't take it..

  "It's not poisoned," he said. "Would be so gauche to do that to you."

  "I mean, you did try to burn me alive. So
, you know, it’s understandable that I’d be wary.”

  Elmer held up a finger. “Not me. Perhaps my organization, but just as I don't blame you for the theft of my spellbooks twenty-one years ago because a member of your organization went pilfering, you shouldn't be so quick to blame me."

  "I guess. But, I mean, murder?”

  "You'll find the law is on our side in this regard."

  "Sure, but—“

  He waved his hand. "Ignore the cookie then."

  The cookie disappeared.

  I couldn't help myself. I reached out and tried to touch where the cookie had been. I just felt the rough hewn table top.

  "Neat trick," I said.

  "You think? I consider it a bit basic. I'm dreadfully out of practice with the basics though. I spend so much time deep in the research of esoteric spells purely for the thrill of discovery. And for pushing the boundaries of knowledge, of course. But I can't, for the life of me, see any practical benefit to what I've been working on. Tough to keep returning to such work day after day."

  "Is that why you're down here with me?"

  "Oh, partly I suppose." He took another bite of his cookie and leaned back against his chair. "I've got the seniority to do mostly whatever I wish within the ministry, and yet I so rarely exercise that power. Do you think that strange?"

  "I don't know."

  "Bah, I doubt you know much of bureaucracy. Too young. Though elves do age differently than humans, so your age is a bit, well, much like your character sheet right now — it's hidden."

  I just nodded.

  He ate his cookie.

  I twiddled my thumbs. It was a very exciting moment.

  "I do have a few things I'd like to get done today," I said. "If you don't mind."

  "I do mind a bit," he replied. "Not me so much as the ministry. They're in a quandary. Of sorts. That's more why I've come down here, as you put it. Because the powers that be are busy trying to decide into which column to sort you. How to make you fit their rulebook."

  “But you don't follow rules? You're a troublemaker?"

  "A bit," he said with a roguish smile.

  Elmer reached into his little pouch and pulled out a full teacup on a saucer. Steam wafted off the surface of the tea. He set the saucer down, and took a sip of his tea. He hissed at the heat.

  "Always too hot," he said, wincing. "You want one?"