Chapter 12
The Helicopter Parent
Axios, Upper Midgard
16 Ianuarius 652
Depending on what your job was in the Adventurers' Guild, your day started at different times. If you were one of the cooks preparing chow, you might start at five or even four to have things ready by the six o'clock chow bell. The receptionists would clock in at seven to have everything ready by the time the office opened at eight. Back when Shapur was Guildmaster, he would also be there to take appointments right at eight sharp, but Concodians had a different outlook on life, so Pawel counted himself fortunate that Iberico made himself available at nine, and it was a loose interpretation of the time at that. Anyway, Pawel made sure that he was first in line when Iberico actually showed up.
"Well, Pawel, you're here early," the Guildmaster said by way of greeting.
"I've been up almost four hours now," Pawel replied. "Waitin' on you."
"One of the privileges of being Guildmaster is that you can afford to have people wait," Iberico replied, "but I don't want to keep you waiting any longer, so what can I do for you today?"
"I'd like to get outta here tomorrow if I can, but I need to get some stuff sorted firs'."
"Wasting no time, I see. What is you want from me?"
"Well, let's get the big one outta the way firs'. Since the World brought me an' Zosia along, the Rooks are two people short. We need a Fighter an' a Cleric. You got any orphans who fit the bill?"
'Orphans' were Rookie Adventurers without a party, the survivors of a near-wipe, those who left of their own volition for whatever reason or those were kicked out. They tended to come with quite bit of baggage, but beggars could not be choosers.
"You know that Clerics don't usually stay orphans for long," Iberico said. "I don't have anyone like that here, but there happens to be a pair that's exactly what you're looking for down in Weinsberg. You're heading that way anyway, right?"
It was odd that Iberico had an answer so quickly without even having to check his paperwork, so Pawel asked, "You got all the orphans memorized or somethin'?"
"These two are a special case, I hear."
"What's the story with them?"
"You'll have to ask Frobert for the details. I've just been told they're a bit of a tough case. I believe they were summoned about six months ago, so they're still pretty green, but they're still active. They haven't burnt out."
A lot of times, orphans would make their way back to Axios, to the relative safety they remembered from before the time they first went out ranging. It was rare for them to remain out in the Trials, but if the two Iberico was talking about were still out there, it meant that whatever made them orphans, it had not taken the fight out of them. That was important.
"Well, let's jus' hope they're game for a new party," Pawel said.
"You'll find out when you get there, if they're still there."
"I'm pretty sure two kids ain't gonna take down Grog on their own."
"That wasn't what I was worried about," Iberico said gravely.
It was possible for Mages who knew Recall to fast-travel to deliver information quickly, but using conventional means, Axios usually only got an update from Weinsberg once every week if everything was running smoothly. Plenty of time for the situation to change.
"Yeah, well, a lot can happen out there," Pawel said. "Anyway, thanks for the tip."
"And thank you for agreeing to be their Mentor," Iberico said. "By the way, how far into Atrophy are you?"
"Down to 41 by now," Pawel said. "That's what the Bank said."
"Check your damn Slate," Iberico told him.
Pawel pulled out his Player Slate from the pouch on his hip. The Player Slate was basically a magic tablet computer. The interface was fairly simple, but it showed you all your vital stats and made management a lot easier. They were still relatively new when Pawel and Zofiya were summoned. He could remember Ruslan telling him what it was like before then. There were all manner of awkward enchanted gadgets that you would have clogging up inventory space to approximate the same functions, but mostly you had to just intuitively feel your way through managing your character growth. Now the Slate did all of that work for you.
Confirming his level, Pawel said, "Yeah, 41."
"You and Zofiya should go down to Jotunheim," Iberico told him.
"We can't leave our kids," Pawel said. "Not until we're sure they can fend for themselves."
"You could take turns."
"I don't want Zosia goin' anywhere by herself."
"She is fully capable, you know."
"Yeah, an' I've seen a lot of fully capable people end up dead 'cause they underestimated the Trials."
"You don't want to get demoted down to Tier 2."
"If that happens, we'll just get it back later."
Iberico shrugged.
"I suppose you're still young enough for that to be doable, but I don't advise it."
Generally speaking, once an Adventurer would stop actively progressing in the Trials, their strength would go into decline until they would be as feeble as any new Summon. If they didn't have the kids with them, Pawel would have wanted to immediately throw himself into getting back to peak condition, but he had bigger priorities at present.
"Now for the next order of business," Pawel said. "I'd like you to give us an advance on our per diem."
"You think I'm just made of money?" Iberico asked.
"You've got a damn sight more'n me right now."
"You've reopened your accounts at the Bank, haven't you? You and Zofiya should have B accounts. That's 100K apiece, more than enough to get you what you need for the trip to Weinsberg."
"I don't wanna be buyin' on credit."
Iberico laughed.
"You still sore about that time you got repoed? That was, what?, twelve, thirteen years ago?"
"It was like a damn week 'fore my thirteenth birthday," Pawel grumbled.
It was a testament to the time Iberico spent around Adventurers that he would use the modern Earth term 'repoed' instead of 'distressed' or 'distrained', the People of the World's own words for it.
"You made Tier 2 and got carried away kitting yourself out, then went four months without paying back the Bank in the Kingsea of all places. I could've told you you had that one coming to you. All that shiny new kit would've just rusted in the salty air anyway."
Pawel was still bitter over the experience. After being deprived of his gear, he had nearly gotten killed before he could get his hands on some alternative equipment. He and the others would join the White Lions about nine months later, partially so they could have the protection of more senior Adventurers from things like that happening again.
Iberico's utter lack of sympathy did nothing to improve Pawel's mood any.
"You gonna gimme that advance or what?" he asked.
"Is that how your mamma taught you how to ask someone a favor?"
"I don't remember a whole helluva lot 'bout what my ,amma taught me. I'm just askin' for you to cover us for the time it'll take us to get from here to Weinsberg. What with pacin' ourselves for the kids, I'm thinkin', maybe five, six days?"
Iberico sighted.
"Alright, Pawel, because you're in rather unique circumstances, I'll make an exception this one time. You and Zofiya get six days' payment, today's and the next five days, and I'll be writing a letter you need to give to the Guild when you get to Weinsberg so they don't double-pay you. Don't try to cheat me out of a trifling thousand denarii or I'll take it out of your hide tenfold and you can't pay that right now."
"There been an Adventurer alive who lasted long after he thought he could cheat the Guild?" Pawel asked. "I'll see they get your damn letter. An' thanks."
"Don't mention it," Iberico replied. "You're helping us raise up the new generation. It's the least I can do. Still, even with twelve hundred added to whatever you and the bambini haven't spent already isn't going to get you that far, not if you mean to get them all kitted out, and I know that's what you're thinking."
"We can at leas' give 'em a leg up on their firs' rangin'."
"Don't baby them too much," Iberico warned. "A man doesn't appreciate the value of a gift. He appreciates the value of what he's earned through his own blood, sweat and tears, and that goes double for children. Did you have some grownup kitting you out before your first ranging? Did Ramachandra and his Party?"
"Ramachandra an' his Party are dead," Pawel said bluntly, "an' look what a fine human bein' I turned out to be. An' anyway, what the hell do you know 'bout it? You ever once been out rangin' or have you always been nice an' comfy behind a desk your whole damn life?"
Iberico narrowed his eyes and told Pawel, "I'm still Guildmaster here and that's a fine attitude to be taking to someone you want to do you favors."
If Pawel had been on his own, he might have continued to let his anger carry him to whatever terrible conclusion it may have taken him, but he was not alone. He had the children to worry about and the last thing he needed was to make an enemy of the Guildmaster.
Pawel held up his hands and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm jus' unner a lotta stress is all."
Iberico sighed and his expression softened.
"I may not have been out ranging, but I've seen more than enough people who have in my day, so as much as someone like me can understand what you Adventurers go through, I do."
"Yeah..."
Iberico smiled.
"You've grown up, Pawel, my boy. Back in the day, you probably would've slugged me."
"Yeah, well, I was a dumbass back then," Pawel said. "I ain't much better now."
"Still, I wish Jun was here to handle business."
"Yeah, you an' me both."
"Go take care of whatever business you need taking care of today. You can pick up your advance after lunch. And don't forget the letter."
"Yeah, yeah, I won't."
Iberico waved and said, "Good day, Pawel."
"Yeah, thanks, boss."
"Any time."
* * *
When Pawel saw that Arjun had returned from his trip to Black Tom's, he left the children with Zofiya for a moment while he excused himself. Stepping outside of Guild Hall, he went across the street to the pub the Satyr's Crown. The man he was looking for was sitting at the bar already drinking from a pewter horn. It was Dupont, a retired Relic Hunter he had worked with in the past. Dupont had been out of the Game almost as long as Pawel had, but he still knew some of his old tricks.
"Lil' early to be drinkin', ain't it?" Pawel asked while signalling to the alewife for a round.
"Not when someone else is paying," Dupont replied.
"I see the kid made it back in one piece," Pawel said. "No problems then?"
Dupont shook his head.
"No, no problems. He went straight to the Bladesmith, they went to the Temple, then they came back. The boy stayed at the forge maybe another half-hour before going back to Guild Hall. Safe and sound."
"He didn't see you?"
Dupont gave him a look.
"Sorry, sorry," Pawel said. "I never doubted you for a minute."
Dupont snorted at this as the alewife came with a drinking horn for Pawel.
Pawel held up his horn to Dupont and said, "What the hell do they say back where you're from?"
"Santé."
"Well, santé then."
They tapped their drinking horns and took a good long draught. Downing a whole pint in one go was a bit much at this hour, but Pawel made a fair shot at it and let out a nice, proper "Ah" once he was done. It would have been nice to just enjoy the drink, but he was there on business.
"That's right," he said. "Before I forget."
He reached into his coin pouch and pulled out twenty denarii and slid it over to Dupont.
"Here's for puttin' in a good couple hours' work. Don't drink it all in one place."
"Oh, I wouldn't mind if'n he drunk it all in one place," the alewife said.
Pawel lifted up his horn to the alewife while Dupont was checking to make sure Pawel had not shorted him. Something about Thieves never being the trusting sort.
"These days, even twenty denarii looks like good money," Dupont said, pocketing half of the coins with the clear intention of drinking away the other half within the next hour or two.
"Your pension that bad?"
Dupont waved the stump of his right arm and said, "This gets me 325 per diem, which is more than enough to live on, but I've got debts to pay, so I'm not left with much once they're done with me."
"Well, I'll try to keep you in mind whenever I'm in town," Pawel said.
"You're lucky I'm not to proud for babysitting."
"If that's the case, why not go talk to Iberico an' mentor the Rooks? It'd be an extra hunnerd per diem."
"Iberico and I aren't on good terms," Dupont said, taking another drink. "Besides, shadowing a kid when he's on an errand is one thing. Actually having to deal with the damn brats day in, day out is another. I couldn't do what you do. I've never felt that obligated to anyone."
"Yeah, well, it's diff'rent for some folks, I guess," Pawel replied.
"You being so overprotective isn't going to help them, not in the long run. They'd do better to learn to stand on their own two feet sooner rather than later."
Pawel scowled at this, not so much because Dupont said it but because he had been hearing the same thing so much lately.
"You an' ever'one else can't get 'nough of sayin' that shit."
Dupont managed a bit of a sardonic grin, replying, "If everyone is saying it, maybe you should listen, you big, dumb lummox. Some days I swear you can be as thick as Oscar."
Pawel matched his grin and said, "Don't say that 'round him. It's bad for the furniture an' if he runs outta table to break, I imagine your bones'll be next."
"I don't see much of our good friend Oscar because I'm not fool enough to attack the damn City Guards."
"So you heard 'bout that?"
"Word gets around. It's probably for the best that you and Zofiya are getting out of here. Rumors are starting to spread and I don't think you or the kids want to be around for it."
"Shit 'bout the Brave?"
"The first ever case of a second Summoning, and the son of the Blessed Ramachandra come back to us. There could be money in it if you play your cards right, but there's also bound to be trouble."
"All the more reason to get outta Dodge as the Yanks say."
"Speaking of Yanks, I hear you got one in your little brood of Rooks."
"Yeah, real pain in the ass."
"Most Yanks are from my experience."
"You should hear what they say 'bout us Pollacks."
Dupont grinned.
"You should hear what we say about you Pollacks."
"Ain't nothin' I ain't heard before. Here's one for you. How many Belgies does it take to screw in a lightbulb?"
Dupont rolled his eyes.
"I'm not drunk enough for this shit."
Pawel pointed to the coins on the bar.
"There's nothin' stoppin' you."
"Nothing but the limits of my stomach... and my bladder. Speaking of which, I've got to go take a piss."
"Already?"
"Getting old is a hell of a thing..."
Dupont was barely 30, but in their line of work, he may as well have been 80. It really was a hell of a thing, which was all the more reason to get moving and make some headway toward escaping the World once more.
